Title: SAMARITAN
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Wally and the rest of the demon gang...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.
Setting: The near future; say... October!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 16 Tired Wings
"Then who is this?" Angel stopped in his tracks, his brow creased in puzzlement. "Because she's not entirely human, I can tell that much."
He crossed the room in a few swift strides and put the girl down in an armchair. Her head fell back, and her dark hair fell away from her face. Spike, hearing a swift intake of breath from Buffy and a stifled cry from Xander, shot a sharp glance from one to the other; clearly, they saw something nobody else did. Something that frightened them.
"Oh, my God!" Buffy said. "Xander, it's - "
"Buffy," Xander said, with a sick expression, "look at her hands."
Buffy stared at their captive with horrified eyes. Spike, looking more closely at the girl's hands, saw that instead of normal nails, each finger was tipped with a hard, curved little claw. He noticed other peculiarities about her, too; her ears were oddly angled beneath the lank dark hair, and, most strikingly, her upper lip was slightly cleft. So, he guessed she was part demon, then. But why did Buffy and Xander know her?
"It's - it's Amy," Buffy said, in a strangled voice.
"And who's that, love?" Spike said. "Is she from 'round here? I've never seen her before."
"Actually, I think you have," Xander murmured with a little laugh. Spike wondered what that was supposed to mean, but Monkey Boy looked like he'd had enough for one night, so he held his tongue.
"I sort of remember her, I think," Angel said, frowning. Not the happiest days for Granddad to recall - though it was hard to say what would qualify as happy days, for him. "But she was just a girl, right? A normal human girl you two went to school with?"
"Well, she, she..." Xander seemed to struggle to get the words out. "First she was a girl. Then for a couple of years she was a - "
"She's a witch." Buffy said, in a flat tone. "A real witch. And when she was in danger she turned herself into a rat in order to escape - but there was no way to turn her into herself again. So Willow took care of her. Then Willow figured out how to transform her again, eventually. Or, at least... she thought she did."
"What, that pet rat Wills had scampering about the little wheel thingy was actually a classmate?" Spike said incredulously. "You all-American teens are full of surprises, I must say."
"She had a Habitrail, too," Xander offered.
"And now she's - she's - " Buffy couldn't finish.
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Xander said, his dark eyes haunted, "She's changing back."
* * * *
Mrs. Caprescu's potion simmered in the big iron cauldron in the kitchen, filling the house with a spicy, slightly bitter scent that Buffy found almost Christmas-y. It wouldn't be ready for several hours, and then would need to cool thoroughly. There was nothing more to do until the next day, and everyone was exhausted, anyway. Sam and Amy wouldn't awaken for half a day at least; Grak was still drifting in and out of consciousness (though at least he'd downed some corn chips, as Clem reported reassuringly to Spike), so no further interrogation was possible yet.
Mrs. C had generously - too generously, in Clem's opinion, though he couldn't offer an alternative - allowed Riley to carry Sam to an upper bedroom and remain with her there. Amy was carried to another. Angel, Gunn and Fred decided to return to their respective motel rooms, and drop Xander off at his apartment.
"Try not to think about it," Buffy advised, patting his shoulder as he went out the door.
"My nightmares are going to be full of scrabbling and skittering and squeaking tonight whether I think about it or not," he said. Then his eyes widened and he shuddered. "And cheese, probably. The green, veiny, disgusting kind - yuck!" He went out into the night, his shoulders hunched.
"Come on, love, I'll see you home," Spike said, having made his farewells to Mrs. C and Clem. And Grak, who was apparently his new protege.
"Shouldn't you go back to your crypt and get some rest yourself?" Buffy said. "You must be tired."
"What, me? No fear. Night's young, isn't it?" He held the door for her with a bow.
"If you say so," Buffy sighed, exiting. Mister Tough Guy.
* * * *
"Spike, do you want some coffee or something?" Buffy said, coming into the living room from the kitchen. Then she stopped short.
