The Reforging of the Key

Chapter Three: Setting the Stage

...

Tara knew it was a dream even before she saw the changes to the room that had once belonged to Joyce Summers. Her own things were still there, but Willow's were gone.

"Hey, Tara."

Tara whirled around to face the owner of the voice, her eyes widening at the sight of Buffy standing in the bedroom doorway. A feeling of wonder and peace suffused her as she looked at the other woman's aura. The slayer glowed with something of the divine.

She's touched by heaven, she thought in awe. And she's letting me see just a tiny glimpse of it. It was almost too much. Then the nearly overwhelming feeling was gone, deliberately tamped down so that the woman before her was just Buffy Summers.

As if Buffy could ever really be described as just anything. She hadn't been as close to her as the others, hadn't been hurt as much by her death, but Buffy had stood up for her against her relatives and declared herself family. She would always love her for that.

"What's going on?" Tara asked as Buffy stepped further into the room.

"I… uh… need a really big, teensy bit life-altering favor from you," the slayer said, smiling brightly.

"I… life al-altering?" Tara swallowed hard and sat on the end of the bed. She already knew she would do it – Buffy wouldn't ask for something she couldn't give, not without a very good reason anyway – but she needed a moment to settle herself before agreeing.

"I need you to help with some stuff in this dream world, and it's going to have repercussions in the waking world." Buffy sat down next to her. "You'll end up with a really good friend and cuddle buddy out of it, but…." She looked down at her hands, then back into Tara's eyes, a solemn expression on her face. "You'll never again get an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's to yourself. Spike has, like, radar or something, and anytime you have any, he'll show up and end up eating half of it. With lesser ice creams, you'll have about a sixty percent chance of getting to eat the entire thing, but never with the B and J."

Tara stared at her in jaw-dropped incredulity for a minute before starting to giggle. "So… um… I take it Spike will be this good friend and cuddle buddy? As… as well as moocher of ice cream?"

"Yep. And you guys will watch chick flicks together." Buffy frowned thoughtfully. "Huh. You know, I just realized, he's like the girliest man ever, yet somehow is not the least bit effeminate, despite the eyeliner fetish. Weird. Anyway, it is a bit more complicated than that."

"Yeah," Tara said softly. "I figured it would be. What do you need from me?"

"You, Spike, and Dawn are asleep in the real world. Only about twenty minutes will pass there, but here, it'd be fourteen years. I need you to help raise my sister for those years and take care of my depressed, borderline alcoholic, codependent vampire."

…

…

Spike knew he was dreaming, and he never wanted to wake up. She was alive and warm in his arms, her mouth soft against his own. She'd kissed him once in the real world without a spell being involved, but he'd been too badly beaten at the time to really appreciate it. She'd kissed him other times in his dreams, in thanks for keeping his promise and saving Dawn. Saving them both. It had never felt like this before. Like it was real.

She deepened the kiss, holding him desperately, as if she wanted to devour him. Not the first Summers to do that, he thought, remembering Dawn chomping down on his right arm. Oh god, Dawn. She's all alone, and I'm off in dream land snogging Big Sis like an enormous git. Need to wake up. Now.

Before he could push Buffy away and try to force himself awake, she pulled back with a wistful smile.

"It's okay. Dawn's asleep, too. She's safe."

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to stay here with her for just a little bit longer, where, for once, he didn't hurt. Was that really too much to ask? Yeah, it bloody well is. You know that. As he'd always done when someone he cared about needed him, he shoved aside his own needs and wants. Dawn was all that mattered now.

"Sorry, love. Want to stay, but I have to wake up. My Nibblet needs me."

Buffy sighed softly and took a few steps back away from him. Then she began to glow, the energy coming from her so pure and holy that he was surprised he didn't burst into flames from being so close. She slowly reached out and pressed her hand against his cheek. There was the itchy, nerve jangling feeling like having a cross nearby, but his flesh didn't burn. The doubt, however, did, gone to ash and dust. He knew whatever she told him was the truth, and not just his subconscious playing games with him.

"You're right, she does need you, which is why you're both asleep right now," Buffy said, letting the glow fade away.

Spike slid down the door to sit on the floor, feeling shaky from the display of holy power. His beautiful slayer immediately sat down beside him, close enough that he could easily put his arm around her and hold her. He hesitantly did just that, a sigh of contentment escaping him as she leaned into him and rested her head on his chest. His eyes drifted closed as he basked in her presence.

Definitely a dream. If this was the real world and she wasn't… wasn't…. He couldn't bring himself to even think the word dead. She'd've punched me in the nose at least five times by now.

"You know, I'm pretty sure I never even thought this when I was alive, much less said it, but I'm really glad that you're short."

