It was three, maybe four hours before she felt entirely warm again. The chill that had pervaded her muscles and bones refused to be driven from them and even lying full-length in a steaming tub, stereo on full blast, Buffy found she had only to close her eyes to be back there again. Blackness and old blood and slick white flesh, and overlaying it all the dread certainty of her own end. His end. Spike's.
Of course Dawn had made her make the call, but when the line had finally connected there was only a single blank tone, sending the adrenaline that had been up and coursing through her veins slowly away. She had felt so ready to hear his voice, although she still had no idea of exactly what she was going to say. 'You may be in danger' sounded so phony, crazy melodramatics, and she could almost see him laughing at her as she said it, cigarette hanging on his lower lip, that one scarred eyebrow cocked to the ceiling;
"Is that right, pet. And what kind of 'danger' would that be?"
Cursing him silently she punched redial, listened to the tone again and then slammed down the receiver. What kind of an evil megalomaniacal law firm didn't have a damned answering service anyway?
There was no way she was just going to let this one drop though, not now, and so out came the little black book. All the numbers she'd told herself that she'd never be needing again: The Hyperion, Angel's cell, Wesley's apartment, but at the end of every new alley she just ran smack into the same featureless grey wall. Number unavailable, non-existent, disconnected. Not even some voice telling her though, just nothing and more nothingness – the conclusion of each new call reinforcing her certainty that something, somewhere had gone very, very wrong. Finally, her entire emergency store gone, she lifted the handset one last time and checked her watch with a frown.
Reading her thoughts, Dawn checked hers as well,
"He's usually home by now. Excepting Watcher emergencies of course."
This time when she finished dialing, it connected, the ring-tone distinctly English and solid-sounding. Four times, five, six and then, just as she was about to give up on him, Giles answered.
"Hello?"
The sound of his voice warmed her more thoroughly than any amount of brandy ever could and, almost without realising it, she hugged the phone to her, cradled it like a favourite bear.
"Is everything all right?"
"Um...difficult to say."
Glancing briefly at Dawn, she held her breath for a moment before she spoke.
"When was the last time you heard from anyone in L.A.?"
It was short conversation, peppered with assurances on Giles' part. His comforting assertions that of course nothing could be wrong, that Wesley would certainly have called him, but that he would make sure now and then call her straight back as soon as he had news. Setting the receiver back in its cradle Buffy had dropped back wearily on her pillows with a smile. Giles had sounded perfectly calm, his voice quickly slipping into the weary, amused tone he used when she was being especially neurotic, and that had gone a long way towards reassuring her. Two hours later though, when he still hadn't called them back and his line was permanently busy, the cold stone of fear was back in her chest and no amount of hot baths and soothing words could drive it out.
Sliding down into the bubbles, Buffy let the water slip up, over and into her ears, deafening her to all sounds but her own breathing. In the past her visions had always been deeply disturbing - prophetic warnings of death and destruction tended to affect the mood that way – but up until now their meanings had always been fairly clear. Stay away from those catacombs, beware of men with crosses for eyes, all pretty non-confusable stuff. But inexplicable dreams about a Spike/Buffy hybrid being eviscerated by her adoring new boyfriend? That was a whole new horror show entirely, and one that left her as confused about her feelings as it did with the icky imagery.
It was all Spike's fault, that much was obvious. Ever since he'd made his impromptu visit from the grave and then left again without even waiting around to see her she'd felt like her whole life had been put on hold. Leaving him in the Hellmouth the way she had, what they'd said to each other, that had felt like an end. Like the very definition of closure in fact, the kind that no relationship comes back from. Spike had been ash, buried under thousands of tons of her hometown and that had felt like a pretty definitive signal that she should move on, and so she had. Slowly and painfully at first, with baby steps, making little plans and then slightly bigger ones, all the while trying to tell herself that what had happened was for the good. The Greater Good. That what had grown between them over the previous six months had been nothing more than a deeper trust, a unique friendship, and that everything she had dared to imagine about a future for them together she had to let go.