He was asleep, sitting utterly still on the sofa with his gleaming head thrown back against the cushions.
Buffy silently turned off all the lights in the kitchen and the hallway. Then she folded her arms and watched him for a moment, studying the elegant planes and hollows of his face. Now that it was relaxed, instead of ever responsive and buzzing with alertness, she could see the bluish skin under his eyes, and fine lines showing at the corners of his mouth she'd never seen before. He looked exhausted, in fact. He wasn't breathing, which she knew meant that he was deep in slumber.
She weighed putting the chenille throw over him - he didn't feel the cold, did he? But on the other hand, he always slept covered with something, and it certainly hadn't been out of modesty. Perhaps it was just comfort. Softly, she tucked the blanket over him. He didn't stir so much as an eyelash. Picking up the remote control, she clicked the television on, and curled up in the corner of the couch. She willed her shoulders to relax; even with super-stamina, she needed some rest, too. With one drooping eye on a Cowboy Bebop marathon and the other on Spike (the non-cartoon Spike), she fell into a light doze.
After a couple of hours - Buffy knew it was that long, because several episodes of the program had flickered past her half-aware eyes - his shoulders twitched, and she was immediately alert. A low groan escaped his throat, and just as she reached for him, he suddenly jerked forward with a gasp, and sat breathing hard with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
Buffy sat forward, not sure he was even aware of her presence, put her hand on his shoulder blade, and rubbed it a little, as gently as she knew how.
"Spike," she said, in a very quiet voice, "Trouble sleeping?"
She felt a shudder run through him.
"You might say that," he said, not looking at her.
She slid her arm around his shoulders. "Nightmares?"
"Not exactly." He turned his head to face her. She could tell he was struggling to keep his voice steady. "It's not demonic fantasies or visions of hell, though you might think - ." He broke off for a moment, and then went on doggedly. "It's not dreams. It's what happened. I can see it all again. I can see it, but I can't stop myself." His control finally broke. "I can't stop myself."
She did reach for him then, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and pulling him close, rocking him against her.
"We'll just have to get through it together," she whispered, her lips touching his hair. "Whatever it takes."
* * * *
At around six o'clock the next morning, Buffy heard the back door open and close. That was probably Dawn, she thought, coming home from Anya's to pick up her books before school. AND have breakfast, whether she wanted to or not. Silently, she wriggled out from under Spike's torso and slipped the warm sofa cushion she'd been leaning against under him, and went into the kitchen. Pale sunlight streamed across the countertops.
"Hi, sweetie," she said.
"Hey! Did you guys catch anything last night?" Dawn said brightly.
"Ssh; Spike's asleep on the sofa, Dawnie, and he's awfully tired." Buffy gave her a hug. "We caught things, all right, but we're not sure what. It was really weird - "
"Buffy, are you sure he's okay?" Dawn said, her voice suddenly tremulous. "He's acting so - so different. I asked him, but maybe he wouldn't tell me if he was sick or, I don't know, cursed or something."
"Dawnie." Buffy took her sister's hand. "It's nothing like that, I promise. He IS different; but it's nothing like that. It's something - " She felt tears fill her eyes, which seemed to happen every time she thought of what Spike had done. "Dawnie, it's something wonderful. But I think he should tell you himself."
"Whoa, now you're really scaring me!" Dawn said, but she was smiling. "What's going on?"
Suddenly Buffy heard a sound from the living room, too soft to be called a cry - it was a moan of despair so deep it chilled her heart for a moment. From the arrested look on Dawn's face, she heard it - and felt it - too.
"I've got to go," Buffy said, worriedly. "I'll talk to you before you leave, okay?"
Dawn nodded, and with a last squeeze of her hand, Buffy ran back to Spike.
Heading for the stairs, Dawn moved through the hall, and almost stealthily, despite herself, she peered through the archway into the living room. The drapes were tightly drawn and the room dim, but she could see Buffy kneeling beside the sofa with her arms around Spike, holding him close. He buried his face in her shoulder, and clutched at her waist.
