*One more check on the spell translation to make sure it's all okay, then all we need to do is wait for Mercury to get in alignment... and kill a baby deer.*
Her good mood deflated considerably. As soon as that part of the spell had been translated, she had started searching for acceptable substitutions for the fawn's blood. Unfortunately, all of the permissible alternatives ranked just as bad or even worse on the squick-o-meter, so fawn's blood it was.
*That's what it takes, so that's what it'll be... I just wish it could have been almost anything else. I mean, why isn't a sacrifice ever something kind of oogy, like... like a bat or a snake or something? But then bats are kinda cute... and snakes may not be cuddly, but they're ecologically important...*
She absently kicked a stone out of her path as she kept walking.
*None of that really matters - not now. I have to do it for Buffy. If she could die twice to save us all, I can sure as heck kill a baby deer to save her.*
Though that thought didn't return her good mood, it did serve to strengthen her resolve. She might not be able to change the past, but she could make a darned big improvement to the present. She could fix it, in just a little while.
*It won't be much longer, I promise - just hold on Buffy, wherever you are.*
Willow climbed the front steps and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, she slipped off her backpack, sighing in relief as the weight came off her shoulders. Slinging it aside, she closed the door, shutting out the afternoon sun. Turning to walk into the kitchen, she hit a cool, hard chest, and leapt back with a gasp.
"Afternoon, Red," Spike drawled.
As she recovered from her fright, she took in the vampire's appearance - his knuckles were skinned, his lip cut, and his clothes dishevelled. Obviously, he had managed to find a fight (or several of them) during the daylight hours, so that meant there was something bothering him. Whenever Spike was wound up about something, he used violence as his medicine. However, when self-medicating with physical mayhem failed to cure his bad moods, he had a tendency to inflict them on anyone who happened to be handy. Usually, that meant he would just be snarkier and surlier than normal, but apparently he'd decided that giving Willow the willies made for a nice change of pace...
"Spike," the witch sighed in a mixture of relief and annoyance, "I know you like to make sure you can still put the scare on, but I could really do without the heart attack, okay? Mortal here - kinda need a heartbeat. Want to tell me what's wrong?"
"What makes you think something's wrong, luv?" he asked winningly.
"Oh, I don't know - the fact you that you've spent the afternoon hitting things, which you practically never do during the day unless you're upset, the fact that you're acting like a doofus for no apparent reason, and while the time of day thing doesn't apply to doofus-ness, ditto otherwise - call it a guess. So what's up?"
"With me? Not a bloody thing."
"Good. Think you can save your bad mood for patrol tonight? There's a couple of Fyarl demons that have been spotted near..."
"I am bloody curious as to what's up with you though," he interrupted brightly.
"Right now, my temper," Willow replied, exasperated. "Look: if you want to tell me what's wrong, fine, I'll see what I can do to help. If you don't want to tell me what's wrong, that's fine too - just keep it to yourself and quit being such a poophead. You're starting to piss me off."
"Right - wouldn't want to do that, would I? Wouldn't be smart, seein' as you went one-on-one with a bloody Hellgoddess, an' look who's not here. Only a bleedin' idiot would go out of his way to get on the shit list of a witch what has the kind of power you do," he said, pausing. "So I apologize, Red. You're right, I've been a tosser. An' I know just what I can do to make it up to you."
"Oh, the suspense," Willow muttered, pinching her nose.
"As happens, what I've got in mind benefits both of us." Spike's tone was earnest, but it changed when he continued to speak, gradually becoming venomous. "See, I know where there's some deer just outside town. I'll just nip up there tonight, cut a young one from the herd, snap its neck, an' drain the blood for you. You get your fawn's blood, I get to exercise me predatory instincts, an' I'll even promise not to sample the goods."
Willow could only gape in shock. Just in case Spike or Dawn ever discovered their plans, at one point she had actually roughed out an explanation in advance, though she had been certain it would never be needed. However, surprise had apparently caused the connection between her brain and her mouth to short out, leaving her unable to utter a single word of it. And it was a good one, too. She had been so sure their plans would remain undetected...
"'Course, I don't know if there's some ritual what needs doin' during the bloodletting," Spike mused thoughtfully, "but not to worry, Red. I've done a few in my time. Jus' tell me which one you need, an' I can handle that too. You won't have to sully your lily-white hands with Bambi blood."