So they'd moved to Rome and, by late November, things had pretty much settled into a routine for them. Every day Dawn would go to school and Buffy would go to work. New Slayers were arriving in Rome all the time, parceled up and sent to them express delivery by what was left of the Watcher's council stationed around the world. Willow and Kennedy had already found three girls in South America and were working on a fourth and Faith and Robin were making their way through mainland China following up leads as they went. To date they had been far too successful at persuading them to join the cause. Buffy had discovered training them, along with the six she'd already found in Europe, was a full time job: five days a week, 8am till 5pm, with a whole thirty minutes for lunch. In a way, it was a lot like being back in Sunnydale. No real time to call her own, blisters on her feet and barely time to grab a sandwich before she had to be back at the office. The only real difference being that her 'office' was now a Rococco style townhouse near the Villa Borghese.
The few members of the Council who remained in Rome flitted in and out of the place like flies around fruit, never stopping for long enough to become familiar and never pausing to make anything more than polite conversation with the original Slayer. They delivered a girl, filed the paperwork and were gone. At first she'd thought it was just a form of respect, that they simply trusted her to make the decisions now, but after a few weeks of it she had come to the conclusion that they were all a little afraid of her. The returned-from-the-dead Slayer who'd broken all the rules, shattered their sacred lineage and lived to tell the tale. The realisation bothered her for only a moment or two before she had dismissed them all with a shrug. Fear was good. Maybe now they'd leave her alone as well.
In the end, Giles was the one who'd changed everything. Spending the Christmas holidays at his home in Bath, Buffy had quickly noticed that his attention was fixed on her even more firmly than usual. Every time she laughed or smiled at something Dawn said, she felt his eyes on her, a small frown creasing the corners even as he joined in with the joke. It was annoying. So much so that, by the fourth day it became impossible for her to ignore. Walking alone with him in the snow-covered gardens surrounding the house, she regaled him with stories of her new life, anecdotes about the new Slayers, descriptions of their new apartment, only to see the expression return again and again. His mouth smiled and laughed with her, but his eyes were like clouds, grey blue and full of concern.
"Why is it you won't you believe I'm happy?"
Stepping in front of him, she faced him down, her arms folded across her chest. Surprised, Giles opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again. Buffy took a step closer.
"All you've done all week is frown at me. Every time I open my mouth I look up and you're wearing that 'poor Buffy' face, like there's something wrong with me. And I just wanted you to know...that...there isn't."
Scuffing a foot in the deep snow, she stared down at her toes. Suede was so damned impractical anywhere wet, and now the snow was ruining her $200 boots. Swiping at her eyes she reached down to knock the stuff off, and didn't even register that Giles had spoken until she straightened up.
"Did you just say something?"
Nodding slightly, he reached up to his neck, tightening his scarf a little against the wind.
"I said I'm sorry about Spike. "His eyes looked straight into her, tender and gentle with understanding, "I didn't say it at the time and...afterwards it seemed too late."
Taking a hand from his pocket he reached for her shoulder, and then without warning drew her ramrod-straight body softly against his. Suddenly muffled close against the scratchy wool of his coat, Buffy's throat constricted with pain and she fought to control herself. Giles' heartbeat was slow and steady and the sound of it against her ear forced hot tears from the corners of her eyes.
"He was a good man. In the end. I was wrong, and you were right about him."
A hand rubbed gentle circles between her shoulder blades and, with a low moan, Buffy felt herself uncoil. Leaning hard against him she buried her face deeply in his shoulder and let herself cry. Deep painful rasping sobs that she felt through her ribcage. Clenching fistfuls of his coat she held herself upright, as he told her how much Spike had meant to her. How incredibly courageous his final act had been, but how she had to forgive herself for it. How just because someone had gone from your life it didn't mean that you had to stop caring for them.
