At least it looks like Wes got enough sleep last night. He's no longer got the dark shadows under his eyes, but he's still got that haunted look which I know he won't lose until he gets Gina back safe.
I, on the other hand, seem to be functioning remarkably well on too little sleep. I feel more alive than I've felt in a long time, and with one glance at Spike, I know he's feeling the same. There's nothing like a fight followed by some rather more intimate physical activity to give you a real feeling that everything's right in the world. I catch Willow watching me watching Spike, and I can hear a flash back of Dawn's teenage voice complaining about potential trauma. The combination makes me smile.
Lucy's in her bedroom, apparently having some sort of telepathic conference with someone about the contract, and aside from when she cooked some breakfast, I haven't seen her so far this morning. Wes ate something, then he sat down at his laptop, and hasn't moved since. Spike's watching TV, but I'm not sure he's so much watching it as using it to make himself sort of invisible. No one, well, except me, seems to be paying him any attention, and I get the feeling that he's watching the rest of us rather more than the sit com repeat that's on.
Willow announces that she's going to go and clear up the kitchen, and I follow her in. I haven't had a chance to talk to her since she got here, and even before then, I was kind of out of touch.
Once there, she immediately closes the door behind us, and turns to me.
"You and Spike, eh?"
"Yeah."
"So, dish the dirt. How's it going? Good as you remember or …"
"Better than I remember. All the good bits, and none of the bad. Well, different bad bits, I mean with Gina and the controller, but not bad bits about us, if you know what I mean."
"He's doing better than I expected with the whole 'being human' thing," she comments. "I mean, he's one vampire I really didn't think would adapt well."
"He wasn't happy at first. Went out drinking and nearly ended up as a snack for a couple of vamps. He felt useless, and didn't think I could love him as just your basic human. It was hard enough to make him realise that I meant it when I said it back in Sunnydale - that I loved him. Take away all that vamp strength and stamina, and he just couldn't believe. Somewhere, in his past, he got the notion that William was useless, and that's stayed with him all this time. I finally got through to him while we were away."
"But he's not all that weak," Willow says, looking confused. "I mean, he told me about that Fyarl last night, and it sounds like he held his own. Or was that just a bit of bravado?"
"No, not bravado. He's not just human. He can match me for strength, and …"
"And stamina too if my ears weren't playing tricks on me last night."
"Will, oh, I'm sorry. We were being quiet."
"I know, it's just, quiet house, stranger in the room, I didn't sleep so well, and, you know, some noises you just recognise."
I know I'm distinctly pink, and I also know Willow's enjoying my embarrassment. I quickly get us back onto the other, less embarrassing subject.
"So, Will, why is he so strong? I mean, I don't think Lilah expected that. I think she just expected him to be human."
"I don't know. Is there anything else? Is he just strong? He doesn't have a demon face or anything, or …"
"No, no demon face," I answer smiling. "But, …"
"But?"
"But, last night, he sensed that Fyarl before I did. It's like he's got my Slayer senses too."
She stares at me as I say that. Staring that means she's putting something together.
"Buffy, remember when I said before that you and Spike had been linked by the amulet?"
"Yeah, but …"
"Look, that's really old magic. Someone chooses a Champion, and that choice forges a link between them. It means that, karmically, they're joined, that the result for one will be the result for the other."
"Yeah, but …"
"Well, think about this. That spell I did, giving the power of the Slayer to all the Potentials, it must have affected you too."
"But I wasn't a Potential."
"Well, actually, you were. The fact that you'd been activated didn't take away your Potentialness - it just sort of added onto it. So, when I distributed all that Slayer power around, you got a share of it like everyone else. But it didn't make any difference to you, because you already had it. But, what if Spike got some of it too? What if … he actually became a Slayer for that short time before he dusted? It brings a whole new meaning to the term 'Vampire Slayer'."
Spike? A Slayer? It actually makes a weird sort of sense, and I find myself accepting what she's saying.
"Can we prove it?"
"Yeah, we should be able to. The Council of Watchers has been rounding up Slayers, so they've got to have some way of recognising them."
"But how come they missed him so far?"
