Things Change
Chapter One

Author's Note: This fic won the following in the Barefoot Awards in 2002:

RUNNER-UP in the Tantrum Teens Award

WINNER in the Teens and Preteens section of the Daddy Award

WINNER in the Teens section of the Sitting In A Tree Award

The black car was as battered as its occupant and almost as old. A bottle flew out of the window and crashed into the tree, shattering into a million pieces.

The man sighed deeply.

Out of alcohol. Damn.

The door swung open and the squeak of its hinges betrayed what it had been through, which was a lot over the years. One large black boot hit the grass of the cemetery and the man gripped the sides of the door to haul himself out. He glanced around and smiled weakly. It had been a long time since he had smiled and it now felt unnatural.

He wondered where she was, if she was anywhere near. He needed to do this, he'd decided a long time ago that there were things he couldn't change or make better, but this wasn't one of those things. This was something he could apologise for and maybe it wouldn't make it better, but at least he could say he'd tried.

Then again, maybe he wouldn't say anything about this in years to come; maybe he'd just be dust, another handful on the breeze, irritating childhood asthma.

But at least he could say he went out on the end of a Slayer's stake.

He swung around when he heard the sounds of a fight beyond the trees. He jumped over the bonnet of the car and stalked quietly to the trees. He just wanted a glimpse, that was all. He peered through the leaves and stared at the Slayer. She fought with the vibrant energy he remembered so well, a broad grin on her face as she rammed a stake into the vampire's chest then turned to meet the next one. Dark blonde hair flowed out behind her and the black boots she wore danced over the grass. When the vamp was dusted, she stopped and stretched her bare arms, sighing happily.

There was something different about her and when she turned, he realised just what was wrong.

Her hair was curly and dark blonde, her face pale and her green eyes large. She was pretty and very much like his Slayer, but she wasn't her. She was a Slayer, but she wasn't his Slayer.

And that could only mean one thing.

His Slayer was dead.

The man turned away from the scene, so he didn't see her run in the direction of a scream. With a clenched jaw, he walked slowly back to the car. He slumped inside and revved the engine angrily. The man, who had only just come to some sort of peace with himself, roared out of the Sunnydale cemetery and along a route that was still familiar, even after all these years.

His Slayer was dead.

But there was still something he had to do.

And Spike, the Master Vampire, was going to do it; he wasn't going to run away.

She stretched her arms and sighed happily. She looked around for her brother, but he was no where to be seen. She wasn't worried, just irritated, but then again he usually did go off, she knew that, but she had never been a very patient person, never the type to sit around and wait for something to happen. She had to find him. She could go home now, though she should find Todd first, if only to stop her mother screaming the house down in her worry. It was probably better not to go home though; she'd have to do that essay if she did. Boring. And anyway, it wasn't due in for another week.

She sensed rather than saw someone and she turned and frowned at the trees. Then she heard the scream and without hesitation, ran towards it.

A female vampire clutched its victim and lowered it fangs to the boy's neck. The boy struggled as the young girl skidded to a halt in front of them.

"Slayer," the vampire hissed.

"Y'know," the girl sighed. "Everyone makes that mistake. I am not the Slayer; think I should get it tattooed on my forehead? My name is Chrissy."

Chrissy swung her leg in a wide arc, missing the victim's head by less than an inch. Her heavy boot hit the side of the vampire's head and knocked her sideways. The boy crawled away and Chrissy hauled him up.

"Run," she told him. "Don't stop, just run."

The boy nodded and scrambled away.

The vampire growled and leaped at Chrissy who met her with a hard punch to the face. The vampire landed on the ground, but didn't get a chance to move because a pair of black boots appeared either side of the vampire's head.

"Todd," Chrissy moaned seconds later, as they stared into the vampire dust and her brother sheathed his sword at his side. "What did you do that for?"

"I'm sorry," he answered. "Are we not killing vampires anymore?"

"But I was handling it," she almost whined.

"C'mon," he grabbed her arm and pulled her in the direction of the gates of the cemetery.

She sighed and yawned, suddenly tired after long hours out and about after dark. And she still had Trig homework? God, school was evil.

Or maybe it was fate that was evil.

She loved this, the fighting, but sometimes she wondered if this was it.

What was going to happen to her? Was she going to die before she graduated?

