Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.
A/N: First of all, very obviously, I don't know any magic words, and don't remember enough Latin to make them up from that, so I've gone with the next best thing. 'Harry Potter' fans, please don't lynch me for shamelessly stealing J.K.Rowling's magic words =) Anyway. Some more randomly pointless (or possibly not) conversations and interactions, something resembling A/X, and hopefully a leeeettle bit of Spuffy to keep everyone off my back after the last chapter ;) Hey, just because she's realised she loves him doesn't mean it's going to be roses from now on, you know. They still have a lot of talking to do. Just not right now. As usual, reviews are welcomed and given cookies, so enjoy =)
Chapter Twenty-Three
Anya woke up feeling distinctly aware that she wasn't alone in the lounge. It was rather unnerving, especially when she knew she'd gone to sleep being the only one there. Giles didn't count – he was in the dining room, and had been all night, researching Buffy's predicament. So, she was a little nervous about opening her eyes, just in case whatever was in the room with her was a Bad Thing.
She opened first one eye, then the other, adjusting her vision to the light in the room, and then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw who it was. "Oh… Xander." She smiled, sitting up. "I thought you were a demon."
He smiled back. "Pot; kettle; black." He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching her at eye-level, and seemed to have been there for a while. Anya gave a large yawn as she stretched, then looked at him somewhat curiously.
"What are you doing? And how long have you been there?"
"Watching you," he said, matter-of-factly, "and for about an hour." Then, by way of explanation, he added, "Willow woke up about half an hour before that and said she wanted to be by herself for a while, so I came downstairs…" He trailed off, shrugging. "And now I'm hungry." He got to his feet, also stretching. "What say we impress the others with our combined culinary skills?"
"You mean the culinary skills that resulted in us getting take out every night?" she said, standing up, smiling at him knowingly.
"If you and Will can make pancakes, then you and I can definitely throw together an omelette or two," he said, as they headed to the kitchen. "And with any luck, the smell of the food might wake Buffy up along with everyone else…"
Upstairs in Joyce's old room, Willow was dressed and sitting cross-legged in the centre of the bed, her expression becoming gradually more worried. In front of her was a selection of small items – a few dried flowers, a couple of pens, and a CD. She stared at them somewhat sombrely, then took a deep, determined breath, and picked up the disc. She held it aloft in front of her nose, horizontally, and then muttered, "Leviosa."
She let it go. It dropped to the bed. She frowned.
Picking up the pen, she tried again, more determined. "Leviosa!"
The same thing happened. Picking up the dried flowers, she tried it one last time. "Leviosa? Please?" And, again, they fell straight to the bed.
This was exceedingly worrying. She could accept that the previous night she'd been tired, and it was hampering her powers, but after a long rest and clearing her mind, she should at least have been able to perform a basic hovering spell. It wasn't just that she wasn't having any effect, however – that happened sometimes, even though it was annoying – it was that she couldn't even feel any power within herself any more. There was, quite simply, nothing happening, no matter how hard she willed her magic to flow.
She felt empty, completely drained. Her powers had been her one last connection to Tara, and without them, she was suddenly lost. Lost and useless to the group. She'd promised herself that, once she'd fully recovered, she would only use her magic for helpful, good purposes – location spells, the occasional bit of invisibility, and so on – and now, she couldn't even levitate a feather-light flower.
There didn't appear to be anything she could do, and she didn't really know why it had happened, either. However, brooding about it wouldn't help matters much, and she had to break the news to someone. Despite their argument earlier in the year, she realised the most important person to tell would probably be Giles, so they could figure out if the situation was redeemable before she had to tell the others. If she didn't have to tell them at all, even better. Besides which, he was already trying to get the borrowed magic out of Buffy's system, so maybe he could help get personal magic back inside hers.
She put everything back where it had been, and made her way downstairs.
At the bottom of the staircase, she looked in both directions, trying to find Buffy's ex-Watcher; she couldn't help smiling when she found him. He'd fallen asleep in the dining room with his head on the table, and was snoring quietly. Stifling her laugh, she approached quietly, and tapped him on the shoulder.