"Buffy, there're hundreds of Slayers recognised so far. Some of them don't want anything to do with the Council, and some want to be trained. In LA alone there must be quite a few girls. I'm not really surprised that they missed Spike. Especially if they're looking for girls. I mean, he doesn't really fit the bill, now does he? And anyway, they'd have to have done a sweep of LA since he got back."
No, Spike certainly doesn't fit the bill. The idea of sleeping with another Slayer never appealed to me at all. As I think that, I think about Kennedy, and so I ask Willow about how she is.
"Oh, you know, she's gone off to Europe. Her parents offered to give us a holiday, going everywhere, doing all those things I've always wanted to do, but we had to just drop everything and go. And I couldn't. I mean, there's stuff going on in Cleveland too - Slayage things, and she just walked away from it. She didn't even call Giles to let him know. I had to do that, after she'd gone, so he could send a more experienced Slayer to cover for her."
"I'm sorry, Will. Hey, but you don't have to be on call for the Cleveland stuff, do you? Why didn't you go?"
"I … I couldn't. I mean, I said I couldn't, because I thought she'd realise she couldn't, but …"
"But she's not used to being told she's wrong."
"Exactly. She feels like she should only do the things she feels like doing. I think it's surprising that she actually stayed with the programme as long as she did."
"Willow," I say as a thought occurs to me. "You didn't turn down a tour round Europe because of me, did you?"
"Er, no. Well, sort of, because I knew you'd need me, but it was more than that. At the start, I didn't think she'd go if I pointed out all the things we were needed for here. But then it didn't make any difference, and there were other things, things that maybe I can do from here, but even with the net, it'd be hard to do from London or Paris. And, well, when I realised Kennedy wasn't going to change her mind, I wasn't as upset as I thought I'd be. It's just how she is."
I just smile, afraid that whatever I say will sound harsh.
Willow smiles back, and continues. "Even being the Slayer. She was so sure she'd be called, even when that meant someone had to die. But I don't think she thought it through. Sure, an apocalypse, maybe even a few, all the excitement, but there's all the day-to-day vamp killing, and she was getting bored. I'm just surprised she stayed at it as long as she did."
"I know, from personal experience, that having that sort of responsibility for seven years is a big deal. I can't really blame her for wanting out."
"I know, and if she'd just wanted out, I could have coped. It was the just going, and not arranging for cover." She shrugs.
"Anyway, I enjoyed working with you up in Tacoma, I really did. And then there was a chance to help some more, and I wasn't going to turn that down. Everything Kennedy's needed me for lately has been real routine, but you've given me the chance to find out about a whole new type of magic, and it's not dark and dangerous, or at least, no more dangerous than any magic, and it's exciting and …"
"And there's a tall, dark and mysterious man who can teach you all about it."
She blushes at that.
"But I'm …"
"Gay now. I know; I've heard the speech. But there was Oz, and it's perfectly possible to have no particular preference, and if you find him attractive, then there's nothing wrong with that."
"But what about Kennedy?"
"What about Kennedy? I'm not suggesting you jump into bed with Clinton, but there's no reason why you shouldn't get to know him a bit better, and then it's up to you to decide whether what you've got with Kennedy is long haul and worth working at, or if it's just been a good time on the way to something better."
"Not that I'm admitting to any attraction, mind you, but you're right. I mean, there's no harm in looking and getting to know someone, and it doesn't matter whether they're male of female, or even human or … not quite human."
"As I've proved, on er, two occasions."
"And is this one long haul?"
"You know, Willow, I really think it is. At least, I hope so, because it is for me. I'm just scared Spike will realise I'm nothing special once he's found his feet again."
"Have you seen him looking at you? Not going to happen. I mean, if there's one thing about Spike, it's that he sticks around. He doesn't know the meaning of falling out of love."
And no sooner are those words out of Willow's mouth, than Spike appears at the door.
"If you two are done nattering, there's been a message from Clinton. There'll be a car here in two minutes, to take me, and my jewellery here, for detuning."
"Fine," I reply. "I'll just pick up my purse."
"You're coming?" he looks surprised.
"Well, duh. Course I'm coming. It's important to you, isn't it?"
