Shards II: Wrong
by europanya
Buffy sat with her bare butt to the cold grimy floor of her prison, trying to be quiet.
She'd spend six to eight hours in each random dimension, the necromancer had said, and not all of them were going to be pleasant. He was damn right about that. She hadn't been prepared for something like this. But she could see, as sickening as the thoughts were, how it could have come to this - trapped in a dank cell with pictures of her family and herself staring laughingly back at her. Spike chaining her up and making her his personal zoo attraction was not beyond the range of his idiocies. It was humiliating, though, and she wished clothes had been an option in this unreality.
Her captor was drunk, passed out at the foot of her cell and she'd given thought to whether she should just reach out and start playing his inebriated forehead along the bars like a marimba mallet. Spike, you asshole, why did you have to do this?
Why? Because you, this-world-Buffy-you, drove him stark raving bananas! You probably spent twice as many hours macking on him in dark alleys, slipping your tongue in his mouth, letting him get all bunched-up, and then walked it off like it was nothing, like he was a complete lech for wanting some crumb of evidence that the macking had taken place at all! So now you're a macabre conversation piece in his piss-drunk lair. Good work, slayer.
So she was a vampire's trophy now. She hoped to God that was all there was to it. Spike wouldn't really…oh, she hoped it hadn't gone beyond that. But it sure as shit wouldn't have been much of a stretch for him. That was the ugly truth. Are we getting enlightened now?
Spike shifted and groaned again. It was a terrible sound. She'd been listening to it for over an hour. His moans filled her with a nauseating mixture of loathing and pity. Half of her wanted to gather him up in her bare and bruised arms and kiss away his pain, while the other half itched to grab something pointy and wooden and give it a home. She flexed her fingers and arched her back, keeping her chain silent. She felt normal. Icky, but normal—strong, honed, able. How had he managed to capture her in the first place? Why didn't she mop the floor with his blond battered head the first chance she got? Maybe I haven't been here that long. That was a possibility, though her cell didn't have much to tell. No food scraps or even water. Her tattered remnants of clothing hung off her as if frayed in battle, not by time or wasting. There was a blanket in the corner. Army surplus issue. It was torn and a little crispy at the edges like it had actually been through a war. Surprisingly, she didn't seem too thin or too hurt, or even hungry. There were bruises across her arms and chest and some on her shins, but otherwise, nothing broken. Even her crotch felt…okay. Maybe he'd been gentle. Maybe she'd liked it. Ugh, don't go there.
Footsteps stopped her thoughts. Someone was coming. Shit, her plan thus far had been to sit tight and hope it took a vampire more than eight hours to sleep off a litre of Jack. The steps were hurried.
"Spike?" a voice whispered and Buffy's heart clenched. Dawn.
Every instinct told her to cry out, to warn her sister off, but Dawn was trotting into the cavern all puppy-like, carrying a brown sack and Buffy's shock was too great to manage even an 'eep.'
"Spike? Oh, shit, you dumb-ass!" her little sister said with a kick to the vampire's sprawled leg. "Why didja have to go and pull this crap now?" She set the bag down and pulled his head up by the hair, shaking him like a maraca, not a marimba. Spike coughed and his eyes opened once then rolled shut. "I brought you blood and the clothes and everything. It was really hard and I'm tired and you didn't give me enough money...what am I supposed to do?…oh, shit, shit, shit!" Kick. Kick. Kick.
"Dawn!" Buffy moved up against the bars. "You need to get out of here, Spike's…"
Dawn's utterly shocked face and stumbling backwards fall over dead-drunk Spike once again baffled Buffy silent.
Dawn stared at her with large round eyes, moistening with tears. "Oh, my God, Buffy, you're…"
"I'm trapped, Dawn. I can't get out. Spike could hurt you; I need you to run and get Will…I need you to…"
Dawn tore her frightened eyes from her and went right back to kicking the vampire. "Shit, Spike, shit! Wake up!" A dozen tennie-kicks to the head and the vampire responded, drawing up on all fours like a panther coming off of a game warden's trank shot. He cursed, growled, floundered and struggled to lift his head.
"Dawn! Run! Please!" Buffy threw herself at the bars and they resounded through the tunnels with the force of her panic. No way out. The vampire's red-rimmed yellow eyes flashed in the dimness over a row of fine white fangs. She beat her chains at the bars. "Dawn! Run!"
