**A/N: Well, it's been a long, slow road from beginning to end, but I think it was worth it. This fic has been my baby since a disembodied Spike first popped into my head. I have to tell ya, I didn't think I'd ever finish it, but I did! :D Thank God!!! Anyway, here's the final chapter, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. P.S. - the die thing? Totally solved!! ;) ~Chelle~**


****

"You've been stuck in Limbo because the Powers can't decide what to do with you. They could send you to Judgement, which is normally where people go after Life. However, you're not exactly a normal person. Vampires usually go straight to Hell, but you are the only one to have ever sought a soul. The Powers wanted to reward you somehow, but I believe they were thinking along the lines of freeing you from the emotional turmoil your soul has left you in."

Spike didn't know what to say. He didn't like being told what to do, especially by the self-righteous Powers That Be. But he certainly didn't like the prospect of Hell either. There were definitely worse places to be stuck indefinitely - Limbo had been pretty good to him so far.

And now that he had his memories back he could talk to Cynthia and maybe they could figure out a way for her to be released…wait.

"They don't know how to repay me?" Spike asked. He glanced over at Tara, who was studying him intently. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"By all means," she nodded.

He lifted his hand and stared at it for a moment. How strange it was to see it, recognize it, know what it had done. The blood he'd spilt, the necks he'd snapped. The lives he'd destroyed.

"Let Cynthia go," he said finally. "She made a mistake, that's all. And it's Xander's fault anyhow, bringing Buffy back to life that first time. She's been in Limbo seven years - it's time for her to move on."

Tara met his eyes and saw everything she needed to know. Gently she eased them back into his dream and released his hand.

"But what about you?" she asked. "What should we do with you?"

Spike looked out onto the still water of his frozen dream, seeing Buffy clenched in the flaming hand, unmoving, trapped. Though her hair was lifted into the air, the wind was paused like everything else. Stop-motion theatre.

"I'll watch over Limbo. Bury the girls." He turned to her. "I killed two of them, loved a third. Shared a smoke with another. Knew one only in death. I know Slayers. It's the least I can do."

Tara smiled broadly at him and stepped forward. She cupped his face in both her hands and looked him straight in the eye. He stared back at her, unblinking, memorizing her face the way he wished he had done before she died.

"Tell Willow I will always love her," she whispered, unshed tears brightening her eyes.

He frowned. "What do you mean? I'm not gonna see -"

****

There was an incredible weight on his chest. He couldn't breathe, and though he didn't need to, it was distressing all the same. Panicking, he opened his eyes, but he could see nothing.

Spike thrashed his arms and hit something solid, metal. He grasped it and pushed. The sound of it bending screeched in his ears, echoing cacophonously. Dirt dislodged from somewhere above him and fell in his mouth and eyes.

He blinked through the falling debris and saw stone, cement, girders, and bodies. Lots of bodies.

'I'm in the Hellmouth', he realized.

Spike pulled himself out of the wreckage inch by agonizing inch, summoning up reserves of energy he didn't think existed. He was no longer wearing the Strand, he noticed, and remembered his meeting with Tara.

Had he done something wrong? Had he screwed it up somehow?

Finally on his own two feet, he took in his surroundings. The school basement was now a gaping crater, big enough for its own zip code. Through the jagged maw of the collapsed cavern he could see the sky - it was barely sundown, pink and purple along the horizon.

Carefully he picked his away across the battlefield, turning over bodies to see if they were anyone he knew. Had known.

He saw a mane of long brown hair and he cried out. Not Dawn, please not Dawn! Roughly Spike turned the girl over and sighed with relief, and then in sorrow. It was Amanda. Not Dawn, no, but Amanda.

But Vi wasn't there. Nor Rona, nor Faith, nor Kennedy and Willow. He could only hope they had escaped safely.

Exhausted, he somehow managed to climb the rock face and hauled himself into what had once been the school's main hallway. Spike could still see lockers and fluorescent lighting among the rubble, but the entire structure had collapsed. He wandered over the uneven hills of rubble, stumbling, sliding, falling.