Giles snorted ungraciously, and lifted his head a little groggily. His glasses were askew on his head, and he had an imprint on his cheek of the book he'd fallen asleep on. Shaking his head to clear it, he straightened up in his chair, stretched the crick out of his back, then looked at who had woken him. "Willow…"
"Mornin', sleepy-head," she said, smiling, even though she felt far from jovial.
"Remind me not to research-til-I-drop any more. I really don't think it's good for me." She smiled, but it soon disappeared as her thoughts returned to her problem. "Is something wrong?"
"Yeah…"
That made sense, he thought. Scooby problems did tend to come in batches. "What is it?"
"I… um…" She tried again. "Uh… last night, while you and Xander were gone, I… I tried to do magic." Before he could reprimand her, she broke in with, "o-only a little, teeny-tiny spell, honest. We couldn't find the control for the TV and I just thought, y'know, I could do a little electric energy spell. I wanted to get some practice in on the small stuff anyway, and I figured it was as good a time as any to start. Anyway… it wouldn't work. I pointed and said the words and" - she made a zipping noise, gesturing with her hand at the same time - "nothing."
"Well," said Giles, "you were all very tired last night."
"Yeah, that's what Anya figured, too." She sighed. "But I tried again this morning and it was still nada. Giles, I… I can't do magic. I can't even feel it inside me any more." She swallowed, a little nervously, not entire sure how he'd react. "It's really scary…"
"Yes, I can imagine it would be… um…" Giles thought for a moment. "Did you… notice anything strange after you'd purged the Dark Magic last night?"
She frowned, slightly annoyed. "I was kinda unconscious… Didn't really notice much of anything."
"Oh, of course. What about when you woke up?"
"I was tired, I guess. And you saw me, Giles, I was pretty woozy all night, even when I was helping you guys. I didn't feel this… empty." She realised where his train of thought was leading. "Oh, you don't think… when I purged?" Giles nodded. They were on the same wavelength, it seemed. Willow shuddered, all of a sudden, which soon turned into shivering as she began rubbing her hands up and down her arms, despite the relative warmth of the house. "God, I feel so violated… it just… ripped it outta me."
Giles was at a loss. He seemed to have spent his entire time since returning to Sunnydale attempting to sort out the problems of the Scoobies, or comforting them in one way or another. Buffy was decidedly easier to comfort in comparison to Anya and Willow – he knew her better, and knew her reactions and mannerisms, and, therefore, when it was safe to offer actions or words. With Anya, it was difficult to read her, and with Willow, he wasn't sure if she was still too fragile. Opting for the safest thing he could think of, he placed a hand on her shoulder, reassuringly.
"Willow, if you can just bear with me a moment, I may have something resembling a plan." She looked at him, hopefully. "You know about Buffy's predicament. That's my top priority at the moment. Which isn't to say," he added, quickly, "that yours isn't just as important. If my plan works, I may be able to help you at the same time."
"Well, what's your plan?"
He debated whether or not to tell her. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her undue worry. But then he realised he'd have to tell the rest of them eventually, and Spike's reaction was bound to be the worst. "The coven who gave me the magic to help you when I came back – I know the leader; she's a friend of mine. She thinks she can help Buffy by gathering the rest of the coven and recalling the magic. If they can do that for her, then it's entirely likely that they can help you, too. The only problem is…"
"Yes? Come on, Giles, it can't be as big a problem as this one…"
"I have to take Buffy to England with me."
Willow blinked, not sure if she'd heard him right. "What?"
"I have to take her to England. Only for a while. They can't work the spell 'overseas', as it were. However, they may be able to tell me how to help you, so…"
She wasn't keen on the idea, but knew she couldn't be the cause of any undue aggravation for Giles, so conceded defeat. "All right, I'll hang in there. And I'll… keep practising, or something."
"Good. Thank you." He stretched again, before getting up and going into the lounge, Willow following him. He sat himself down on the couch, relishing in the comfort it provided by comparison to the dining chair he'd spent the night in. Willow cast a brief glance in the direction of the kitchen, with a smile when she spotted Xander and Anya getting along while they were serving up the omelettes. The lounge fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence.
"So…" ventured Willow, "you're really going to take her to England with you?"