He smiles at that, but the moment is broken by Willow
"Room for another?" she asks.
"Well, someone needs to stay with Lucy," I say.
"Wes?" Willow suggests, then shakes her head. "No, that wouldn't work. Someone needs to be here for him too, and it wouldn't be fair for that to be a total stranger. I'll stay and keep them both out of trouble."
"Thanks, Will. And I'll see if I can persuade Clinton to come over when the detuning's finished."
I get an elbow in the ribs for that, and Spike just looks mystified.
The car is actually a limo, with tinted glass so dark that no one on the outside can see inside. The odd part is that, once we get going, we can't see out either. A bit less intrusive a ploy than the outward journey, but the effect is the same.
As we drive, I bring up the subject of Willow's theory.
"Remember that Fyarl?"
"Hard to forget something that big and stupid," he answers.
"Well, you knew it was around before I told you."
"Well, didn't know what it was, but I knew there was something unfriendly around."
"How?"
"How what?"
"How did you know?"
He pauses then. "Can't honestly say I know. I just knew, like a prickling at the back of my neck. Sort of like before, when I was a vamp, could always tell if there was another one around, and Slayers, could sense them too."
"You remember, back in Sunnydale, Willow used the scythe to make all the potentials into Slayers?"
"Not likely to forget that either, Love."
"No, I suppose not. Anyway, Willow thinks maybe you got a dose of Slayerness too."
The look he gives me shows his incredulity more clearly than words could.
"Look, Spike. She says the amulet linked us. The fact that it was mine, and I gave it to you as my champion. She says that's old magic – it links the two of us."
"Yeah, well, …"
"So, it shared my Potentialness with you. Even though I was the Slayer, Willow says I was still a Potential underneath. And because of the link, you were too, so when the scythe did its thing, you got to be a Slayer."
"Reckon I've got the wrong bits to be a Slayer. Woman only gig, that one."
"Well, normally, but … Look, apparently the Council can prove it, one way or another. If you want to know for sure."
"Right now, I don't much care about the why. Maybe, when things are straight, we could find out – if it's important to you. Only thing that matters to me is being able to look out for you."
And I kiss him. Well, apart from anything else, it seems to be a good way to pass the time.
When we finally stop, an hour and a half later, we're in an underground garage, with no real idea of where we are.
We take the elevator up from there to another basement level. At least, I assume it's a basement from the lack of windows. I can't help but think it'd be an ideal vamp lair. It looks like a suite of offices, and we're taken into a large waiting room. Clinton meets us there, and takes us through a short corridor into an inner room. Well, when I say room, I'm being generous. It's more of a closet, about eight feet square, and, apart from the door we used, there is no opening. Clinton invites Spike to check out the room, so he can be sure there's no alternative exit. I check too, but it's difficult since all the walls sound strangely dead.
"Soundproofed," Clinton explains in his unique way. "There's a two foot gap between this room and all the surrounding ones, and it's filled with state of the art soundproofing materials. Even so, it'll be noisy in the outer room."
"But you'll be in here?" I ask.
"No. I'll be in the control room, which is off the waiting room. I value my hearing too."
"So, where do we go?" Spike asks.
"Well, you can stay with me, or if you prefer to be more comfortable, there's the waiting room."
"I think we'll stick with you," Spike decides, and I agree that seems to be the most sensible idea. Apart from anything else, Willow's going to want a blow by blow description of the procedure, so I'd better be on hand to see it.
Clinton holds out a hand for the controller. Spike fishes it out of his pocket, and hands it to Clinton who places it on what actually looks rather like an altar in the centre of the room.
"This platform is actually dampened. The vibrations induced by the detuning will be absorbed by the dampening mechanism. The alternative would probably be measurable on a seismograph."
I know there's been talk about being deafened by this procedure, but I'm starting to get the impression of a seriously powerful bit of noise here.
"One thing," I interrupt. "Is it possible for us to check this out? I mean, can I try to use the controller now, and then again after? As a check, I mean."
"Well, yes," Clinton agrees. "And that would be the best evidence I could offer that the detuning has been successful."
