Story Notes: Starts at the end of Normal Again- some dialogue from the episode is used- and quickly goes off into my own little AR.
A/N: I expect to get a bit of flack for some of what I will do herein. I can only say there was no other way to do what I wanted without doing exactly what I did. This is my big, ole WIP, my baby. It is, as always, completely unbeta-ed. That's where you guys come in. Let me know if something doesn't work or someone is too OOC and, more importantly, why. I've rarely written Giles or Anya and have never written some of the other characters I will end up pulling in. I may not take all your suggestions but I will always give them serious thought. Consequently, there may be tweaking of chapters. You have been duly warned. Apologies to all for any grammatical errors or just plain wrongness. Feedback is always appreciated. (See above request for it.)
A/N #2: Edited 9/25/06 for errors after feedback from a reviewer. See, I do read 'em and take 'em seriously. ;)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never gonna be mine. Not making a profit here either.
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This was harder than she'd thought. It was only natural, she supposed. She'd been with these people, these figments of her imagination, for years now. They were her family- used to be her family. Now it was time to leave childish things like imaginary friends behind so she could go home to be with her real family. She just didn't expect it to be this hard; to watch them struggle and want nothing more than to go to them, to help them. It's what she did. She helps people, she's the Slayer.
No. No, she's not. That's just a fantasy. It's something her mind made up to help her cope. But none of that was real and the sooner this was over, the sooner she could get well and go home. If only it didn't hurt so much. If only it wasn't so hard. She banged her head on the wall over and over again, trying to make the pain only physical, trying to make everything clear. If she just wouldn't think about it so much…
"You've got…a world of strength in your heart," her mom said softly, crouched down next to her. "I know you do, you just have to find it again. Believe in yourself."
Her mother's hand felt so good in her hair; smoothing it back just like when she was a little girl and would come into her parent's room after a nightmare. Buffy leaned into the touch, savoring it, before turning to look deep into her mother's eyes.
"You're right," she said, smiling sadly. "Thank you."
Oh God, she didn't know what she'd been thinking. She'd offered her friends up to a demon like a-a sacrifice. She had to go back and make it right. If she could.
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Spike stood on the sidewalk in front of the house. He'd stayed away for two days. He thought she'd be back before now. What she needed only he could give her and if she was too bloody pig-headed to go to him, he'd just come back to her. If only his feet would get the message and let him walk to the door instead of refusing to move.
Spike had dread curling around in his stomach and couldn't figure out why. It wasn't as if they hadn't fought before, usually right before a good shagging. And after one. And sometimes during. They fought pretty much all the time, truth to tell. Nothing different about this at all.
He finally convinced his feet to start moving by throwing the rest of himself forward and counting on various parts of his body to not want to make a hard impact with the ground. It seemed to be a good strategy because, instead of pitching forward on his face, he was suddenly walking up the steps to the door.
Spike knocked several times with no result. She could be on patrol but Dawn or Red should be home at least. He finally lost patience and hammered on the door, nonplused when it suddenly swung open under his fist.
"Hello?" He called from the doorway. "Demon here, able to just walk right in the bloody Slayer's house because someone forgot how to properly close and lock the door!"
He stalked into the house and slammed the door closed, locking it firmly. He stood in the entryway and shivers suddenly raced up and down his spine. Dead silence.
Spike wandered into the kitchen. It looked like Red hadn't bothered to clean any of her magic implements from the counter again. The whole kitchen smelled like vinegar and cabbage. What the hell had she been making? He stretched out a finger and poked at one of the bundles of herbs, jumping back into a fighting stance when the refrigerator suddenly kicked on.
He straightened back up, shook his head and laughed at himself under his breath. Jumping at shadows, some Big Bad. Good thing no one was home to see that.
Spike walked into the living room and slowly made a sweep of the room, looking to see what had been moved since he'd stayed here with Bit. It wasn't often now that he got to be here by himself, not without a bloody good reason. Rummaging through the girls' things quickly lost its novelty though, so he turned and headed for the stairs. No telling when any of them would come home. He could always say he was just looking for Buffy if anyone caught him. Wanted to know if the Slayer wanted to go out on patrol. Yeah.
Every room upstairs was empty and somehow unlived in. The air was still and that feeling of dread had returned ten-fold. It was a bit like walking around in a tomb, except he had no problem with things like that. He lived in a sodding crypt with the dearly departed still in residence; tombs didn't bother him.
This, though, this was something else. This was his girls' house; his vibrant, messy, loud girls. There was something not right about how still and silent the house was and, after he'd checked all the rooms, he quickly moved back downstairs. Not that he was spooked mind. It was just, he didn't want to get caught up there all by his lonesome and have another row with the Slayer. This was about making up, not starting another fight.
He was heading through the kitchen towards the back door when he caught the scent. Spike didn't know how he could have missed it before; the stench of death was all but clogging his nostrils now. He tracked it to the slightly open door that led down to the basement.
Spike nudged the door fully open with his foot and peered down into the room. It didn't look like there was anyone down there but if he concentrated, blocking the ticking of the clock and the quiet hum of the refrigerator, he could hear a heart beating slowly and steadily somewhere in the dim room. And the smell of vinegar only got stronger.
The stairs creaked softly as he walked down them. He was expecting any moment for the washer or dryer to come on and Dawn to shriek the house down that he'd scared the pants off her creeping up like that. But all he heard in the silence was that single beating heart. If someone was down here, they weren't moving.
The first thing Spike saw was the dead demon on the floor by the washing machine. It had to be a day old at the least. The body smelled strongly of vinegar and decomposing cabbages and explained the smell permeating the kitchen. He pinched his sensitive nostrils together in disgust before turning away to scan the rest of the room.
The second thing he saw caused his blood to freeze and his head to swim. For a few surreal seconds Spike thought he was actually going to pass out. He had to take several deep, unnecessary breaths before the spots stopped dancing in front of his eyes.
"Oh, flaming hells," he whispered, horrified.
Spike slunk forward slowly, still scanning the basement. He let the bones in his face shift as his senses flared outward. The sound of breathing was suddenly harsh in his ears and the single living pulse was booming. There was someone down here and he had to find them, find her. It had to be her.
It had to be.