Dawn plainly ignored her and grabbed the fanged menace by the collar, smacking him across the lumpies with a closed fist.
Spike growled and pushed her back on her ass before grabbing his head like it was about to fly off. "'hell, bit. Got one bastard of a way of rousing a fellow. Ow!"
"Spike! Back-off!" Buffy yelled.
Spike's demon eyes shot up at her and slammed back into blue with such force he winced. "Buffy?"
Dawn scrambled back onto her hands and knees, clinging to his jacket, speaking softly. "It's why I need you to wake the hell up. Look!"
Spike sat transfixed, blinking, trembling at the hands, but maybe it was just the booze because he barely caught himself as he leaned over to hold Dawn back. "Easy, bit. We don't know…"
"Spike, I told you to get away from my sister," Buffy said through her teeth as her fingers gripped tight around the bars.
Spike responded like she was speaking Italian. His eyes squinted in puzzlement, then slowly rounded with, was it hope…?
"Buffy?"
The pain in his voice took her back a second. But only a second. She was grizzlybear-momma pissed now. "Dawn, listen to me. I'm trapped. I can't get out. He's chained me here. I need you to stop being such an idiot and get the hell out of here and go find Willow!"
"Buffy?" was all Dawn had to say as she huddled closer to Spike's dirty leather.
Spike shook his woozy head slowly. He spoke very gently, if slightly slurred. "No…no Willow, Buffy. Not yet." He looked to Dawn for confirmation. Dawn stared up at him with pooling eyes. Her chin trembled and she nodded her head in alliance with him.
"What the hell has gotten into the two of you? Are you both insane? In case you haven't noticed, I'm in a freakin' cage! And as soon as I get outta here I'm gonna ground you for a week, Dawn, and slam Spike so far into the dirt-ground he'll never dig his way out."
Spike suddenly broke into a brilliant smile. A chuff of sick laughter passed his lips and he tugged Dawn to him in an ecstatic hug. "She's pissed. Mad as hell at me. That's good, don't you think? Real good."
"Can we let her out now, Spike? Please?"
Spike gently untangled Dawn's fingers from his coat and shifted forward. "Yeah, I'm gonna try it. Stay back, though."
It was Buffy's turn to take a step in reverse as Spike gingerly approached. She'd been wrong earlier - not about the drunk part, because a vapor trail preceded him, but wrong about him not being injured. He was hurt on his hands, head and chin. His shirt was ripped open and long deep red scratches marred his pale chest, crusted over and healing slowly. Defensive wounds. His face was sallow and thin. He looked dead.
"W-What happened to you?" she said, moving back from the door as he produced a key.
He smiled and tears of happiness broke down his face. "You…happened to me."
Buffy let the steaming hot water run over her face as she shampooed and rinsed her hair for the third time, making a vigorous effort to expel two weeks' worth of sweat and filth. They'd need to get a new loofa after this. It felt good, though. The bathroom door opened.
"Buffy? You still okay in there?" It was Dawn, checking on her for the fifth time.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm getting out now." She gargled a hot mouthful of water. Copious toothbrushing was called for next. Two weeks in the sewers gave a girl a royal case of yuck-mouth.
Dawn was waiting for her with a towel - make that several - sitting on the toilet with her knees bouncing. Buffy lifted the first terrycloth layer and wrapped her hair up in it. Best to keep that rat's nest hidden until a half-hour of brushing and detangling could be scheduled. She took the second and wrapped it around her body as she hunted the medicine cabinet for dental care supplies.
"Uh, where's my toothbrush?"
"Oh!" Dawn gulped like she'd been punched in the gut. "I…think we tossed it. Tara or Willow…seeing as we thought you were…"
"Dead, yeah, I get that. I'm using one of yours."
"Ew! Gross."
Buffy shot her a look and squeezed a length of blue swirl AquaFresh on the bristles and began the scrubbing again. Dawn sat as patiently as she could, watching her, nearly as transfixed as Spike had been. He'd drawn her out of the cage slowly, hands out, yet not quite touching her, keeping a hovering guard around Dawn as she rushed up to hug her breathless. She never thought she'd see the day when Spike needed to protect Dawn from her, but here it was.