Spike's eyes snapped open, and he glanced down at the girl in his arms incredulously, focusing on the short comment and glossing over the "when I was alive" part because it was too painful to think about.

"I am not short," he grumped. "Red's wolfboy and that Jonathon bloke are short. Little bitty bite sized things." He gave her a suggestive look. "Me? I'm fun sized."

Buffy laughed and lightly punched him in the side. "That you are, my fine, feathered, monochrome peacock. Anyway, I'm glad you're you sized. It's nice to cuddle with a man who doesn't make me feel freakishly tiny."

"Nothin' freakish about you, slayer," he murmured, then cocked his head in thought. "Well, except-"

"That I'm being cuddly with you right now and not a complete bitch?" she interrupted wryly.

"Well… I'm not barmy enough to put it like that, but yeah. It's a mite bit out of character, love. If not for your little glowy trick, I'd still think this was a normal, though weird, dream."

"Being dead and in heaven gives a girl a different perspective on things," she said philosophically. "Especially since I sort of exist outside of time right now. I know what's going to happen after I get yanked back to life, and that's a big influence on how I'm reacting to you."

Heaven… yanked back to life…. Those words swirled through his head, the horrifying implications overshadowing everything else she said. Oh god, someone's going to pull her out of heaven.

"Who?" he snarled, pulling away and getting on his knees in front of her. His hands clamped on her upper arms as he shook her lightly. "Who's gonna try to pull you out? I'll rip their guts out."

Tear 'em apart into little pieces while they're still alive. Hear 'em scream like music, choking on their own blood. Rip, slash, tear-

"Spike!"

Buffy yelling his name and slapping him across the face pulled him out of his murderous thoughts. He glanced away before he could see her expression, sure that it would be shaped by revulsion and horror, but when she gently grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her, there was just sympathy and compassion.

"Sorry about that, but I couldn't get your attention any other way." Her voice was gentle as she continued. "Willow gets it all going because she thinks it's the right thing to do."

Spike jerked back off his knees, sitting on the floor again, shocked and bewildered. "Red is gonna do it? Why?" he asked plaintively.

What could possibly make Red think ripping the slayer out of bloody heaven is a good idea? He'd have to stop her somehow. If he had to, he could gather up some demons to kill her. Maybe I can just find a way to talk her out of it. He didn't want to have her killed. He liked Willow.

Yeah, she'd been right nasty to him along with the rest of the lot when they found out he was in love with the slayer, but he still liked her. She was the shy little thing who'd found the courage to yell at him while he drunkenly held a broken bottle to her face, who had tried to comfort him when he couldn't bite her before bashing him in the head with a lamp.

She'd actually cared when he'd tried to kill himself back when he hadn't known he could still fight demons. And even after his feelings had been outed, she'd apologized to him when Tara had accidentally burned him, and had thanked him for his offer of boozy courage even as she turned it down. And yeah, her attempt at magicking away his depression had left him feeling angry and violated after the fact, but she'd at least been trying to help.

Doesn't matter. Kill her if I have to. If it's the only way to keep her from hurting Buffy.

"She thinks I'm in a hell dimension. She's going to think she's rescuing me."

Relief flooded through him. "That's easy enough to fix. I'll just tell her where you are. She pro'ly won't believe me at first, but it should be enough to get her to actually che…" he trailed off mid word as Buffy slowly shook her head.

"You aren't going to remember any of this. You won't even remember that this part of the dream happened, or that you saw me. The things I'm going to tell you that you need to know, you'll just sort of know. And when I get resurrected, I won't remember anything except the feelings of peace, love, and completion."

Spike pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He wanted to hold her instead, but he knew he wasn't good enough to touch her. He shouldn't have even been in her presence. He hadn't been able to save her from death, and he wouldn't be able to save her from being dragged away from her just reward. Bloody useless. I was s'posed to be the one to die on that tower. Not her.

"It's going to be rough for a while, but there are all these prophecies about the warrior, the champion, and the knight, and I just happen to be one them, so, I kinda have to be alive," Buffy said, as if it would make her loss and suffering okay.

She got up on her hands and knees and covered the foot of distance between them, her face only an inch from his own. Her voice was low and husky as she continued speaking. "And with me being all alive-o girl, I'll get to see you avert a mini apocalypse with the incredibly sexy power of," she moved in closer, her breath deliciously warm against his skin as she whispered in his ear, "poetry analysis."

He jerked back as if she'd slapped him, his eyes wide as he started babbling denials. "That can't… I don't know anything about… I'm the big bad, sweets, not some nancy boy poet." His eyes narrowed at her mischievous grin. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

"Oh, no, I was completely serious, it's just adorable how defensive you are about that. There's this doomsday artifact thingy, and the only way to turn it off is with a spell, but the spell is a jumbled up poem in a demon language, except no one knows it's a poem until you figure it out, 'cause it has poemy vibes or something. It has to be unjumbled, interpreted correctly, and then recited with the right rhythm."