At which point, Xander wandered in. "Breakfast is r- whoa, who's going to England?"
With a defeated sigh, Giles recounted what he'd told Willow to Xander, and then to Anya when she came into the lounge in pursuit of him. Amazingly, Xander didn't object. "Makes sense, I suppose. Do you think she'll agree?"
"In all fairness, Xander, she doesn't really have much choice," he said.
"He's right," said Anya, "but I can almost guarantee that Spike'll have a few words to say about it."
Dawn had been standing in the doorway of her sister's bedroom for quite some time, just watching them. Only once had she ventured cautiously inside, when she noticed that Spike, in his concern, had completely forgotten to draw the curtains and was in danger of being char-grilled any moment. Both the Slayer and vampire were fast asleep, Buffy still unconscious (or so she assumed, anyway) and Spike from sheer exhaustion. He'd been alert enough, however, to put Buffy into her bed properly, covers and everything, and to remove her shoes before doing so. He'd pulled a chair next to the bed to keep a vigil, and his plan had backfired somewhat when he'd fallen asleep himself.
The young brunette smiled. Assuming nobody else came to relieve Spike or woke him up to remove him from the room, he'd be the first person Buffy saw when she woke up. That was just how it was meant to be. She could sense a change between them, somehow; the atmosphere on Spike's return had been somewhat awkward, and when they'd made the plan two nights ago – which seemed an eternity away, in retrospect – they'd barely managed to speak two civil words to each other. That, of course, was hardly anything new, but Dawn could tell there was something wrong. Buffy's tone had been too apologetic, and Spike's far too spiteful. Something had happened between them beforehand, that much was obvious, but nobody seemed to have a clue what.
Whatever, it didn't seem to matter any more. Before Buffy had run off on her almost-suicide mission back at the derelict building site, Dawn had watched her with Spike out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to impose on what was obviously a private moment, but deathly curious just the same. What she'd seen, but not heard, was enough to convince her that their problems were finally over, and, even if they weren't, they'd at least be able to talk them through with no bloodshed and very little heartache. She could only imagine what her sister had said to Spike, though, to cause him to react to her running off the way he did. It had obviously been a catalyst in their recovery, whatever it was.
Her thoughts were interrupted by movement inside the room, as Spike stirred, waking up. He opened his eyes slowly, yawned, and then took in his surroundings, momentarily confused until he saw the comatose Slayer and remembered. Then he saw the closed curtains and looked even more confused – he was sure he'd left them open before he nodded off, although he'd fallen asleep literally a split second after he realised what a bad idea it was. Turning around slightly as he sensed another presence nearby, he finally spotted Dawn standing in the doorway.
He cocked his head at her curiously. "How long have you been there, Bit?"
She shrugged. "Dunno. I just thought, y'know, you were supposed to be watching Buffy, so I'd better watch you. It sorta completes the cycle."
"Protecting me from the Big Bad Xander, eh?"
"Something like that…" she said, smiling. "Although I think he's over that now."
"Yeah, well you can never be too careful." He stretched, trying to shift a kink in his neck. Noticing that Dawn was plainly itching to come out of her place in the door, he indicated with his head that she could enter the room. Gratefully, the brunette straightened from her slouching position and sat down on the edge of the bed, somewhere in the region of Buffy's knees. She looked at her sister blankly for several seconds, not sure what she was even looking for.
"I don't suppose there was any change while you were awake, was there?" she asked.
He shook his head, sadly. "No. Couple of times, I thought she was wakin' up, but… I think it was that bloody Magic in her system. Makin' her muscles all jumpy, it is." He sighed. "I watched her as long as I could, in case I could think of a way to help. I don't know what time I fell asleep, but I know I didn't do it willingly."
Dawn nodded, and a vaguely awkward silence descended on the room as they both watched Buffy, hopelessly. Something had been bugging Dawn for a while, and she'd not yet found the time or the courage to find out about it. Now, as she was alone with Spike and he was more or less unconcerned about Buffy, she decided the time had come to just out and ask him about what was on her mind.
"Spike?"
He tore his eyes from Buffy and met Dawn's gaze. "Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something?"