"Where are the others?" she'd asked Dawn on the walk home. Dawn had brought her clothes from her own closet to wear. They were long on her and a little tight in the hip, but it worked.
"Oh, they're in the desert."
"The desert?"
Spike had cleared his throat - his step had been a bit weavy, but his head was amazingly clear. Vampires. "Dawn managed to convince them I was holding you someplace out in Joshua Tree. They took right off. Our clever girl's quite the double agent."
"And they left Dawn home by herself?"
Dawn and Spike had shared another nervous look. "Um, not really, Clem's been hanging out with me."
"Clem! They left you alone with Clem?" But then, hadn't she done the same once?
"Easy, Slayer. For a girl whose sister's been Sheena Queen of the Jungle the past few, I can see where they'd opt for a familiar floppy-eared face and a Cosco box of Doritos."
Buffy looked at her reflection as she worked the brush handle, foaming at the mouth. She couldn't help it; she was ticked. And not just for the whole resurrection recap, she'd long gotten over that, but rather that everyone she knew and trusted would unerringly fall over themselves with such Beavis and Buttheaded behavior whenever she ducked out for a little while. From the dead-raising stories Spike and Dawn had told her on the walk home, Giles was livid, Tara was weepy, Xander was stake-happy, Anya was mildly amused, and Willow… well, she knew which cliff Willow was gunning to drive off of, didn't she?
Between them all, it was Spike who had made the best of the situation - assigning Dawn to sabotage Willow's herb stash and feeding them false leads all the while secretly playing crazed-slayer-kidnapping-vampire's advocate while said crazed vampire had done his best to keep untamed Buffy from harming herself or others. Most others, she thought, with a lump of guilt. It must have been a hellish two weeks for all of them.
Buffy bent and spit, satisfied that she resembled human again on the outside as well as the inside. Less with the crazy. It was good.
"Did Spike eat?" she asked her sister. "He looks like shit."
"I left him in the kitchen under strict orders to drain the to-go cups. He knows better than to mess with me. I told him I'd make grilled cheese once you got out of the Niagara Falls shower you were taking."
Buffy raised a brow at her as she removed her towel and reached for the robe that was…no longer on the back of the door. Dammit. Being dead, temporarily, sucked. "So who named you Spike's keeper?" she asked her, peering out to make a clear streak across the hallway to Tara and Willow's bedroom. Dawn followed her like a Labrador, practically tripping under her feet.
"Somebody's got to do it," she said, closing the door behind them while Buffy rummaged around for something sweatpanty that might almost fit. "He's been kind of a mess since you…you know…" Dawn made a diving gesture with her hands.
Buffy pulled a Sunnydale University t-shirt over her head and slid into a pair of Tara's yoga pants. No bra, but then at this age, no bra had been her thing. "Spike…" she began, careful with her word choice,"…he'll get better. Give him time."
Spike was sitting at the end of the kitchen counter sipping blood slowly through a straw when Buffy came in, Dawn at her heels. He sat up straight and looked at her as if he still couldn't believe she was back, alive, though she'd been topside for a while.
"You look nice," he said, still a little dazed, but not likely from alcohol. Blood tended to straighten him out. It looked like he hadn't had much in a while. She worked up a smile for him, a forgiving one. Guilt was plastered all over his face as much as the evidence of their recent battles. She wasn't kidding; he looked terrible. The kitchen fluorescents did nothing to mask the thinness, the worry, the exhaustion. She wondered if his faceplant was the first shot at sorta sleep he'd had in days or more.
"Thanks, I'm less smelly at least," she said, taking a stool opposite him while Dawn made good on her threat to grill the snot out of some cheese. Unable to take Spike's gaze for long, Buffy drilled some fingers into her still-tangled mophead. They got stuck and she had to wriggle them out halfway. She glanced at his head-cocked silence - joy and regret played on his lips. "It's okay, Spike. I know you did the best you could."
"I'm sorry about the chains and all…I just…" he was breathing like he couldn't quite get enough air, though his chest moved slowly behind the wounds. "I couldn't let them…" he stopped, glancing over her shoulder at Dawn who was happily scooping margarine into a frying pan. "…take you."
She reached out and squeezed his hand. "I know."
