New-Buffy

The doorbell rang just as she was selecting which weapons she wanted to take with her on patrol. She picked up a sword and a really large axe and hurried downstairs.

"Thanks so much for agreeing to watch Dawn, Anya. I've taken a few nights off lately; I should get back into it… Anya?"

Anya had gone paper-white and her hands were shaking. She was staring at Buffy as though she had grown wings and horns. And an extra head.

"Anya?"

She didn't stop staring, eyes wide in horror. "No… nothing, I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine."

"Are you sure?" Buffy asked. "You look terrible."

"Oh, thanks so much," Anya snapped. "I'm…" She inhaled deeply and fought to regain some kind of control. "I've got PMS, if you must know. So there's nothing wrong with me that a hot water bottle and lots of sleep won't fix."

"Okay…" Buffy shrugged and went through the door, closing it behind her. It hadn't looked like PMS to her, but you never knew with Anya.

Had she recognized her as not being really Buffy? Did she still remember the pathetic blonde loser that had been kicked out of this life? Buffy thought it unlikely. Only people who actually saw her appear, like Spike had, should be aware of the change – as well as the person being replaced, of course. But Anya didn't fall into either of those categories. She couldn't possibly remember the original Buffy. She remembered new-Buffy doing the things that old-Buffy had done. She had to.

Buffy had to keep this life. This was everything she'd ever wanted – good friends, a loving family, a purpose. That idiot who'd lived it before her couldn't have known what she was giving up. She didn't even fight back. She wanted somebody to take her life away. New-Buffy had been perfectly willing to do so. She was just glad she'd gotten there before somebody else had. And it was rather a good thing, in the long run, that old-Buffy had wanted her life gone. Otherwise new-Buffy wouldn't have it now.

Buffy turned left towards the graveyard, hoping to find something to kill there. It felt somehow odd, slaying demons, but she would get used to it. She was the Slayer, after all – she'd been called into this role by forces beyond comprehension. Slaying demons was her life, and she would slay them, despite the little uncomfortableness she felt at attacking her own kind.

What had been her own kind. She wasn't a demon anymore. She was Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer and they were her prey. She had to push aside the fact that she'd been a demon for a few hundred years. She taken this life knowing she would be the Slayer. Buffy wanted to be the Slayer. Being the Slayer was everything. Protecting people, saving the world, averting apocalypses… all in a day's work. It was fantastic.

This was the first time she, herself, had actually patrolled; although she had all of old-Buffy's memories as though they were her own. It was exhilarating, creeping through the streets, darkness cloaking her movements, every sense alert for the presence of some nameless terror. Hunting. Killing. Living. There was nothing like this feeling of being alive, blood rushing through her body, charging her for the fight ahead; going forward to meet that fight with anticipation; planning strategy and running through her opponent's weaknesses.

Well, she didn't quite know who her opponent was, yet. She'd been a bit lax with the patrolling lately, getting a feel for this life. Getting to know people for real, not feeding off old-Buffy's memories. Hanging out with Dawn and helping her friends with their problems. But tonight, she would stake whatever unlucky vamps happened to be around, and kill a couple of other demons if any crossed her path.

Should she kill Spike tonight? It wasn't like she needed to make an appointment or anything. It wasn't a special occasion, killing one vampire out of probably dozens in Sunnydale. But Buffy felt there was something special there anyway… something about Spike that made killing him an event, not just part of the job. And he was smart, smarter than most other vamps. She'd need a plan, a proper plan, rather than her usual method of turning up and staking randomly. So not tonight them, but soon. Very soon. Spike, even with a chip, could be dangerous.

Two vampires leapt out of the shadows at her and she forgot everything about Anya and Spike in the rush of the fight.

Old-Buffy

"Spike, you're out of food again!"

"Well, go get some more or something, don't whinge to me about it!"

"With what, exactly? I don't have credit cards or anything and I didn't bring any money with me."

"Just go steal something, that's what I always do."

"Spike!" Buffy spun around only to bump into him, standing right in front of her. "God, Spike, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"What, you gonna stake me or something?" Spike's crooked played across his mouth. Buffy loved it when he smiled like that.

"No, it's just really annoying," she grumbled, side-stepping him.

"'I'll make a note to do it more often then," he said slyly, catching her arm and whirling her back into his arms. She laughed as he lifted her off her feet and spun her around like she was a child.

He was just leaning down to kiss her when Anya burst in through the crypt door.

"Buffy!"

Buffy and Spike broke apart and stared at Anya.

"Anya, what's going on?" Spike demanded. "I'm trying to have some private time with the lady, and I'll thank you to keep out of it."

"Buffy, listen-"

"Wait," said Buffy, shock paralysing her. "You know… you know me?" Anya couldn't, couldn't possibly know her! New-Buffy had convinced everyone, even Dawn, that she was Buffy. How could Anya not be part of that?