By this point, the redhead had started to recover, her thoughts rapidly congealing into a logical order again. The first thing she had to do was find out exactly how much the vampire actually knew, without giving anything further away.
"H-how did you know I might need some fawn's blood?" Willow managed at last.
Spike pulled out a sheet of paper from his duster pocket, and shook it out with a flourish. Menacingly, he stalked forward and held it in front of her nose.
"Same way I know you need these other little trinkets. Might want to be a bit more careful with your bookmarks, luv," he hissed, his eyes flashing gold. "Now do you want to tell me just what in hell you're playing at?"
"Playing? Is that what you think I'm doing?" she demanded shrilly, snatching the paper from him, even as her eyes frantically raked over the words she had written on it. Oh poop... this doesn't leave much to the imagination. Now what?
"You tell me," he snarled.
Willow took a steadying breath before answering him, trying to rein in her emotions. They hadn't wanted the vampire to find out at all, much less find out like this, but now that he knew... maybe she could get him on board with the plan. It was what Tara had suggested at the beginning, and maybe she had been right all along. Time to find out...
"I'm not big into games, Spike. And this," she said as she clutched the paper, "is no game. I know what I'm doing. Fine - you know some magic, so I don't have to tell you what this is for, do I?"
"Depends if I'm right, doesn't it? Can you stand there an' tell me that the makings of the mojo on that page aren't for a sodding resurrection spell? CAN YOU?!"
"NO!"
The rage that transformed his face was terrible, and for a moment, Willow thought that chip or not, he was going to strike her. But instead, he roared. The noise was deafening, full of anger and bitter heartbreak, and once it was over, Spike slumped back against the wall. The witch regarded him warily, defensive spells at the ready, just in case a more violent outburst was forthcoming. He made no move toward her, however; he simply clenched his fists and slowly pressed them to his sides. Finally, he spoke.
"Why, Red? Why are you lookin' to do this to her?"
"I'm not doing anything except saving her!"
"Saving her," Spike repeated flatly.
"Yes, saving her! First of all, this spell? Not what you think. No zombification, no golem-izing, no undead-thing-that-only-looks-like-Buffy ickiness - this spell is the real deal. It brings back the person, body and soul intact. If I wasn't absolutely positive it did, do you think there's any way I'd even think about trying it? She was my best friend! If I had even the slightest doubt about the spell, I'd drop it in a hot second, and find another way to save her!"
"Save her from what, exactly?! She's dead, remember? It's not like there's a worry some beastie's gonna make 'er any deader!"
"You don't understand!"
"So make me! Make me understand why you want to take 'er from the only peace she's ever known since she was bloody fifteen!"
"I don't! And I wouldn't! I'm doing this because she's not at peace, Spike! She's not. Yes, her body's here, and it's dead enough - but her soul isn't here, it's in whatever hell dimension Glory called home! And I don't know about you, but I'm not going to just leave her there to suffer! Not when there's something I can do to get her out!"
The vampire stared at the witch in stupefaction, but eventually he managed to find his voice again.
"Good speech, luv - very stirring. Convincing too, I've no doubt," he said acidly. "One tiny flaw with the plan, though - you're wrong. She's nowhere bloody near a hell dimension, try goin' in the opposite direction!"
"And you would know this how, Mr. 'I'm evil, remember'? You saw her close the portal - how do you know she's not wherever it went to?!"
"I know," Spike said, enunciating every word, "because I'm dead, remember? Yes, I saw 'er close the portal, just like you did - but you didn't see what happened after, 'cos you couldn't! I could - an' I did!"
"Fine," Willow said, crossing her arms. "So tell me what it was you saw - assuming whatever it was wasn't the result of cracking your skull after a twenty-storey fall."
Spike glared at her.
"It was while you lot were standin' around 'er body," he began stonily. "I'd just managed to get up, and I'd started to walk over. I'd seen the whole thing, I knew she was gone... knew what you were all gatherin' around was a corpse. But I couldn't see from where I was... an' I had to see. Hadn't gotten very far before I saw somethin' right enough, but it wasn't her body - it was her."
"Are you saying you saw Buffy's ghost?" Willow asked in disbelief.
"Not her ghost," Spike said quietly. "Though I suppose that's what she would've become if she'd stayed."
"What do you mean, 'if she stayed'? Where did she go?"