Spike tilted his head to the side as he watched her. She clearly didn't want to talk about what Willow was going to do. With a sigh, he let it go.

"So… um… you said me an' the Nibblet are asleep because she needs something? It have to do with me turning her into a poodle?"

She snorted a laugh at his poodle comment. "Kind of. The extra I asked for is a dream world for you and her, where she can grow up from a baby to the age of fourteen with you taking care of her."

"From a…."

He blinked and looked into the living room, at the bassinet he'd seen before Buffy had come down the stairs. I knew the sprog smelled like Dawn. Ugh, and then I let myself get distracted. By Buffy, but still….

He got to his feet and walked over to the bassinet, looking down at the sleeping infant inside. She was so tiny and delicate. He reached out hesitantly towards her cheek, but pulled back before he could touch her. He swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry throat. So tiny… fragile. He could break her in half without even meaning to. He was supposed to take care of her?

Okay, he was actually really good at taking care of people, had done it his whole life and unlife, but none of them had been helpless little infants. Well, 'cept for Sarah Jane, but I was still human then… and five, so, you know, not actually her main caretaker. He tried not to think about the fact that she had died of pneumonia at the age of three.

"You… you're gonna help, right, love?" he asked, looking at Buffy as she came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

She slowly shook her head. "I told you. You won't remember even seeing me. I want these to be good memories for you and Dawn, not something you'll both avoid because it's too painful while I'm gone."

"…Oh, right. Yeah. I guess…. So, this… all this," he held out his hand and made a sweeping gesture, "is so the li'l bit can have some extra mem'ries?"

"That's part of it. It won't replace the memories the monks made, and they won't be as strong, but they'll be there. Dawn needs this." She turned away from him, hugging herself as she took a deep, steadying breath. "And so do you. Because when I come back…." She faced him again, pain in her eyes. "If you don't have this, I'm going to end up breaking you. And even with it, it's going to be really close."

Before Spike could even begin to process Buffy's words, much less reply to them, she continued on.

"Also, the dream world years will help you and Dawn adjust to the fact that she's just a teensy bit not quite all the way human anymore."

All thoughts about the slayer blathering some nonsense about breaking him came to a screeching halt, to be the replaced by the idiotic notion that he somehow had actually turned Dawn part poodle. Don't be daft, he scolded himself in irritation. Not actually a soddin' werepoodle, you git, no matter what the whelp says.

"She's part vampire," he said quietly.

"Just a little bit," Buffy confirmed. "She's alive, obviously, and has a soul, and doesn't have any of the weaknesses and restrictions since there's no actual demon in her. Her genetics are just… different, because she ate a chunk of you and sort of got reformatted. She can do partial game face, though – just the gold eyes and fangs – and she needs to drink vampire blood every once in a while."

"Vampire blood? That's a new one. Unless she needs to drain one dry, it'll prob'ly be mine. Not gonna bring some nasty home for her dinner." The bizarre mental image of a freshly bathed fledgling tied up on the table with an apple in its mouth popped into his head. He sighed and rubbed his face. "Not an ideal situation, but at least she won't be thinking of her own kind as walking happy meals."

"Your blood's what's going to be best for her. You're the equivalent of a nummy human with other vamps being cold piggies."

"Euch." Spike shuddered in revulsion. "That swill is bad enough warm. Cold… euch." He shuddered again, thinking of the times he'd ended up choking it down that way, either from being too hungry to wait or too depressed to care. "How much'll she need?"

"That's one of the things you'll just sort of know." She moved close to him again, tucking against his side and sliding her arm under his coat so she could run her hand along the back of his t-shirt. Her fingers drifted up and down his spine, sliding over to the side each time she reached a specific part of his lower back. "Wish I could warn you about that and actually have you remember it," she murmured.

"Eh?" Spike looked at her in confusion as he slid his arm around her shoulders. "Warn me about what, pet? She get to a point when she needs more 'n I can give?"

"No, I was talking about something else. Nothing we can actually do about it now." She sighed and leaned more into him. "Right now, while she's a baby, Dawnie'll need a little bit mixed in whenever she has a bottle. By the time she's thirteen, she'll just need about a cup every two weeks, and it'll stay that way for the rest of her life."

"That sounds doable. Right, okay." He took a deep breath, the reflexive action helping to calm his nerves even though he didn't actually need the air. God, I need a fag. Is secondhand smoke still bad for munchkins if it's a dream? "So, I'm s'posed to raise Nibblet from a sprog in nappies to a teenage ball of hormones by my lonesome? And get us both through it more or less intact?"