By the time he found Anya's body he was too tired to dig it out.

He left it and moved on.

****

Three hours later the moon was high in the sky and Spike was still trudging through the remains of Sunnydale. Normally, he could make it from one end of town to the other in the same amount of time, but the irregularity of the rubble made walking difficult and tiresome.

He was cold, hungry, tired, filthy, lonely, and - he reluctantly admitted - a little scared. He was worried about Cynthia. He was worried about Tara. He was worried his dream had been real. He was worried Limbo wasn't.

He was worried about Buffy and Dawn, about the new Slayers, about what was going to happen now. But his greatest worry was that he'd find the bus among the destruction, battered, burnt. He was afraid they too would be dead.

When the first drops of rain began to fall, Spike decided it was time to rest. He found an alcove of rock and hunkered down in it, pulling his leather duster tighter around himself.

As the rain became torrential and his body completely soaked and muddy, he gave up on consciousness and fell into a fitful sleep.

****

Buffy watched Cordelia's sleeping form. From the gentle rise and fall of her chest she knew the other girl was still alive. The coma was deep, she knew, but her old friend looked so utterly dead.

In the building around her, various people were moving about. Giles was making numerous phone calls to his colleagues in England, Fred was chattering away to Willow as they catalogued the weapons from Sunnydale, and Angel was ordering movers around, take this couch there, get rid of that coat stand. The new Slayers were trying to sleep through it, but most of them were wide awake, tossing and turning in their beds.

They'd arrived at the Hyperion just two days earlier after driving all day, with only a stop to deliver their wounded to Memorial Hospital. Angel had welcomed them to the hotel, though it was in a state of disarray from the devoted supporters of Grace.

Now that he'd acquired Wolfram & Hart, Angel had the money to restore the Hyperion to its original glory. The Scoobies and their extended family were to be its first occupants.

Though the constant babble in the building was keeping everyone else up, Buffy was awake for other reasons. Primarily, because sleep would not come.

She had tried on the bus, she had tried in her bed, she had tried after a warm bath - nothing. Nada. It didn't matter that she was exhausted beyond reason, sleep kept eluding her.

So now she sat with Cordelia, keeping her company. She read to her from various books she pulled off Angel's bookshelf. She told her about what she'd missed while she'd been living in LA. She had braided her short black hair, then un-braided it, then braided it again.

And that was just today.

Buffy liked being with Cordelia because she didn't ask any difficult questions, like 'Why did you leave him?' and 'Did you really mean what you said?' Cordy didn't remind her of Spike or Anya or any of the other dead they'd left behind. She was neutral. She was beige.

Laying her head against the back of the chair Buffy tried to push the painful memories aside. Practicing one of Willow's breathing techniques she began centring herself, regaining control. Breathe in for three, hold for three, breathe out for three. In for three, hold for three, out for three. In, hold, out. In…out. In…

For the first time in days, she fell asleep.

****

She is standing in the high school. One of the hallways, though she can't place which one. School is in session, but the building is quiet. Like death.

Buffy walks down the hall, her heels tapping out a patient rhythm on the tiles.

"This isn't right," she says. She continues walking.

Rounding a corner, a girl comes into view. She is standing in front of the office, staring through the glass at the desks and offices beyond. Her hand is pressed against it. Buffy doesn't know her.

"Can I help you?" Buffy asks. The girl jumps in surprise and looks at her, frightened. She squints, mutters something to herself, tucks her hair behind her ears.

"I'm looking for someone," the girl replies. Her voice is gentle, like silk, but she exudes a familiar confidence. She cocks her head, squints again. "Do I know you?" she asks.

"I don't think so," Buffy replies.

"You look real familiar," the girl insists, but Buffy shrugs.

"There's a lot of girls that look like me," she replies. "My name's Buffy, by the way."