She and her twin brother had long ago accepted that this was what they had to do and they would probably die young. She remembered her answer: "Least we'll die pretty."

And she remembered the look on her mother's face.

Her mother hated her children's destiny, almost as much as her mother's friend hated his son's destiny. But it wasn't something you could fight and that, according to her mother, was the worst kind of evil.

But if Chrissy had to fight, she would and she knew her brother felt the same. She glanced up at her taller twin and for the millionth time, envied his height.

She'd go home, do her homework, go to bed, wake up, go to school then patrol again tomorrow night.

Because, as she had accepted with a grin long ago, this was their destiny.

Because they were Todd and Christina Summers – two names often mentioned in prophecy.

She sighed and shifted in her seat, her chin still propped in her hands. She glanced back at the clock on the wall and frowned, they were usually back by now. They could usually be heard laughing as they strolled home, Todd bearing his sword and Chrissy waving her stake about as she spoke. She felt the presence and turned to face the man in her doorway.

"They'll be fine," Edward Thorpe said. "They always are."

"I know," she answered.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Edward," she answered quietly as he walked down the hall to his room.

She turned back to the window, but instead gazed down at her hand. It slowly glowed, then faded out and she smiled faintly. She had long ago learnt to control it. He would have been proud of her.

She heard the shrill laughter of a young girl and stood up abruptly. She leaned out of the open window and the young man glanced up and gave a small wave. She smiled and waved back even as she told herself she should have gone, it was her job, no matter what Edward said about their destiny. She had a duty to them and she felt she was failing in it.

If he had been there the day Edward Thorpe turned up and revealed the twins destiny, he would have thrown him out and told him never to return. She doubted he would have accepted Edward like she had.

When they were almost at the house, she stood up, grabbed her robe and went downstairs to greet them.

"Hey, Mom," Chrissy said and hugged her, just so she would know her daughter had survived.

"Hey," Todd said and shrugged off his jacket. "Where's Ed?"

"In bed, you were late," their mother folded her arms and pursed her lips.

"Only a little," Chrissy pouted. "Did Aunt Dawn call?"

"Yes."

"What'd she say?" Todd asked.

"She said was just boarding her flight, she'll be here tomorrow morning."

"How's Anya doing?" Chrissy called from the kitchen where she was making a large sandwich.

"Fine."

She watched proudly as her children grappled over one of the sandwiches.

She loved them sometimes more than she could bear and losing them was a shadow of fear that shrouded her. She had lost so much and all she had now were her children and the young Englishman currently lodging in her sister's old room. Finally, when her daughter yawned and her son ran his hand over his face, she herded them up to their room.

They hated sharing, but they knew their mother would hate to leave the house, so they kept their complaints to themselves. When she kissed them goodnight, they wriggled away from her and bowed their heads over half finished homework.

"Only half an hour," she warned them and they nodded.

"G'night, Mom," they said in unison and she smiled.

"Goodnight."

She left them and returned to the room that she had occupied since she was sixteen. She cast one more glance out of the window, before pulling it closed. She always closed it and when her children asked why, she told them she had once invited a vampire in.

She frowned at the tree across the street, but shrugged and turned away to remove her robe and climb into bed.

Buffy Summers never saw the bleached blonde vampire walk down the street and stop under the tree to look up into the dark window of her room.

The young brunette peered out of the window of the aeroplane and smiled.

She was going home.

Despite Sunnydale's monsters and the fact that it was the Hellmouth, it was still her home. She hoped Anya would be all right, she had said she would be fine, but she was unsure. For the past three years, she had lived in New York and a year ago Anya had turned up. They shared a flat and she had to admit she had become attached to the Vengeance demon.

The only thing she hated about going home was that it was so different; her sister was always so sad and quiet, her smiles always seeming forced.

Xander was the same as always, older, not very much wiser and still single, she doubted he would ever get married, not after Anya.

Willow was a computer science teacher, she still babbled like always, but there was something different. She was wiser than she had been, almost Giles-like. But more fun.

The brunette frowned and suppressed the tears that threatened to bubble out over her cheeks; when she remembered Willow, she remembered Tara and how she looked, just lying there in her room. She still missed Tara, they all did. The twins had never known Tara and she couldn't help pitying them for that. But the twins knew and loved Willow.