"I'm here, honey," she heard Buffy's voice saying, very softly; "It's okay. I'm here."
Confused and embarrassed, Dawn backed away, careful to step quietly. She knew she'd seen something very private, and not meant for her eyes. At first, the little scene seemed sad, but for some inexplicable reason she felt a bubble of happiness swell inside. She turned and lightly sped up the stairs.
* * * *
"AMY?!" Dawn yelped.
"Well, that's what your sis told me," Spike said. "And she's sort of re-rattifying, if you know what I mean."
Dawn had come down the stairs after showering, blow-drying and dressing for school and passed her sister going the other way. "I'm hitting the shower for ten minutes; Spike's awake if you want to talk to him," Buffy said.
Feeling a little nervous, Dawn went into the kitchen, where the blinds had been drawn, and fixed herself a bowl of nice, healthy cereal, just like Buffy always wanted her to. Not that she was putting off talking to Spike or anything, but if he was so tired.... The first spoonful had almost reached her mouth when Spike ambled in, blinking sleepily. She looked anxiously for signs of the night's terrors - if that's what they were - but she didn't see any.
"Morning, Niblet," he said, sounding perfectly normal.
He sat down at the counter, and before she knew it he was telling her about the events of the night before, and she was laughing because he always made their adventures seem funny, not scary; it was just like a hundred other times. He told her about Sam, and Riley, and Angel and his friends helping out, and Mrs. Caprescu and her remarkable skill, knowledge, and experience. And he told her about Amy's mysterious condition.
"Does she have like whiskers and a tail and stuff?" she said, round-eyed. She barely knew Amy, and had never liked her - plus, she was sort of associated in her mind with Willow, which was not of the good at this point - but turning into a rat, even a giant rat was just, like, eewww. She wouldn't wish that on anybody.
He thought it over. "Not yet," he said. "'Least, I'm not sure about the tail."
"That is so gross!" she said.
"Mrs. C will fix her up." It sounded as if he had total confidence in Clem's mom. Obviously, she was one of Spike's favorite people - or whatever - and Dawn was growing increasingly eager to meet her.
He took a sip of his coffee, and there was a pause. She still had some time before she had to go. She examined the orange pulp in the bottom of her empty juice glass, feeling almost shy.
"Spike," she said, "Buffy said there's something you want to tell me."
"Oh." He sounded startled. She looked up anxiously, but now he examined HIS cup with unusual interest. "Well, yeah."
"You don't have to if you don't want to."
"It's not that, pet; it's just bloody hard to explain." He grimaced, and seemed to set his shoulders. "You'll be the first one I've told right out."
"Oh." That sounded important.
"You know when I - went away," he began.
"Yes?" She knew her voice sounded tight, but she couldn't help it; she'd been so frightened when he'd gone without a word. And that was before she knew what happened.
"I had to go, sweetness; I had change the way things were. So what I did was, I looked up this super-powerful demon geezer I'd heard tell of. He's got this set-up where if you pass some tests and so on, you can get anything you want."
"I'm guessing that's not tests as in calculus tests or chemistry tests."
"I'd be buggered if they were, Bit," he said, with a smile. "Not exactly my forte."
"Me, either!"
"No, this was more a - well, let's say an action-oriented test."
"Like fighting and stuff," she said sagely. "So what happened?"
"Well, so I got through the ordeals and that, eventually."
"You said you could get anything, right?" She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. Did that mean - but it couldn't be the chip. Buffy said it was wonderful; she wouldn't think it was so wonderful if she had to stake Spike. "What did you ask for?"
"What I did was, I got my soul back."
Dawn stared at him. He drank half his mug of coffee in one swallow and set his mug back down, glancing up at her from under his brows.
Of course. How could she not guess? She was an idiot. Buffy was an idiot. They were all idiots. Look at the way he'd been acting for months; and there was even something about his eyes.