"Where she had to go."
"Which is to say you don't know where she is!"
"Which is to say I saw who picked 'er up while you lot were standin' there!"
"Someone took her away? Was it one of the things from the portal?" Willow demanded. "Why didn't you try to stop them?!"
Spike closed his eyes, took a deep, superfluous breath, and tried to count to ten. It worked better than it usually did - he almost made it to six before his mouth got the better of what remained of his patience.
"You know," he said slowly, his voice carefully measured, "for a powerful witch, and a walking brain, sometimes you can be so bloody thick it staggers me. Who do you think picks you up when you die, Red? Want to tell me how I could stop Death herself?"
"Wh... death?" Willow said, puzzled. She knew the different gods and goddesses of death of many different pantheons - heck, in a couple of weeks, they were going to appeal to one of them - but she had never thought of death as an independent entity. Apart from the clinical definition of no heartbeat, no spontaneous respiration, and no brain activity, that is.
"Death," Spike repeated. "Of the Endless. One of the Seven. Sister to Dream. Speaks to mortals when they're born, an' picks 'em up when they die. Guides 'em to what lies beyond their mortal years. Presides over the Sunless Lands you make mention of in your invocation. Ringing any bells?" Spike asked sarcastically.
"Are you saying 'death' is an actual person?"
"I'm not sure she's... look, can we get into a bloody philosophical debate some other time? Whatever she is, it's neither here nor there at the moment," he said, impatient. "Fact is, I saw Buffy go with her..."
"And how do you know that who - or what - took Buffy is who you think it was?" Willow interrupted.
"A chap tends to remember the one what takes 'is hand while he dies - especially if the one killing 'im at the time can't see anyone there," he snapped. "I bloody well met the chit when I shuffled off the mortal coil, I remember what she looks like!"
"Okay, let's say that you're right, that Death," Willow said, making quotation marks with her fingers as she said the word, "took Buffy, just like you said. That still doesn't mean anything - it just means that Buffy's dead, it doesn't tell us where she is."
"Bloody hell, woman, would you listen to yourself?" Spike cried in exasperation. "I told you, Death comes for you when you die, an' then she brings you to your bloody afterlife - that's her job! Buffy's where she belongs now - and it sure as hell isn't wherever the late, unlamented Bitchgoddess of Skank was headed!"
"And how do you know? Death, or whoever, could have taken her anyplace, how do you know she's not in hell?"
"BECAUSE I BLOODY WELL ASKED! DID YOU?!"
Spike's shout rang from the walls, and Willow's reaction - shrinking back, mouth gaping as she seemed to be trying deliver an answer her brain didn't have available at the moment - confirmed what he had already suspected.
"You didn't, did you?" he asked, his voice soft, dangerous.
"Who was I supposed to ask?" she blustered. "Being alive, I'm not really privy to the whole conversation-with-Death thing you say you had!"
The vampire's temper was very close to slipping its leash once again, part of his mind wondering if he broke her neck quickly enough, maybe the pain from the chip wouldn't be so bad - like ripping off a band-aid, instead of picking at it... Bit wouldn't like it, though, he told himself. Or Tara. Or the Whelp, not that I give a toss about him. But she was Buffy's friend. Buffy wouldn't want me to - an' anyway, we need her, he grudgingly admitted.
"Ever hear of an ouija board? Or a bloody seance?" he asked, scornfully. "Batty old biddies whose only links to witchcraft are a predilection for cats and an herb garden have managed to contact the great beyond - you tellin' me you couldn't handle it?"
Willow's face flushed, in an equal mixture of anger and embarrassment - neither had occurred to her. And why should they have? she thought furiously. They had all seen Buffy go through the portal. They knew Glory had opened it to go home, and they knew it was a hell-dimension she was headed for. Ergo, Buffy was in hell. What was there to learn by trying to contact her spirit, apart from how badly she was suffering there? He's wrong. He has to be... even Anya said I was right. Heck, if Anya and I agree on something, there's no way it can't be true.
"I think you have a pretty good idea of what I can handle, Spike," she said, her voice tight. "I didn't do those things because there wasn't any need for it. Buffy went through a portal and her soul went into a hell dimension."