The girl looks shocked, confused, and her mouth hangs open. Hesitantly, she extends a hand. "Cynthia," she whispers. "I'm Cynthia."

Buffy grasps her hand and smiles brightly.

****

Spike woke to a loud clap of thunder. It shook the ground and rattled his teeth. The rain had not let up. He groaned as he tried to shift positions.

"Bloody buggering Powers That Be!" he yelled into the open air. It didn't do him any good, but it made him feel marginally better.

Rolling over he closed his eyes and forced himself to rest. His body ached, his fingers and toes were numb, and he was hungry enough to start eating rats. If there had been any rats around, that is.

As he began to shiver he wondered what Cynthia was doing and if she was all right.

****

"Who are you looking for?" Buffy asks. Cynthia glances around the school.

"Spike."

"Spike?"

"Is he here?" she demands.

Buffy frowns. "He was. But he's gone now. I lost him."

"Are you dreaming?" Cynthia asks.

Slowly Buffy nods. "Yes. I'm dreaming. I haven't slept since I lost him. No wonder this dream is weird."

Cynthia shifts from foot to foot in agitation. "What the hell is going on here?" she asks herself.

"Why are you looking for him?" Buffy asks.

Cynthia sighs and rubs her face. "He disappeared. One minute I was dumping him on his bed, the next he was gone and I was here."

"You lost him too."

She looks hard at Buffy. "He's not gone."

Buffy doesn't reply, doesn't move.

"He's not gone. And if there's one thing I've learned from him, it's that there's a reason for everything."

She steps away from the office and glances down the hall. "Where did you last see him?"

"In the basement," Buffy replies, heading in that direction.

She opens the door and the two Slayers walk down the steps. They wander through the maze-like basement before coming to a large metal door.

"We were in here," Buffy whispers. She places her hand on the door, mimicking Cynthia's movement from before. "I left him. I couldn't stay any longer. He made me go."

She glances at the other girl. "But I wish he hadn't."

Cynthia reaches forward and pulls the door open. Both girls peer inside. They are assaulted by the sights and sounds of a raging battle. Spike is there, fighting the Turok-Han alone. He is one man against thousands.

"This isn't right," Buffy whispers. Cynthia takes her by the arm and leads her into the fray.

"This isn't how it happened?" she asks. Buffy shakes her head.

"We had won, but he was trapped. His soul was being torn from him, he was burning up, and he wouldn't come with me!" Buffy chokes back a sob. "He wanted to see the end."

"But it's not over," Cynthia replies.

"What?"

"The world didn't end, evil wasn't vanquished - it's not over."

Buffy watches as Spike spins and plunges and dodges and punches. He is liquid death. He is winning.

"He's a survivor," she whispers.

"Yes," Cynthia agrees. "He survived."

****

He survived.

Buffy jolted awake, falling off her chair. Sweat had plastered her hair to her forehead, her hands were clammy, her breathing erratic.

A Slayer dream.

He survived.

She rose shakily to her feet, stumbling across the room and out the door. Racing down the hallway she sped past her friends, her family. She practically leaped down the stairs in her panic and arrived dishevelled and wild at her Watcher's feet.

"We left him!" she cried out. Giles and Angel exchanged concerned glances.

"What are you talking about?" Giles asked.

Buffy shook her head in dismay. "He's not dead. We left him behind! We have to go back, Giles. We have to!"

"Who? Spike?" Angel took hold of her arms and made her look him in the eye.

"I had a Slayer dream," she whispered. "He survived."

"Are you quite sure it was a Slayer dream?" Giles asked. He had taken off his glasses and was practically cleaning a hole through them.

"I haven't slept in days, I thought it was just weird, but…there was someone there. Someone real. She told me he survived."

By now Willow, Xander, Faith and Dawn had been summoned by the witnesses to Buffy's slight breakdown. They gathered around the trio in the lobby and listened in.

"Angel, I have to go back. I have to make sure. You know I do. And I'll go alone if I have to, but -"

"I'll go," Faith said. Buffy turned and noticed her friends for the first time.