"Yes, of course I do," Anya said. "Listen, there's this demon back at the house – it's taken over you, Buffy! Everybody thinks that it's you!"

"Anya… I know. I know this. She came to me… what, two days ago? Yeah. Said some stuff and then we left. But Dawn saw us together, talked to her; she didn't know who I was! She didn't question the – demon, you said? Anyway, she just called her 'Buffy', straight out."

"That's what this demon does," Anya said. "It's a Mirror Demon."

"A what?"

"They feed off unrealised potential, wasted moments… lives going to nothing. They take these lives and make them great, make the most they possibly can out of them. And there are loads of them. Loads of famous people are actually Mirror Demons."

"Come on, we'd know," Buffy said. "We'd have to know… people like who?"

"Well, Mother Theresa for one. Saint Francis of Assisi for another. Loads of them aren't necessarily famous, either. Lots of Red Cross volunteers and stuff like that."

"But if they can chuck people out of their lives, like this one did to Buffy-" Spike wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders, "-why don't they simply take over everyone?"

"There's a condition," Anya said. "The person has to want to give up their life. The demon can be blocked by just the slightest resistance, as long as it's early enough. Once they get a hold, they're there forever. But they can only get a hold if they're allowed to."

"And she said I'd made all these mistakes, too… like being with Spike, and not looking after Dawn properly…"

"That's a less important part of it, but it still matters. That's why they can't take over every random suicidal person. There has to be something about wasting the life, about not using it properly. It's specific to each life. If you hadn't been the Slayer, being with Spike would have been fine. It's the mistakes, things in the life that shouldn't happen. That, combined with the person wanting to lose their life, creates a perfect door for the demon. And they swoop through and take it."

"I let her," Buffy agreed numbly. "I let her take everything. I didn't want it, that's true. And I guess she's right about ruining my life, too. I didn't care anymore… I wanted it to end."

"That's the sort of thing they rely on," Anya nodded. "People who won't fight back. They can just walk in unopposed and alter everybody's memories so they think it's always been the demon there. The events don't change; everything still happened the same, they just believe the demon did it. And it's not just people. All the photos of you, Buffy – they're photos of her. Her face is plastered all over your house."

"Her house," Buffy corrected. "She's Buffy, not me. This demon's obviously pretty powerful. To insert itself that completely…"

"Yeah. Mirrors are one of the more skilled but less violent species of demon. They live in this kind of non-existent dimension, waiting for somebody to lose their grip on their life, and they swoop down and take over it. And not just humans, either – they'll replace anything that has a life that it doesn't want. Other demons… some kinds of animals too."

"So how do you know all this? If the Mirror Demon can fool everybody, why not you? Why don't you think the demon's Buffy?" Spike asked.

"I went over to your place to babysit Dawn while you – um, she – went out on patrol. She opened the door and I was just like 'Oh my God what the hell is going on here?' I didn't actually say that, but I was thinking it. I think she knew something was up, she said I looked terrible, which was so not true, by the way – I said I had PMS and she left. And Dawn thought she was Buffy, and all the pictures and everything, they're all her. And I was thinking, 'Right, Buffy's been evicted by a Mirror Demon. Where would she go?'"

"And your first thought was that I'd come here?" Buffy raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"Well, no," Anya admitted. "I was trying to think of who else would know that the demon wasn't you, and it doesn't work on demons, so I thought, Spike! And since we all know he's totally obsessed with you, he'd know what was going on!"

Despite being dead, Spike managed to blush. "Glad to know I'm of some use around here."

"Wait… what do you mean, it doesn't work on demons?" Buffy asked. "You're not a demon, so how…?"

"Well, I think that because I was a demon, for over a thousand years, that counts. It didn't take. I still know who you are! And that's why Spike knows too – because the replacement doesn't work on other demons. Or rather, on other species than the one being replaced, because demons get replaced all the time and it works on all the demons of the same species-"

"Thanks, Anya, we get it," Buffy said. Actually she didn't, but she didn't know how much more demon-talk she could take. She wasn't the Slayer, this wasn't meant to be her problem! And of all her friends to remember her, it had to be Anya, possibly the most useless one of them all.

But then again, that was probably a good thing. Definitely good. Anyone else would try and talk her into taking her life back, get her to kick the Mirror Demon out of this dimension and back into its unlife. And they'd be horrified at her and Spike being together. But not Anya. Anya was okay with that, and wouldn't try and make her do anything. On second thoughts, Anya was probably the best person who could have remembered.

Anya and Spike. God, she'd be so lost without Spike. How could she have kept going without having this, without him? What if it had worked and he'd loved new-Buffy? Oh God, how could she have lived with that? She couldn't have. Plain and simple. She could live without her life; her friends, Dawn, everything – but she couldn't live without Spike.

"So what are you gonna do now?" Anya asked.