"You thought Buffy's soul went into a hell dimension," he growled. "Like I just told you, it didn't, an' I have it on the bloody authority of the one most likely to know. But if you still don't believe me, an' want to find out for certain, we can do it right now. Don't know if you or Glinda keep an ouija board about, but a seance is easy enough... an' you've likely got spells that can do the job just as well. So what's it gonna be?"
"Right now, nothing," Willow said resentfully. "Dawn will be home in a little while, and..."
"You didn't get the Nibblet involved in this, did you?" Spike interrupted harshly.
"Of course not!"
"She doesn't know anything about it at all?" he pressed.
"What do you take me for?" Willow said, indignant. "Did you think I'd just skip up to her and say 'Guess what Dawnie? Buffy didn't just die for you, she's suffering too, but not to worry, it'll just be months before we can rescue her'? She has enough to deal with!"
"Well, well, well - we agree on something," Spike said with mock surprise. "And unless you've started putting on royal airs, that 'we' means you brought the rest of the Scoobies in on this bloody scheme, didn't you?" Willow's response, which consisted of crossing her arms and glaring sullenly at him, was all the confirmation he needed. Just bloody wonderful... but this time I'm comin' through for you, Slayer, he thought. Couldn't save you before, love, but I can save you now. You've earned your peace, an' I'm not letting 'em take that from you too. "Fine then," he growled. "All of you, tonight, my crypt, we're having an après-slay meeting - it's time to nip this bloody farce in the bud. Bring whatever it is you think you'll need to do the job, and we'll find out where the Slayer really is."
"Fine," Willow said tightly.
Spike nodded firmly, then went into the living room to wait for Dawn. He was just settling onto the couch when Willow's eyes turned dark, and she whispered a single word.
"Sleep."
*************************
"Spike?"
The voice startled him into wakefulness, and the vampire blearily took in his surroundings. He was sprawled on the Summers sofa, and he couldn't remember what he was doing there - but then it came back to him. He'd wanted to tell Red not to worry about the Fyarl sighting, as he'd killed them both. Bloody brilliant fight that had been too, though it had knackered him to the point of falling asleep on the job...
"Spike? Are you OK?"
"Fine, Red," he replied, yawning as he slowly sat up. "Just a bit tired is all. Took care of a couple of Fyarl in the sewers - won't have to worry about 'em tonight. Didn't miss the Nibblet did I?"
"No, Dawn's not home yet. Did you want some blood or something? You look like you could use a pint."
"Don't mind if I do - thanks, luv."
As Willow went to warm some blood in the microwave, she flushed in a combination of relief, guilt and triumph. It worked - witch-fu saves the day! The spell was a simple one, tied to the very paper that in her carelessness, had given her away. Spike no longer had any memory of anything regarding the spell - all she had to do now was make sure he never laid eyes on that paper again, and he would never be the wiser.
She hadn't wanted to take this step, but it wasn't as if she'd had a choice. The vampire had been so deep in denial-land that he'd been willing to take what could only have been a concussion-induced hallucination over her conclusions - conclusions which were based on logic, rather than blunt trauma to the head.
She thought she was right, Tara thought she was right, Xander thought she was right, even Anya thought she was right. Spike had meant well - she'd give him that much, and how weird was it for a vampire to be meaning well? - but he wasn't right.
Judging from his reaction, getting him to see reason would have been impossible. When Spike made up his mind about something, it was no use arguing with him, and he'd been adamant that Buffy wasn't in Hell at all.
*Desperate to keep his fantasy going - he just can't deal with the truth* she thought sadly.
She was hardly unsympathetic. She had seen how deeply Buffy's death had affected the vampire - heck, after Buffy died, she had been the one to suggest they keep an eye on him in case he decided to try getting a tan - and how he blamed himself for what had happened. She had gone through that herself at the same time, for heaven's sake. However, she had been able to move past it - her emotions hadn't prevented her from being able to look at things analytically. Spike obviously hadn't gotten to the point where he could do that. If he had, he would have looked that the facts and come to the same conclusion that she had - Buffy was in trouble, and this time, they could save her.
Instead, his grief had blinded him to reason, and she had found herself forced to take action. If she hadn't, he would have tried to stop them somehow, and as a result, Buffy could have been trapped forever. Adjusting the vampire's memory was the easiest and least painful method of making sure he wouldn't interfere.