"So," I say, picking up the controller again. "That ok with you, Spike?"
"Depends what you're planning," he says, his brows low over his eyes.
"Oh, you'll just have to trust me."
He doesn't look too sure, but agrees anyway. The truth is, I really don't have a clue what to get him to do. I mean, there're a lot of things I could do, but they'd be things he might want to do anyway, so it wouldn't be much of a test. And then it comes to me. He talked about his poetry - the stuff he used to write, but he's never let me hear any of it.
Clinton takes me to the other side of the small room, and puts my hands on the controller. He sings a single note softly, and I feel the controller vibrate in my hand.
"Any voice could activate the controller," he explains. "But for most humans, it would take a while of trial and error to get the pitch right. It's quicker if I just get it started for you."
"Now," his voice continues. "It's in your hands, so you have to shape the command. I want you to concentrate on what you want, either using an idea from your own mind, or sifting through his memories for something from his. Concentrate, it may take a little while at first, but it'll get easier."
I do as he says, concentrating on Spike, mentally pulling away the covers which shroud his memories, and sifting through his memories as a human, homing in on poetry, and seeing the words on paper in his handwriting as he remembers reading them once. I find it at last, the one I'm sure he's least likely to say out loud, and I force him to speak. He tries to avoid it at first, but gives up quickly, and I get a flash of irritation as he starts to speak.
"My soul is wrapped in harsh repose,
midnight descends in raven-coloured clothes,
but soft...behold!
A sunlight beam
cutting a swath of glimmering gleam.
My heart expands,
'tis grown a bulge in it,
inspired by your beauty...
effulgent."
I had planned to stop him after a line or two, but I feel compelled to keep him talking to the end of the verse. Spike relaxes, and I take the controller and place it on the altar.
"Do it, please, Clinton," I say, approaching Spike, suddenly unsure of my welcome. He doesn't look too happy, but he opens his arms to me anyway.
"I'm sorry," I apologise. "It seemed like a good idea, but once I was in there, I knew I shouldn't be in your mind, shouldn't be doing it. Your memories are your own unless you choose to share them."
And it's true, I feel dirty, like I've been reading someone's diary.
"It's ok, Pet. It was a good idea. And you could hardly have asked me to kiss you or something, 'cos that's not something I need any hints about." And he proves that by giving me a quick kiss on the lips.
"It's more than the words, though, I didn't just see the poetry, I saw what you felt then, that you loved her, Cecily, and I shouldn't have been in there."
"No big deal, Pet. There's a lot worse in there, and I might have told you all about that in time anyway, so no harm done. It sort of makes up for all the snooping I did back when I first loved you."
Clinton's voice in our heads interrupts, and he leads us back into the waiting room, and from there, through another door which leads to a control console in a room overlooking the detuning room. When I say overlooking, I suspect it would be, but the screen in front of us is like a TV, not a window. There are three chairs in the room, and Clinton takes the right hand one, with Spike next to him, and me on the other end. There's a microphone and headphones in front of Clinton, and an array of switches which he proceeds to flip, until he's happy that everything is prepared.
You'll hear a bit of what's going on, but you'll feel even more. It's not a pleasant feeling, but without the excess noise, it should be bearable. I have never attempted to detune something as powerful as this before, simply because such artefacts are all but unknown these days. I suspect that the resonance in you, Spike, will make the procedure rather more uncomfortable. However, I don't believe that being so close will change that at all. Detuning has never been done with a human before, as the amulets always required someone rather more robust. However, once I begin, I will effectively be in a trance and unable to stop. In addition, the door to the control room will be locked and will remain that way until I have completed my task. The procedure should take perhaps ten minutes."
We both nod that we understand.
"I'll begin shortly," Clinton continues. "I just need a moment to gather my thoughts, and then I will sing."
He picks up his headphones, and adjusts them carefully. The silence seems unreal. I can only hear the sound of my own breathing, and beside me, Spike. Again I'm struck by the incongruity of him breathing. Not that he never did - he always did breathe a lot for someone who didn't need to. In the early days, I thought it was just because he always talked so much, but it was more than that. He did it when there was no reason, and when he probably wasn't even conscious of what he was doing, like when he slept.