But how COULD she have guessed? This was IMPOSSIBLE.
"You - you - you - "
He sighed. "That's what everybody says."
"I didn't know you could even do that," she said unevenly.
"Don't s'pose there's a lot of call for it."
"So you could have anything you wanted, and that's what you chose?"
"S'right."
"Oh, Spike." She could hear her voice quaver, but she couldn't help it. Now she knew why there were tears in Buffy's eyes. "Oh, Spike."
He cleared his throat. "Now, none of that, Niblet, or you'll have me starting."
But she couldn't keep the tears from slipping down her cheeks, and she ran around the counter to hug him. "Buffy was right - it IS wonderful!"
* * * *
Success! She thought, at last, success! She'd seen the one she wanted, the small one, the golden one - the one with power. Power. She hummed the word to herself. Finally, she had been drawn near enough to recognize, to sense, to study. The others didn't matter. They had never mattered. The half demon girl? Useless. The other one? Worse than useless, and she always had been. And she could spare a Fyarl anytime - let its brain putrefy. Let it rot. There were plenty more of its kind.
But the Golden One - that was the one she longed for. She could feel the force in her, like the warmth of an open flame, flickering enticingly just out of her reach. But not for long. Not for long. Soon, soon she would have her power - and she would have her. Soon she would draw her here, and then, and then... her mind clattered and sparkled with anticipation. We - they - she - I will have her.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"SLEEP; and my song shall build about your bed
A paradise of dimness. You shall feel
The folding of tired wings; and peace will dwell
Throned in your silence: and one hour shall hold
Summer, and midnight, and immensity
Lulled to forgetfulness. For, where you dream,
The stately gloom of foliage shall embower
Your slumbering thought with tapestries of blue.
And there shall be no memory of the sky,
Nor sunlight with its cruelty of swords.
But, to your soul that sinks from deep to deep
Through drowned and glimmering colour, Time shall be
Only slow rhythmic swaying; and your breath;
And roses in the darkness; and my love."
Siegfried Sassoon
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Wally and the rest of the demon gang...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.
Setting: The near future; say... October!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 16 Tired Wings
"Then who is this?" Angel stopped in his tracks, his brow creased in puzzlement. "Because she's not entirely human, I can tell that much."
He crossed the room in a few swift strides and put the girl down in an armchair. Her head fell back, and her dark hair fell away from her face. Spike, hearing a swift intake of breath from Buffy and a stifled cry from Xander, shot a sharp glance from one to the other; clearly, they saw something nobody else did. Something that frightened them.
"Oh, my God!" Buffy said. "Xander, it's - "
"Buffy," Xander said, with a sick expression, "look at her hands."
Buffy stared at their captive with horrified eyes. Spike, looking more closely at the girl's hands, saw that instead of normal nails, each finger was tipped with a hard, curved little claw. He noticed other peculiarities about her, too; her ears were oddly angled beneath the lank dark hair, and, most strikingly, her upper lip was slightly cleft. So, he guessed she was part demon, then. But why did Buffy and Xander know her?
"It's - it's Amy," Buffy said, in a strangled voice.
"And who's that, love?" Spike said. "Is she from 'round here? I've never seen her before."
"Actually, I think you have," Xander murmured with a little laugh. Spike wondered what that was supposed to mean, but Monkey Boy looked like he'd had enough for one night, so he held his tongue.
"I sort of remember her, I think," Angel said, frowning. Not the happiest days for Granddad to recall - though it was hard to say what would qualify as happy days, for him. "But she was just a girl, right? A normal human girl you two went to school with?"
"Well, she, she..." Xander seemed to struggle to get the words out. "First she was a girl. Then for a couple of years she was a - "
"She's a witch." Buffy said, in a flat tone. "A real witch. And when she was in danger she turned herself into a rat in order to escape - but there was no way to turn her into herself again. So Willow took care of her. Then Willow figured out how to transform her again, eventually. Or, at least... she thought she did."