She smiled when she remembered the twins, she absolutely adored them. But even they held a sadness for her, because whenever she looked at them, she remembered why Buffy always seemed so sad and she remembered the person who was also not in Sunnydale.

The person no longer stalking the cemetery, or drinking and watching Passions in his crypt.

And despite everything, Dawn Summers missed him.

He had always wondered why he had left his duster. As he recalled it had been left on the banister of the Summers' house. He hadn't really thought about it, he had tried not to think about anything that had happened in that house, that night or any other night.

He frowned up at the window that he knew so intimately and lit a cigarette. He leaned back against the tree and picked at the sleeve of the short black leather jacket. He wondered if the Bit would recognise him. His hair was still blonde and he still wore the black shirts, pants and heavy boots, but without the duster, he just didn't feel himself.

Well, at the least the himself he had been, the one she had known.

Only one window was lit; Joyce's room as he recalled. He flicked his cigarette away and thrust his hands into his pockets. He crossed the road, his eyes darting around for any sign of the young Slayer he had earlier witnessed in action.

He paused on the porch and realised what a twat he was. He thought she'd still live here? With her sister... gone, and maybe some of the others too, why would Dawn stay? Who knows, maybe she was married with children, living the American dream in some place that wasn't Sunnydale.

He was on the verge of leaving when he sighed; what had he told himself about trying?

He sniffed and pulled his shoulders back as he sauntered to the door. When he was sure the familiar, cocky bravado was in place, he knocked.

Todd yawned and turned to look at his sister, who was sitting up in bed with her notebook propped against her knees.

"I don't get it," she said finally and threw her pen onto the desk beside her bed.

"Ask Willow," he told her.

"I guess," she conceded and picked the books off her bed and placed them in an untidy pile on her desk. "Night, Todd."

"Night, Chris," he answered and rolled toward the wall as she clicked her bedside lamp off.

She had barely lain down when they heard the knock at the door. They sat up and frowned. Todd's hand went instinctively to the stake by his bed.

"Invite," she hissed at him.

"Who said I was expecting a vamp?" he answered.

There was no sound from their mother or Edward's room so Chrissy pulled back the bedclothes and climbed out of bed. Todd rolled his eyes and turned over to go to sleep. Chrissy walked quickly down the hall.

"Chrissy?" Buffy asked, tying her robe together as a dishevelled Edward appeared in the doorway of his room next door.

"Someone's at the door, Mom," Chrissy told her. "I got it."

Seeming satisfied, Edward returned to his room and Buffy nodded.

Muttering curses her mother would have been shocked at; Chrissy jogged down the stairs and swung the door open, forcing a smile at the bleach blonde on the porch.

He gaped at her. Coincidence? Just his bloody luck! The Slayer from earlier that night was smiling at him. He gaped at her, noticing the spookily familiar green eyes and hand on hip stance. Her long hair, so dark a blonde it was almost brown, was pulled back and she was wearing loose flannel pyjamas. Her face was almost elfin, slim with slightly rounded cheeks and a mouth that he instinctively knew could create a smirk to rival his own.

"Can I help you?" she asked pleasantly.

He only stared at her, too shocked to speak. Not only had she replaced his Slayer, but she was living in her house?

"Hello?" she asked, somewhat irritated.

"Chrissy?"

Spike jumped when he heard the spine-tinglingly familiar voice. Memories came flooding back.

"I'm counting on you to protect her."

"I was torn out, by my friends."

"You're a thing! An evil, disgusting thing!"

"Ask me again why I can never love you."

He gulped and opened his mouth to speak to the young girl, but then she appeared at the top of the stairs.

Suddenly, the madness created by the guilt his soul had dumped upon him threatened to return.

He had seen this so many times in his delirium, her standing there, her opening that pretty mouth and telling him she could never forgive him for what he tried to do. Even when Lydia had found him and nursed him back to his former self, he still had the fantasies, harmless little daydreams that never changed. The years rolled by, but in his head, she never changed.

He imagined her as she looked now.

Preserved. Unchanged.

Beautiful.

"Chrissy, who is it?"

She descended the stairs and he did the only thing his conflicted mind could come up with.

He fled, the one word she uttered ringing in his ears.

"Spike?"