They ate their grotesquely gooey hydrogenated oil-soaked sandwiches and drank their cold tall glasses of milk (or blood) like any dinner eve in the Summers household. Dawn talked about how much school was going to suck when it started next week. Spike talked about how badly the Scoobie bunch had tried to take over patrolling duties, with a number of humorous tales that had her nearly peeing with laughter. It was easy for her this time. Her mind hadn't just been ripped out of paradise. She'd had decades to reclaim mortal life.
Afterwards, she sent Spike to the shower, his destroyed shirt to the trash and his pants to the wash. The coat needed professional cleaning so she left it over the stair railing with a note for Tara or Willow to see to it later - whenever they got tired of chasing their tails in the desert or when Willow found enough wild un-Dawn-tainted herbs to cast a decent locator spell. Then she went upstairs and tucked her sister into bed, holding her close until she fell into a much-needed sleep. Buffy wanted to lie with her until she dropped off herself. It'd been so long since Dawn had been 'little', her long fawn's legs poking under the covers, but there were things to see to.
Buffy was in her old bedroom sealing an envelope and setting it up on her dresser when Spike popped his shirtless torso in.
"Well…seeing as you're all set here - I guess I'll be off." Dawn had found him some old medical scrubs from one of their mother's many hospital visits. He looked like an ex-ER cast member. She sucked in her lip to suppress a giggle. He looked much better, even with fluffy hair and bandages across his stomach.
"Spike, come in. I need to talk to you."
Spike glanced awkwardly back up the hall toward Dawn's room.
"It's okay. She's out cold. Just come in and close the door."
He took a tentative step in as if the mystical barricade that limited vampiric entrance somehow worked a second shift over a slayer's bedroom.
"It's okay," she said with a smile. "I like having you here, Dr. Spike."
"Brilliant," Spike grumbled, clicking the door shut and crossing the room. He took a stiff seat on the edge of the bed next to her at her bidding. His expression softened as he looked her over with perfect bedside manner. "You okay, Buffy? Feelin' fit for being recently dead and crazy and all?"
She took a good solid breath and thumped her chest. "I'm good. Trust me."
He looked at his hands. Although he sat near her, he kept himself turned slightly away, one foot still on the floor while his eyes lit up with a private wonder she knew came from being allowed this rare intimacy. "Dawn and I…we were so worried that we'd lost you."
Buffy lowered her head, her tangled hair scraggling at her shoulders. Still hadn't found that half-hour yet for hair maintenance. "I know. But you did good, Spike. I didn't understand at first. I'm sorry I flipped out."
Spike's fingers twitched in his open palms. "You call that goin' all hammer sack? That was…well, I knew it was Buffy again." His lips twitched in a smile.
"Hard to tell sometimes, I guess," she said, reaching out to caress his arm, a harmless gesture she'd affected a hundred times with him, her fingers brushing over the beautiful form and mold of him.
Spike took a sharp breath at her touch and nearly shifted away. She stopped, holding her hand in mid-air. His head looked like it was being held up only by a monumental effort to shoulder the weight.
This, she reminded herself, was a Spike who had never been truly kissed or held by her. Heck, he'd only just been invited back into her home. But he loved her, so deeply it hurt to look at him. How frightened he must have been these past weeks - how torn and alone after months of grief. No. Not alone. Not completely. She needed to be careful with him - like glass, easily breakable, yet with the right care it would last forever.
"Spike, the way Dawn found you earlier tonight, I need your word that you'll never let that happen again. Ever."
He looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock with shame. "It won't. I promise. Never."
"Good, because I need you to be strong for her. Stronger than you've ever been for her. I need you to remember the promise you made to me, to protect her, forever."
He raised his eyes to hers. "I do. I will. Forever."
"Spike. I need you to let Willow finish the job."
He blinked, utterly confused. "What…?"
"No more hiding. No more running. You'll let her take me in plain sight. You'll let all of them come. Stand down and let them, and I promise they won't harm you."
"Buffy… I don't understand. Willow will see; they'll all see…you. Now. You're fine. Dawn and I were right. You just needed some time."
Buffy felt her throat tighten but she kept her eyes clear on his. "No, Spike. I'm not all right. I'm not fine. I didn't recover. This isn't what it seems. It's an illusion. A temporary fix. It won't last much longer. Six to eight hours. I need you to chain me to this bed and wait for Willow to come."