He raised a dubious eyebrow, then gave her a lopsided smile and attempted something resembling humour. "Of course I'll marry you. Although I don't know how Big Sis'd react to that…"
"No," she admonished him. "Seriously, can I?"
"Go on…"
She took a deep breath. "Okay… um… so, you know this whole… soul… thing… Uh… well… it's just…" Closing her eyes tightly shut, she blurted it out. "Does it hurt?"
She opened her eyes again to see Spike's thoughtful expression as he pondered the simple question. "Well…" he began.
She interrupted him before he could continue. "And don't make it all fluffy and pretty for me. I'm sixteen years old. I can handle it. I just want to know, okay?" As explanation, she added, "I mean, you're all… I don't know… not you… and it's scaring me."
"All right, Nibblet. The truth it is." He paused. "When I first got it, it was agony. I thought the torture'd never end. I got a century's-worth of Bad Things in fifteen seconds, in one blindin' fast-forward… and then, the conscience kicked in. I thought I wasn't going to survive even one more minute of the guilt that came with it… And then, after a few days, it started getting a little better. I started thinking about things… mainly about things I'd done, but even that helped, because it meant all the memories stopped for a while. And then I started thinking about Sunnydale, about you and the Scoobies – even the Whelp – and it became my sort of… constant. A goal… And I thought of Buffy, of course. Couldn't bloody stop thinking about Buffy… About what I'd done." He stopped again, for breath, and to let it all sink in. Off Dawn's urging expression, he continued, "Then, before I knew what was happenin', I was back, right at her feet almost. And I knew we had a lot to talk about – God knows, I didn't think she'd forgive me, but she did. And the longer I stuck around, bein' in contact with everyone, the better it got."
Dawn sniffed, and nodded understandingly. "But does it still hurt? I mean, now?"
He sighed. "A little. Sometimes. If I… think about things. I'm still having nightmares, but I can forget them quickly enough."
"I see…" She looked vaguely guilty. "Isn't there anything we can do to help? Isn't there, like, a vampire soul-medicine or something?"
"If there is, the bloke who invented it's probably sitting on a fortune. Anyway, you have helped, just by being around. You and Buffy, pet; you've been the cure."
Dawn offered him a weak smile. "It's not going to go away, though, is it? I mean, even Angel was broody and he'd had his for years…" Immediately, she regretted making the comparison, but it had slipped out. Luckily, Spike was getting used to it – he'd been anticipating it from the start, in fact – and he instantly disregarded it.
"It's not going to go away, you're right. But at least with you two around, it'll feel like it has." Pause. "All right?"
"Yeah. Thanks…" Silence descended once more, and they resumed watching Buffy. They hadn't been watching for long at all, when suddenly, she moved. Her head turned slightly on the pillow, only a tiny movement, but they both noticed it. Dawn sat bolt upright on the bed, and Spike leaned forwards in his chair. "Was that one of those Magic shock thingies?"
Spike shushed her and waved a silencing hand, concentrating on something. After a few seconds, he broke into a smile. "No… no, she's waking up. Her breathing and heart rate are speeding up. God, she's waking up…" His relief was obvious, and he made no attempt whatsoever to hide it.
Dawn's smile mirrored Spike's and she breathed a sigh of relief as she got up. "I'll go tell the others."
"Don't you want to be here when she comes 'round?" he asked.
"No, I think she'd rather see you."
He smiled gratefully. "All right. Tell the others… but tell them to stay put, and I'll make sure Buffy's fine before she goes anywhere. I don't want her being crowded by them all."
She saluted. "Got it." With that, she bounded off down the stairs, leaving Spike to wait not-so-patiently for Buffy to fully wake up.
He took up Dawn's previous place on the edge of the bed and grasped one of the Slayer's hands in his own. A slight shock went down his arm, but he ignored it. She was definitely coming around; it was just a matter of time before she regained consciousness. He muttered all the while. "Come on, love… come on, you can do it. That's it… just wake up, come on… please…"
He lost track of how long he sat there. Dawn had obviously convinced the others to stay put, because nobody appeared at the door, and it was strangely silent downstairs. Although, he had to admit, his hearing was completely attuned to Buffy's heartbeat, and he probably wouldn't have noticed if a bomb had gone off. Finally, to his utter relief, she started moving again; he released her hand, and waited. Her eyes opened, slowly, and for a brief moment, she panicked, obviously remembering the final phase of her ordeal. She sat up, looking around wildly, and began scratching roughly at both of her lower arms – they were looking decidedly red, Spike noted, no doubt from the sheer force with which the Dark Magic had purged from her system, and not helped in the slightest by the remaining magic within her – and then, suddenly, she focussed on him, and everything was calm.