"What, that pet rat Wills had scampering about the little wheel thingy was actually a classmate?" Spike said incredulously. "You all-American teens are full of surprises, I must say."
"She had a Habitrail, too," Xander offered.
"And now she's - she's - " Buffy couldn't finish.
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Xander said, his dark eyes haunted, "She's changing back."
* * * *
Mrs. Caprescu's potion simmered in the big iron cauldron in the kitchen, filling the house with a spicy, slightly bitter scent that Buffy found almost Christmas-y. It wouldn't be ready for several hours, and then would need to cool thoroughly. There was nothing more to do until the next day, and everyone was exhausted, anyway. Sam and Amy wouldn't awaken for half a day at least; Grak was still drifting in and out of consciousness (though at least he'd downed some corn chips, as Clem reported reassuringly to Spike), so no further interrogation was possible yet.
Mrs. C had generously - too generously, in Clem's opinion, though he couldn't offer an alternative - allowed Riley to carry Sam to an upper bedroom and remain with her there. Amy was carried to another. Angel, Gunn and Fred decided to return to their respective motel rooms, and drop Xander off at his apartment.
"Try not to think about it," Buffy advised, patting his shoulder as he went out the door.
"My nightmares are going to be full of scrabbling and skittering and squeaking tonight whether I think about it or not," he said. Then his eyes widened and he shuddered. "And cheese, probably. The green, veiny, disgusting kind - yuck!" He went out into the night, his shoulders hunched.
"Come on, love, I'll see you home," Spike said, having made his farewells to Mrs. C and Clem. And Grak, who was apparently his new protege.
"Shouldn't you go back to your crypt and get some rest yourself?" Buffy said. "You must be tired."
"What, me? No fear. Night's young, isn't it?" He held the door for her with a bow.
"If you say so," Buffy sighed, exiting. Mister Tough Guy.
* * * *
"Spike, do you want some coffee or something?" Buffy said, coming into the living room from the kitchen. Then she stopped short.
He was asleep, sitting utterly still on the sofa with his gleaming head thrown back against the cushions.
Buffy silently turned off all the lights in the kitchen and the hallway. Then she folded her arms and watched him for a moment, studying the elegant planes and hollows of his face. Now that it was relaxed, instead of ever responsive and buzzing with alertness, she could see the bluish skin under his eyes, and fine lines showing at the corners of his mouth she'd never seen before. He looked exhausted, in fact. He wasn't breathing, which she knew meant that he was deep in slumber.
She weighed putting the chenille throw over him - he didn't feel the cold, did he? But on the other hand, he always slept covered with something, and it certainly hadn't been out of modesty. Perhaps it was just comfort. Softly, she tucked the blanket over him. He didn't stir so much as an eyelash. Picking up the remote control, she clicked the television on, and curled up in the corner of the couch. She willed her shoulders to relax; even with super-stamina, she needed some rest, too. With one drooping eye on a Cowboy Bebop marathon and the other on Spike (the non-cartoon Spike), she fell into a light doze.
After a couple of hours - Buffy knew it was that long, because several episodes of the program had flickered past her half-aware eyes - his shoulders twitched, and she was immediately alert. A low groan escaped his throat, and just as she reached for him, he suddenly jerked forward with a gasp, and sat breathing hard with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
Buffy sat forward, not sure he was even aware of her presence, put her hand on his shoulder blade, and rubbed it a little, as gently as she knew how.
"Spike," she said, in a very quiet voice, "Trouble sleeping?"
She felt a shudder run through him.
"You might say that," he said, not looking at her.
She slid her arm around his shoulders. "Nightmares?"
"Not exactly." He turned his head to face her. She could tell he was struggling to keep his voice steady. "It's not demonic fantasies or visions of hell, though you might think - ." He broke off for a moment, and then went on doggedly. "It's not dreams. It's what happened. I can see it all again. I can see it, but I can't stop myself." His control finally broke. "I can't stop myself."
She did reach for him then, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and pulling him close, rocking him against her.