He had talked on for a long time, long past the point that both their feet had frozen and the sky had started to darken with more snow clouds, but when they finally disentangled and went into the house Buffy realized that, for the first time in months, the heavy feeling in her chest had lifted. That the fire warmed her a little when she held out her hands to it.
All that had taken her almost a year, ten months before she was able to look at a guy again without feeling like she was betraying someone. Even then, her first date with one of the counselors at Dawn's new school had been farcical. Downing a double whiskey before the hors d'oeuvres was never a good way to begin a romantic evening and, somewhere between the bouillabaisse and the disastrous expresso incident, her Italian prince had disappeared to the bathroom never to return. It wasn't something her sister had let her forget in a hurry, parent/teacher evenings had been a minefield ever since, but at least it had stopped Dawn from pestering her to start dating again.
It wasn't long after then that Giles had asked her to look into The Immortal's movements. Things were hotting up with the Slayers' training and, driving them at a faster pace now, Buffy began to feel some of her old strength returning. Rome was crawling with all kinds of demon-life just waiting for a Slayer smack-down and, aided by her trusty band of newly trained warriors, she knew just the girl to deliver it. Giles said this Immortal guy was bad news? A ringleader? Well then they'd just take him out, collapse the whole evil pyramid-scheme from the top down. Buffy's shiny new resolve had lasted exactly the time it took for Carlo to pour her a perfect vodka martini over ice and ask for her phone number.
Of course everyone had been really mad at her at first. Giles had called her a word she didn't even recognise and even Xander had managed to come up with a few new invectives she'd never heard him use before but, for maybe the first time ever, it didn't seem to bother her. None of it mattered. Carlo made her feel good about herself, made her feel alive in a way she hadn't in years and anyway, after a few weeks of seeing him everyone seemed to just quiet right down. Even Dawn, who had initially warned her off him, giggled and danced around him now like he was some kind of pop star. Carlo was everything a girl could want and after a week or two of dancing, she let herself give into it. Let new and unfamiliar arms slide around her body and draw her in. Once Carlo's lips had traced their first patterns along her naked spine, the speed at which she had forgotten about Spike frightened even her.
Sliding up from beneath the water, Buffy soaped up her belly, slowly scooping away the suds to reveal the same islands of bare skin she seen in her dream. If Spike really was in danger there was no question that she should help him. They were friends still weren't they? Dead or undead, they still had to look out for each other and if she could repay even a little of the debt she still owed him , then she was happy to do anything she could. Closing her eyes, she saw the room again: black rust and flaking old blood and shuddered. Swallowed the cold nausea that rose in her throat whenever she thought of him there. Tried not to see Carlo's face again as he appeared at her feet, eyes black as dead suns and red mouth stretched in a welcoming smile. Long pale fingers sliding along her ribcage
"Buffy!"
Dawn's voice jerked her upright, water sluicing over the sides, and in a moment she was up and out of the tub, wrapped in a robe. Her sister was hunched up on the bed, her face white and fearful. When she didn't speak Buffy took the receiver from her, held it to her ear. The voice at the other end was low and tense and for a minute she didn't recognize it as Giles'. Then the familiar words; "I don't want either of you to worry..." pulled her back to reality and she realized he was telling her that they were dead. All dead.
"...massively outnumbered by all accounts, although no one seems to be able to tell me how it actually happened."
Wesley and Angel and Fred and....
"...ostensibly, purely for vengeance."
And that tall black guy, Charles, she'd barely met him for more than five seconds.
"...battle was quite protracted by all accounts. But I have it from a highly reliable source..."
Unable to stop herself she was sinking to the floor, the telephone slipping from her ear to the bed. Outside she could hear the sea, although they were miles from it now. The slow heavy crash of waves on the shore synchronized perfectly with her breathing. It was the sound of her heart too as she closed her eyes, saw it pulsing and wet in Carlo's hand as Spike's life quietly slipped away from her body. Slipped away from her grasp forever.
"....apparently there were no survivors."