"You won't be alone. I've got a helper lined up for you."

Spike stiffened and pulled away from Buffy, his eyes narrowed. "Don't trust me alone with her?" He knew he was being stupid, but he couldn't seem to stop the defensive reaction. "Think I'll just bugger things all up?"

Buffy threw her hands up in exasperation. "I think you like being contrary and bitchy, is what I think. Taking care of a kid is hard enough for a single parent who isn't allergic to daylight. Someone needs to be able to do out of the house daytime stuff with her. That isn't the biggest reason you need someone else here, though."

"Oh? And what is the biggest reason, slayer?"

"You're very social, Spike. You need someone to talk to who can do more than gurgle and poop themselves."

"Yeah, that's why I try not to spend too much time around Harris."

"Hush, you." She shook her finger at him, looking both irritated and amused. "You're also the poster vamp for codependency, so you need someone around who can make you take care of yourself properly."

"I am not codep-" He was cut off by Buffy holding up one finger.

"An inability to tolerate being alone, accompanied by frantic efforts to avoid being alone. You know, like hanging around my group even though we tend to treat you like crap." She lifted a second finger. "Chronic feelings of boredom and emptiness." A third finger went up. "Subordinating your own needs in favor of those you care about." A fourth. "An intense desire for acceptance and affection." Her thumb joined the fingers of her right hand. "Low feelings of self-worth. Those sounding familiar, or do I need to keep going?"

Spike ducked his head and scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. "Maybe a little familiar," he mumbled. Am I really that much of a pathetic wanker?

"Try a lot familiar," Buffy said wryly. "You throw everything you are into taking care of the people you love, even if it hurts you. That's why I know you can be trusted with one more little bit of information. The chip? It won't exist in the dream world."

Spike's hands clenched into fists as he stared blankly at a random patch of floor. Just a dream world. Not real freedom. He'd wake up and, in the real world, he'd still have the chip. Humans would still be able to put their filthy paws all over him without having to face the consequences. He'd still be hungry all the time because he couldn't force down more of the wretched pig swill in a day to do more than keep him from wasting away. The only thing that would really change would be his relationship with Dawn.

He could raise her to accept that he saw her kind as nothing but prey. That little girls like her were just yummy little snacks. She was just a baby. By the time she was old enough to be bothered by it, it would be normal for her. But his real world Nibblet would have those memories. Would she be frightened of him if they were filled with mayhem and slaughter? Or would she just hate him?

He took a deep breath, wishing it was filled with sweet, sweet nicotine, and looked up at Buffy. "Won't kill any humans. Unless they're a threat, and there's no other way."

"I know," she said simply, as if the only one who had had any doubts at all was him.

"Buffy, I…. There's something…" he trailed off and looked at the floor again. He didn't have any right to ask for what he wanted.

Angelus's words from all those decades ago still echoed in his mind. Nothing was his. Even Dru hadn't been his, not really. He'd been able to pretend for a long time, but she'd constantly strayed, even after her precious "daddy" had gone away. Her poor, broken mind would completely forget he even existed, and she'd go off chasing after whomever or whatever had caught her fancy. She'd taken what she needed from him, but when he'd needed her, she'd abandoned him for her returned daddykins.

He looked up, startled, at the feel of Buffy's hand wrapping around his.

"I know what you want," she said quietly, leading him towards the couch. "I want it too."

He wrapped his arms around her as they stretched out on the comfortable piece of furniture and breathed in her scent. The spicy smell of slayer mixed with the wildflowers and sunshine that was pure Buffy. He sighed in contentment and just held her, wanting nothing more than to feel her in his arms, where he knew she'd be safe and loved.

…

…

Spike jerked awake at the indignant screech of an infant who wanted her way, and wanted it now. He flailed to try to keep his balance, but still ended up falling from the couch to the floor in an undignified head.

"Bloody brilliant," he muttered to himself. "Reflexes like a soddin' cat, I have."

He heaved himself to his feet with a grunt and gently scooped the fusing girl from her bassinet. "Hush now, Li'l Bit. Give us a mo', and we'll get you all sorted."

A quick sniff revealed that she was in need a diaper change. An' it's morning, he noted smugly as he saw the amount of light showing through the drawn curtains. That meant he could wake Tara up and have her deal with it. And she couldn't even guilt trip him over it, because, one, he was an evil, soulless vampire and didn't do that whole guilt trip thing… mostly… and two, he'd be busy fixing up her bottle, which meant heating the formula and cutting his hand to get the blood she needed.

"Come on, pigeon, let's go see if Auntie Tara is up," he said, humming cheerfully as he bopped up the stairs with his infant daughter in his arms.