"We'll just have to get through it together," she whispered, her lips touching his hair. "Whatever it takes."
* * * *
At around six o'clock the next morning, Buffy heard the back door open and close. That was probably Dawn, she thought, coming home from Anya's to pick up her books before school. AND have breakfast, whether she wanted to or not. Silently, she wriggled out from under Spike's torso and slipped the warm sofa cushion she'd been leaning against under him, and went into the kitchen. Pale sunlight streamed across the countertops.
"Hi, sweetie," she said.
"Hey! Did you guys catch anything last night?" Dawn said brightly.
"Ssh; Spike's asleep on the sofa, Dawnie, and he's awfully tired." Buffy gave her a hug. "We caught things, all right, but we're not sure what. It was really weird - "
"Buffy, are you sure he's okay?" Dawn said, her voice suddenly tremulous. "He's acting so - so different. I asked him, but maybe he wouldn't tell me if he was sick or, I don't know, cursed or something."
"Dawnie." Buffy took her sister's hand. "It's nothing like that, I promise. He IS different; but it's nothing like that. It's something - " She felt tears fill her eyes, which seemed to happen every time she thought of what Spike had done. "Dawnie, it's something wonderful. But I think he should tell you himself."
"Whoa, now you're really scaring me!" Dawn said, but she was smiling. "What's going on?"
Suddenly Buffy heard a sound from the living room, too soft to be called a cry - it was a moan of despair so deep it chilled her heart for a moment. From the arrested look on Dawn's face, she heard it - and felt it - too.
"I've got to go," Buffy said, worriedly. "I'll talk to you before you leave, okay?"
Dawn nodded, and with a last squeeze of her hand, Buffy ran back to Spike.
Heading for the stairs, Dawn moved through the hall, and almost stealthily, despite herself, she peered through the archway into the living room. The drapes were tightly drawn and the room dim, but she could see Buffy kneeling beside the sofa with her arms around Spike, holding him close. He buried his face in her shoulder, and clutched at her waist.
"I'm here, honey," she heard Buffy's voice saying, very softly; "It's okay. I'm here."
Confused and embarrassed, Dawn backed away, careful to step quietly. She knew she'd seen something very private, and not meant for her eyes. At first, the little scene seemed sad, but for some inexplicable reason she felt a bubble of happiness swell inside. She turned and lightly sped up the stairs.
* * * *
"AMY?!" Dawn yelped.
"Well, that's what your sis told me," Spike said. "And she's sort of re-rattifying, if you know what I mean."
Dawn had come down the stairs after showering, blow-drying and dressing for school and passed her sister going the other way. "I'm hitting the shower for ten minutes; Spike's awake if you want to talk to him," Buffy said.
Feeling a little nervous, Dawn went into the kitchen, where the blinds had been drawn, and fixed herself a bowl of nice, healthy cereal, just like Buffy always wanted her to. Not that she was putting off talking to Spike or anything, but if he was so tired.... The first spoonful had almost reached her mouth when Spike ambled in, blinking sleepily. She looked anxiously for signs of the night's terrors - if that's what they were - but she didn't see any.
"Morning, Niblet," he said, sounding perfectly normal.
He sat down at the counter, and before she knew it he was telling her about the events of the night before, and she was laughing because he always made their adventures seem funny, not scary; it was just like a hundred other times. He told her about Sam, and Riley, and Angel and his friends helping out, and Mrs. Caprescu and her remarkable skill, knowledge, and experience. And he told her about Amy's mysterious condition.
"Does she have like whiskers and a tail and stuff?" she said, round-eyed. She barely knew Amy, and had never liked her - plus, she was sort of associated in her mind with Willow, which was not of the good at this point - but turning into a rat, even a giant rat was just, like, eewww. She wouldn't wish that on anybody.
He thought it over. "Not yet," he said. "'Least, I'm not sure about the tail."
"That is so gross!" she said.