Her scratching stopped straight away, just short of drawing blood by the look of the angry red marks she'd left behind. She stared at him, slightly bemusedly, then took in her surroundings properly, becoming more relieved as she realised where she was. Then, suspiciously, she looked down, even more relieved to discover she was fully clothed, and focussed back on Spike again.
Nothing happened for a good five seconds.
Then, with a cry of relief, she flung her arms around him, unaware of the slight jerk he gave as another shock ran through him. He ignored it, holding her close until she'd calmed down, as she was still incredibly jumpy. Eventually, he said, "Welcome back, love…"
She pulled out of his arms and looked at him, confused. "What happened?"
"You tell me." She frowned, and began scratching at her arms again, less viciously than before. "What do you remember?"
"I… uh…" She struggled for a while, then a light seemed to come on. "Oh, yeah… I finally managed to get that damned magic out of me, and then… I remember being thrown backwards… and then… nothing. Until just now."
"Well, that's good. At least you haven't lost your memory."
She scratched harder, the itch getting worse and making her decidedly tetchier than she should have been. She knew it was wrong to take it out on Spike, but there was nobody else around, and it wasn't as if she couldn't make up for it later – they were still long overdue on a Conversation, and one more apology wouldn't hurt to add to the list, after all. "Cut the crap, Spike. What happened after that?"
"It knocked you out, as you can probably guess. We couldn't wake you, so we just brought you back here. Everyone's downstairs recovering, and the books are back at the Magic Box in a safe place."
"So it worked?"
"It worked," he clarified, smiling. "You did it."
That made her feel slightly better, but the itch soon blackened her mood again. "God, why does everything itch so damn much? My arms feel like they're on fire."
Spike, noticing that she'd finally succeeded in drawing blood, pulled her hands away and kept a hold of them, by now so used to the shocks that he barely noticed them. "That's the other thing. Um…"
"What?"
"Well, you managed to get all the Dark stuff back into the books where it belongs, but… the magic that Giles borrowed from the coven, that Willow took from him, is now still in you."
"Why didn't it just leave with the rest of it?"
"Don't know. Dark Magic didn't want it, I reckon. Anyway, we're still figuring out what to do about that, but that's probably why your arms itch. You purged that magic pretty fast, you know."
"Yeah, and Willow lied. She said it was 'tingly'…" Buffy pouted. It was enough, combined with his relief at her being conscious, to send Spike into a fit of laughter, much to her consternation. "Gee, thanks. Some help you are." Spike's laughter was infectious, however, and she couldn't help but smile.
He stopped, wiping an amused tear from his eye. "Sorry, love. I'm just… I'm just happy to see you awake." Letting go of one of her hands, he reached up to stroke her cheek. He noticed that, for the first time, she leaned into his touch; before, she would have remained stock still, fighting against it. "You had me so worried."
Taking a deep, calming, refreshing breath, she said, "I had me worried for a while, too. It was scary out there for a while. But hey, I did it." Now that everything made slightly more sense, her mood was lightening. "I wish my arms would stop itching, though…"
He let go of her completely and got up. "Do you have any cream or anything?"
"Yeah, I think there's some in the bathroom." The statement came out before she had time to think about it, and she instantly wanted to take it back. His eyes filled with fear and self-loathing almost instantaneously at the mere mention her bathroom. He refused to meet her gaze. It was time to put this particular demon to sleep for good. "Spike…" He mumbled something she didn't catch, which was probably something self-hatey anyway. "It's okay… There's nothing in, outside, around, or to do with that room that can hurt you." Understanding her meaning, he looked at her, the same deep sadness in his features that she'd seen on his return. "I promise…"
He thanked her with a look that said more than he could work out the words for, and, determined, headed for the bathroom. He got in and out of there as quickly as possible, and without looking up until he got to the medicine cabinet, from which he quickly retrieved an antiseptic cream, and got out of there as fast as he could, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it and breathed out, calming himself down. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, ready to face up to what had happened in there, but at least he'd succeeded in helping Buffy.