And then it starts. It's a whisper of a sound, pure in a way a human voice could never be. It's achingly beautiful, and it gradually gets louder. And then I hear the first sound of the battle. The controller is singing back, audible despite the soundproofing, but the note is slightly different, and, even though the volume is low, it's gratingly unpleasant.
The volume increases, but worse than that, there's a vibration that I feel rather than hear, and I start to panic because I instinctively know that there's more and worse to come. The volume continues to increase, and I feel as if every bone in my body is trying to resonate in time with both notes at once, and the effect seems to be trying to shatter me from the inside out.
I reach out to Spike's hand, and I can feel the tremors in his body. I glance at his face, and it's streaked with sweat. Of course, Clinton warned us it would be uncomfortable. Just looking at him, though, uncomfortable just doesn't seem strong enough.
Spike's shaking badly now, and I reach out my arms to him, pulling him close, but he doesn't seem to notice. The shaking's getting worse, and his face is lined with pain. The sound's making my whole body ache, and I know it must be much worse for him. I start to call out to Spike, to tell him it's ok, but I can hardly hear my own voice. Everything's now about those two notes, two vibrations, battling for power over one another, and even when I scream at Clinton to stop, I feel nothing but the battle.
And then, it happens. There's the most awful sound I've ever heard. It's like a scream of such pain that you cannot imagine the cause, and the accompanying vibration is increased tenfold , and then there's just a single note, Clinton's note, and it's reverberating raggedly in the background from the controller, not so pure, but there nonetheless.
Spike collapses into my arms, his breathing uneven, as the sound fades, and stops altogether, I turn to see Clinton standing over us. I yell at him, "What happened? Why?"
He shakes his head, and I hear a mixture of confusion and apology as he communicates in his usual fashion. Together we carry an unconscious Spike out to the waiting room. There are a couple of other Carnolans there as we emerge, and they disappear when they see Spike, returning a moment later with a blanket which they use to cover Spike once we've laid him on a sofa. His face, which had just recently started to get some colour, is paler than I can remember seeing, and his breathing seems even worse than before.
"What happened?" I scream.
Clinton's voice sounds clearly, and I know he's projecting the sound into my mind again.
"We had no way of knowing it would affect him so badly. Obviously, it was going to be painful for him, I explained that. But I didn't expect this level of reaction."
I'm kneeling in front of Spike, stroking his face, trying to let him know I'm here, but he's not responding in any way.
"I've called for assistance," Clinton offers. "There's a medical team on its way."
"From where?"
He doesn't answer, but gets up to leave the room. I check Spike's pulse, but it's going so fast, it can't be real. I check it again, and it's going faster than I can count. I remember, back when Mom was ill, Riley, he had a heart-rate that was too fast, and it was killing him, but this is much faster than that.
I'm scared, so scared for him. What if the trauma is just too much for him? What if his body just can't take it? Surely it would have been better to have lived with the potential of the controller than this? And then I realise, that even if Spike had known this could result, even if he had known it would cost him his life, he would have chosen to take the chance to be free. His whole life, he's been a prisoner. Imprisoned by his own nature and society when he was alive. Then, imprisoned by the demon for over a century. Then, there was the chip, restraining even the demon, then the controller. He's never had the chance to be who he really is in all that time. I may complain about the time when I was the Slayer, the one and only, and it certainly did take away my freedom in many ways. But compared to what Spike's known? It was nothing.
I hear a crash at the door, and some paramedics rush in, and I'm pulled gently away, and taken to sit at the other side of the room. Clinton's there, holding my hand, and I can hear his confusion and apologies in my head, but it doesn't mean anything. I can't follow what they're doing to Spike, I just want him to wake up and be ok.
Everything's a blur then. Somehow, they get Spike loaded onto a gurney, and they're trundling him into the elevator, and Clinton's taking me up a stairway, telling me he'll get me to the hospital, and that I shouldn't worry. I hear the siren as I'm helped into a car. The ambulance is moving away, and all I can do is sit and wait for someone to get me to the hospital.
Author's Note: The words of the poem are, of course William's, and not mine.