"Mrs. C will fix her up." It sounded as if he had total confidence in Clem's mom. Obviously, she was one of Spike's favorite people - or whatever - and Dawn was growing increasingly eager to meet her.
He took a sip of his coffee, and there was a pause. She still had some time before she had to go. She examined the orange pulp in the bottom of her empty juice glass, feeling almost shy.
"Spike," she said, "Buffy said there's something you want to tell me."
"Oh." He sounded startled. She looked up anxiously, but now he examined HIS cup with unusual interest. "Well, yeah."
"You don't have to if you don't want to."
"It's not that, pet; it's just bloody hard to explain." He grimaced, and seemed to set his shoulders. "You'll be the first one I've told right out."
"Oh." That sounded important.
"You know when I - went away," he began.
"Yes?" She knew her voice sounded tight, but she couldn't help it; she'd been so frightened when he'd gone without a word. And that was before she knew what happened.
"I had to go, sweetness; I had change the way things were. So what I did was, I looked up this super-powerful demon geezer I'd heard tell of. He's got this set-up where if you pass some tests and so on, you can get anything you want."
"I'm guessing that's not tests as in calculus tests or chemistry tests."
"I'd be buggered if they were, Bit," he said, with a smile. "Not exactly my forte."
"Me, either!"
"No, this was more a - well, let's say an action-oriented test."
"Like fighting and stuff," she said sagely. "So what happened?"
"Well, so I got through the ordeals and that, eventually."
"You said you could get anything, right?" She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. Did that mean - but it couldn't be the chip. Buffy said it was wonderful; she wouldn't think it was so wonderful if she had to stake Spike. "What did you ask for?"
"What I did was, I got my soul back."
Dawn stared at him. He drank half his mug of coffee in one swallow and set his mug back down, glancing up at her from under his brows.
Of course. How could she not guess? She was an idiot. Buffy was an idiot. They were all idiots. Look at the way he'd been acting for months; and there was even something about his eyes.
But how COULD she have guessed? This was IMPOSSIBLE.
"You - you - you - "
He sighed. "That's what everybody says."
"I didn't know you could even do that," she said unevenly.
"Don't s'pose there's a lot of call for it."
"So you could have anything you wanted, and that's what you chose?"
"S'right."
"Oh, Spike." She could hear her voice quaver, but she couldn't help it. Now she knew why there were tears in Buffy's eyes. "Oh, Spike."
He cleared his throat. "Now, none of that, Niblet, or you'll have me starting."
But she couldn't keep the tears from slipping down her cheeks, and she ran around the counter to hug him. "Buffy was right - it IS wonderful!"
* * * *
Success! She thought, at last, success! She'd seen the one she wanted, the small one, the golden one - the one with power. Power. She hummed the word to herself. Finally, she had been drawn near enough to recognize, to sense, to study. The others didn't matter. They had never mattered. The half demon girl? Useless. The other one? Worse than useless, and she always had been. And she could spare a Fyarl anytime - let its brain putrefy. Let it rot. There were plenty more of its kind.
But the Golden One - that was the one she longed for. She could feel the force in her, like the warmth of an open flame, flickering enticingly just out of her reach. But not for long. Not for long. Soon, soon she would have her power - and she would have her. Soon she would draw her here, and then, and then... her mind clattered and sparkled with anticipation. We - they - she - I will have her.
TBC
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"SLEEP; and my song shall build about your bed
A paradise of dimness. You shall feel
The folding of tired wings; and peace will dwell
Throned in your silence: and one hour shall hold
Summer, and midnight, and immensity
Lulled to forgetfulness. For, where you dream,
The stately gloom of foliage shall embower
Your slumbering thought with tapestries of blue.
And there shall be no memory of the sky,
Nor sunlight with its cruelty of swords.
But, to your soul that sinks from deep to deep
Through drowned and glimmering colour, Time shall be
Only slow rhythmic swaying; and your breath;
And roses in the darkness; and my love."
Siegfried Sassoon