He went back into her room and handed her the tube of cream, which she took, gratefully, as he sat back down again, this time in the chair he'd been originally occupying. As she began to apply the antiseptic to her arms, she glanced across at Spike, to make sure he was all right. He looked like he'd fought a war single-handed, and had buried his head in his hands, elbow resting on his knees. "See?" she said, attracting his attention. "You survived."
He looked up. "Yeah. Only just, though…"
"It's okay, Spike. I know it's difficult, but… it'll get easier. Trust me."
"I do," he said, and then another uncomfortable silence fell between them. Something wasn't quite right, Buffy realised. She remembered full well what the last thing she'd said to him was before she ran off to save the world again, and she was pretty damn sure he heard her. In which case, why hadn't he even mentioned it yet? He hadn't even alluded to it in any way whatsoever. Just as she was about to question him about it, she worked out why he hadn't. He wasn't going to push her this time. He wanted to talk it out just as much as she did.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to just reassure it. "Spike?"
"Yes?"
"You remember… that thing I said? Back at the building site?" He nodded, looking terrified she was going to renounce the statement. "I want you to know that… I meant it." He didn't reply, so she added, "I meant it then… and I mean it now… and I'll still mean it tomorrow." He smiled, but continued saying nothing. Under the circumstances, however, she didn't blame him. It was then that she noticed he was watching her intensely. "What?"
Finally, he spoke. "You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now…"
"Well, why aren't you?"
"Because…" he began, then stopped, and instead of explaining, he pointed at her. She looked incredibly confused.
"Now what?"
"Bloody hell, haven't you ever seen the ceiling of the Sistine?" He received a blank stare in response. "All right, fine, E.T., then."
"Ohhh," she said, getting it. Copying his gesture, she pointed, and brought her fingertip to his. A very large spark flew before she made contact, causing them both to jerk their hands back again. "Cool!" she said, shaking her hand to rid the pain. "Major 'ow', but… cool…"
"Exactly, and now you see why I'm not…"
"Oh, well…" she said, only mildly disappointed. "But hey, we've got sparks flying. That's gotta be a good sign, right?" She smiled warmly. He smiled back, mutual understanding passing between them for once. This, however, was a conversation that they'd have to continue at a more opportune time.
"You ready to go down and show the others you're okay?"
"Yeah," she said, getting up. "I bet they've been worried, too, huh?"
"Of course, pet. Giles especially. I think he blames himself, a bit."
"He always does when I get hurt."
Their conversation descended into friendly banter as they headed down the stairs, and at the bottom, Buffy was greeted by a row of five worried faces, which slowly changed to relief as her friends saw she was obviously unscathed. Then, she was enveloped in five different hugs, although only briefly, and each one accompanied by an "Ow!" – she could tell being electrified wasn't going to be fun once the novelty wore off.
As a group, they all headed into the lounge, where Xander presented her with a plate of omelettes. "We saved you some breakfast," he said. "Just in case."
"Thanks." She started tucking into it, realising how hungry she was as she did so. "And you guys all owe me a bunch of hugs when I'm back to normal." They laughed nervously, which worried her. "I am going to get back to normal, right? Giles?"
The ex-Watcher avoided her gaze out of habit, sighing wearily. For some reason, it always fell on him to break the news to her. Unfortunately, as he'd discovered, there was no other option. So, preparing himself for an argument, he looked up to face her, wondering exactly how she was going to take the news…
To be continued…
A/N: Haha! Sorry about the cliffhanger, but this was starting to write itself out of control. And look! I gave y'all Spuffy! Aren't you proud of me? Anyway, hopefully, the next chapter'll be here soonish as I know pretty much what's happening in it, but until then, keep on reviewing, people! I've beaten 150, and I'm aiming for 200 before this thing is out. You know what to do…