Interference could take many different forms, however; that was why she had already decided not to let the others know about Spike's allegations, or what she had done in response to them. Spike's insistence that Buffy didn't need saving - what I wouldn't give for that to be true! - only would have caused them to doubt themselves, and that was the last thing they needed. Doubt would divide them, and now was the time they all needed to pull together.
*We're only going to have one shot at this - we have to make it count. If we screw up, Buffy's stuck where she is forever. We need to focus, and we can't let anything get in the way.*
On that thought, the microwave beeped. Willow took out the mug and started for the living room - but the pricking of her conscience caused her to make a small detour. Setting the mug down, she stopped at the refrigerator, where a quick hunt turned up the remains of Giles' stash of imported pale ale. Not cookies, but it'll do. Snagging a bottle, she closed the refrigerator, retrieved the mug and brought both to the vampire.
"Here you go," she said, setting the bottle on the end table as she handed him the blood.
"What's this? Special occasion?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the beer.
"You looked like you needed it," she said with a small smile. "Killing a couple of Fyarls should qualify anyone for Miller time - or Fuller time, as the case may be."
"Fair enough - ta, Red."
Taking a long draught of the blood, he put his feet up on the coffee table, and reached for the remote as Willow went back to the kitchen.
She heard the television come to life as she started getting dinner ready. Just like every other night, she reflected, pleased with herself, when it could have been so different. And it will be different - but in a good way - in less than two weeks.
Everything was going to work out for the best - she was going to make sure of it.
Nothing could stop them now.
*************************
An ocean away, Rupert Giles lay awake in bed, thinking.
*This was a good idea*
It had taken him over three months to start coming to terms with Buffy's death, and he doubted he would have begun the process at all had he not relocated to England. Immediately after his arrival, he had been too caught up in mundane matters to grieve at first. The necessity of finding a flat, moving his belongings and setting up house had been just enough to keep his mind off his loss - for a time at least.
Giles had barely finished moving in when he found Quentin Travers himself at his door. The man had come to offer the Council's condolences personally, and given the bad blood between them, Giles had to give him credit for taking that step. He'd accepted Travers' sympathy as graciously as he could manage, and stoically agreed to come before the Council to give his final report in a week's time. What he hadn't expected was the appointment card Travers had handed him for the counsellor, with the assurance that the Council would foot the bill...
"We never saw eye to eye, Rupert, but in your way, you and Miss Summers worked as tirelessly for the cause as any Watcher and Slayer must. Despite your... estrangement from the Council, we have not forgotten that fact. You know Dr. Brownthwaite - he's agreed to see you whenever and as often as you might require. I would urge you to make use of his services. I would also like to say that I can understand how close you were to Buffy, but we both know that it would be a lie."
He'd given Quentin a sharp look, and the man simply gave a small smile as he continued.
"I daresay if I could, we might never have been at loggerheads in the first place." Travers' expression became solemn, and there was - surprisingly enough - real compassion in his eyes as he extended his hand. "She was an extraordinary young woman, Rupert. I'm so very sorry for your loss."
The counselling sessions had been a great help, and with time, his recovery began. The surroundings had helped - the beauty and antiquity of the Bath scenery were soothing to his mind and heart. The ruins put him in mind of Slayers of long ago, who had fought and died to ensure that there would continue to be people and civilizations to create such monuments. Such thoughts reminded him that ultimately, a Slayer's legacy - Buffy's legacy -was the world and everything in it.
With that reminder, he realized that while she was gone, every day - every blessed moment - was a gift from her, to make of it what he would.
He would honour that gift.
He would live.
A soft kiss was pressed between his shoulder blades, and he turned over with a smile. Olivia reclined on her side, palm under her chin, and a self-satisfied look on her face.
"So," she said, eyes sparkling, "have I convinced you of the many charms of a Cotswolds bed-and-breakfast holiday?"
"That would entail some comparison studies, " he said, looking thoughtful. "It occurs to me that had I embarked on this holiday in my own company, instead of in yours, the charms in question would have been considerably diminished."
"Ever the gallant, Rupert," she smiled.
"One tries. The equally true answer to your question," he said, taking her in his arms, "is yes, you have convinced me, and I accede to your superior wisdom - a fortnight in the country with no distractions is exactly what I needed."
"Good answer," she breathed, and moved to kiss him...
They made love again, and later, as he watched Olivia fall asleep, he thought to himself...
*This was a very good idea*