He worked his cheek. His voice was cold and flat as steel as his eyes darted aimlessly. "No. You're wrong. I saved you. We both saved you."
"You didn't. You tried, but you didn't. Listen to me." He started to turn his head, but she caught his face and kept his eyes on hers. "I came back wrong. And as much as you and Dawn want to fix it, it wasn't meant to be fixed. Not this time. I was fine where I was. I was at peace. You have to let Willow send me back…do what she knows she has to do. Promise me."
He looked slain. His mouth moved silently. No.
She leaned in and kissed him. It was all she could think to do. A soft sweet kiss that held, lingering. Neither of them breathed. He made a small pained sound when she released him. He was slow to open his eyes, but when he did, she knew he would grant her final wishes. For her and for Dawn. Especially for Dawn.
Her heart pounded, every inch of her ached to reach out and bring him close, to kiss away the sorrow haunting his eyes - to teach him what it meant to be held and loved. By her. But she knew that wasn't right, wasn't fair, to bring him to heaven's door only to leave him on the threshold alone - forever waiting for an invite. Better not to open the door at all. She turned away from that palpable silence to reach for her hairbrush and began to tug and yank it through her tangles. She could feel it beginning, her consciousness preparing to unmoor from this world. There wasn't going to be enough time to get her hair straight. Dammit.
Cool hands covered her wrist and brought the brush down, easing it out of her grasp. "Don't," he said quietly. "Let me do it."
She shook her head. She shouldn't, it wasn't right or fair. Not for him. Not this him. Tears welled up in her eyes and she brushed them off. Stupid Willow. Stupid contemporary-dimension Willow. Friends were such a pain in the ass. All she wanted was for them to go off and have happy lives and leave her alone. It was easier that way.
"Lie down," he said and she did, rolling away on her side. He went to her old weapons chest, took out a set of chains and threaded them through the metal bedposts. Then he took the clamps and closed them around her wrists and ankles with gentle hands. To think there was a time she would have called this kinky - run wet with excitement, awaiting his hard intrusion. This Spike would never know that. Never gain or lose that. Never win a soul. Not yet, not now, maybe never.
She closed her eyes when he sat on the bed next to her and lifted her shoulders to lay her head in his lap. The cold clasp of the manacles and weight of the chains were eased by the feel of her hair softly lifted thorough long fingers as they began to steadily work the tangled mess free with long gentle pulls of the brush - over and over in silence until she shifted slowly into sleep.
She woke to the sound of children's voices shouting in her face.
"Mommy! Mommy! Wake up!"
Huh? Two rosy-faced three year olds, a boy and a girl, bobbed up and down in her vision. She was lying on a strange bed in a strange room in a strange house.
"Mommy! Daddy says you need to wake up now! He's made hamburgers! And ketchup! And pickles!" The boy tugged at her hand. "Come on, Mommy!"
She sat up, mumbling for her voice. "Yeah, okay, go tell…Daddy…I'll be right down." The two brown-haired blue-eyed children giggled and chased each other back out of the room and down a distant flight of stairs. It was late in the afternoon and the smell of charcoal wafted in through the open window.
Buffy got up and went into the bathroom. Nothing in here was familiar. Towels, soap, deodorant, shaving supplies. A 'Daddy' lived here. With her. Was it Spike? Couldn't possibly be. Not if there were children. Did they adopt? Who would let a slayer and a vampire with no last name adopt?
She peed, flushed and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked about thirty. Her hips felt wider and her tummy was…kinda flabby. She lifted her shirt and pulled down her shorts. Stretch marks had faded to pink, as had the scar running from hipbone to hipbone. C-section. The children were hers. Twins. Bizarre. There was a small diamond ring and wedding band on her hand. Even more bizarre.
She washed her face and hands and walked tentatively down the hallway to the stairs. Furniture and wallpaper greeted her, all foreign and surreal. The patio door was open in the back, leading out to the yard from where cooking smells and children's squeals emanated. Bravely, she stepped out into the spring air.
She froze, dazed and confused, blinking through the slanting sunrays of the late afternoon at the face of her husband, who was standing over the smoking sizzling grill with a warm smile and spatula.
"How do you want your hamburger, sweetheart?"
Holy flipping hell. I'm Mrs. Riley Finn.