"Me too," Willow added and took one of Buffy's hands in her own.

"Really?" she asked. Willow squeezed her hand and Faith shrugged.

The witch began pushing the two Slayers out the door, Angel and Dawn close on their heels.

"I'll drive," he insisted as Buffy reached for the key hook. "I don't want to take that bus of yours anywhere."

****

When Spike awoke once more it was to the sound of his name being spoken by a familiar voice. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and squinted into the dark.

"Spike?"

He rolled over quickly and grabbed her arms. "Cynthia?!"

She grinned at him and threw her arms around his body. He pressed her against his chest and cupped the back of her head, her drenched hair dripping down his collar.

"What happened?" he asked as she finally pulled away.

"You did it," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"What did I do?"

"You set me free."

He sighed in relief and hugged her to him again. "I wasn't sure if it worked! I was supposed to take your place, but next thing I knew I was back in Sunnydale."

She nodded. "You made a decision that proved to the Powers that your sacrifice wasn't just to save those you cared about, but was for the good of all and in repentance for your sins."

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yep. I got a visit from a girl named Tara and she explained the whole thing. Then she told me that I could go as long as I did one last thing."

"What was it?" he asked.

"Spike!"

He turned his head and saw flashlight beams bouncing across the rubble. It was Angel. Faith was a few metres further back, sweeping her light in a steady search pattern.

They called his name again.

"I brought her to you," Cynthia answered.

Another voice called his name and he felt something inside him warm.

Buffy.

"I have to go now," Cynthia told him. He turned his attention back to her and noticed that her form had begun to fade. "I want to give you something before I do."

She reached into her pocket and withdrew the die that he'd uncovered in her closet. With a wistful smile she placed it in his palm and closed his fist around it.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," he replied. And then she was gone.

"Spike! Are you here?"

He stood up, die clenched firmly in his hand. He felt strong again. Whole. He had survived.

"Over here!" he called out and climbed atop a large boulder.

About ten feet away, Buffy whipped around, flashlight focusing on his face just long enough to blind him before dropping it to the ground and screaming in shock and excitement. With Slayer speed she crossed the precarious distance between them and leapt into his arms.

The rain was still pouring down on them, but neither noticed or cared as her warm body wrapped around his, her wet hair still smelling of her shampoo. Her fingers ghosted his face as she stared at him in wonder.

He smiled. She laughed.

Her lips claimed his in a desperate declaration of life and love. Their hands frantically roamed each other's bodies, haunted by the loss they'd endured. Spike trailed a line of kisses down her neck, all the while she whispered to him how she had missed him, thought him dead, hadn't been sleeping, and that she loved him.

When she said those three words again he pulled back and stared into her eyes. The others had finally caught up, dancing their lights across the couple. He glanced at them, pausing on Dawn, remembering the body of Amanda and how afraid he'd been that it was his precious Nibblet.

Buffy held his face and turned it towards her once more. "I love you," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Then she kissed him again, gentle and undemanding.

Faith cleared her throat in mock disgust and Spike pulled away from Buffy sheepishly. He set her down on the ground but kept one arm firmly around her waist. Buffy smiled up at him, practically glowing.

"What do you have there?" Willow asked, pointing to his closed fist. Everyone watched as he opened his palm and revealed Cynthia's die. It was resting on one.

"A die?" Buffy questioned, leaning her head against his chest. Her heart was beating wildly - he could feel it through her chest. She was relaxed, cheerful, bright.

All at once it seemed to Spike that everything would be fine. Life would be perfect with her in his life. And he knew now that what Cynthia had given him was not this cube of plastic, but something much, much more important.

"No," he replied, placing a loving kiss across her brow. "I have The One."

The End

For updates on any of aphelant's other Buffy and Enterprise fic, poetry, or prose, please e-mail her at: aphelant@livejournal.com, subject heading 'Add Me'!