"Huh?" Buffy looked up. "Oh. Well, like you said… once they get a grip there's no getting rid of them. I can't get my life back, and to be honest, I don't want it. She's welcome to it, and maybe that's what you guys deserve as well. I wasn't much of a friend, or a sister, and you should have more than that. Dawn deserves more; you can't tell me she's not happy with the demon."

"She won't shut up about it," Anya said. "She keeps going on about how great you are, taking her out to the movies, letting her stay up late… just being Epic Sister of the Year, apparently."

"See? She's a better Buffy than me. Anya, please, try and accept her. Buffy Summers lives there now, Buffy with brown hair and blue eyes. It's not me. I'm me. I'm not her. I'm not Buffy."

"That's not true," Anya began. "You're still you. People just don't know you're you. You're not changed by this; you're the same as you were before then."

"Not quite the same," Buffy said. "I've changed. I'm not the Slayer anymore."

"What? Where'd you get that from?"

"That's what new-me said," Buffy said. "She said that since she was the Slayer she was going to come around and stake Spike-" She looked up suddenly; she'd forgotten that thinly-veiled threat in everything else that had been going on. "Spike…" She spun around to face him.

"S'alright, pet," he said reassuringly. "You've never managed to stake me yet, there's no way she can. I'm not going anywhere."

"Sorry to break up your special moment," said Anya, not sounding sorry at all, "but she's not the Slayer. You are."

"What? How?"

"Because the calling is a physical thing." Anya explained. "She was never called. You were. And anyway, the replacement doesn't work on demons; the Slayer is a demon power, right?"

"Yeah…" Buffy refused to believe this. No, no, no, it couldn't be…

"So you're still the Slayer. She believes she's the Slayer; so does everybody else, in fact. But she isn't. You are."

"But… but I don't want to be! I gave that up with everything else of my life! I gave her the Slayer!" She wrenched herself free of Spike's arms and strode across to Anya. "Tell me I'm not the Slayer! Tell me… I'm not the Slayer!" The crypt rang with her inhuman scream, echoes reverberating between the stone walls for long seconds after she stopped. Buffy gasped for breath and dropped to the floor, landing unceremoniously in a heap. She was the Slayer… she couldn't be the Slayer! New-Buffy had taken everything and old-Buffy had relinquished it gladly. That was why new-Buffy had been able to take it, after all. Had Buffy hung on to that tiny part of her life? Had she been willing to give up everything but being the Slayer? No. No way. Buffy had been much gladder about the loss of her Slayer powers than the loss of Dawn and her friends. Inside she knew Anya was right. The Slayer was a demon power, and the replacement didn't work on demons. Buffy was the Slayer.

Buffy was the Slayer.

"Spike…" she gasped, reaching out blindly for him. "Spike…" She heard his footsteps coming closer – and then moving past. Where was he going?

"Anya, thanks for coming, but I think you should go now," Spike said softly.

"Yeah. Make sure the Mirror Demon doesn't kill you. That would make me sad." Anya turned and left, the crypt door swinging shut behind her. Buffy stayed on the floor, feeling the chill sink into her bones. She couldn't move. Even the apocalypse raging above her head wouldn't be able to shift her. She just felt numb.

"Spike, please…"

"Buffy…" He sighed and sat down next to her, but didn't touch her. Buffy wanted to weep with emptiness. Why was he being so distant? Why, after everything they'd shared together, after she'd confessed her love for him, wouldn't he hold her when she needed comfort?

"Buffy, think about it. You're the Slayer. Do you really want me helping you? Do you really want to be here at all?"

Oh God. The Slayer. She was the Slayer and in love with Spike. She couldn't be both. Everything she was – the Slayer, basically – was screaming at her that she couldn't be both…

… could she?

She'd never actually stopped being the Slayer. When she'd realized that she loved Spike, she was still the Slayer. During everything they'd shared over the past two days, the Slayer had been right there with them.

And hadn't said a word.

The Slayer hadn't felt revulsion at Spike's touch, or self-loathing at enjoying that touch. The Slayer hadn't twitched when Buffy told Spike she loved him, or felt sickened when Spike told her he loved her back. There was no difference between Buffy and the Slayer.

There never had been.

"Oh God… Spike…"

"Listen, Buffy, I understand. You're the Slayer, I get that. Just don't hate me, okay? For trying to give you what you needed. For being with you. I thought… hell, you thought… just don't hate me."

"Spike… If I was okay with you before, what makes you think anything's changed now? I was the Slayer and I still loved you. Everything I said before this happened was all in my head. I was trying to be what I thought the Slayer should be. But if the Slayer's part of who I am, part of me, not my life, then it doesn't make a difference. The Slayer's part of who I am, and everything I am loves you."

"Buffy… just be sure about this. You hated me. You were screwing me and you still hated me. You can't just change that overnight."

"I can. Because I haven't changed. I'm just being honest. That was never real, Spike. It was me trying to be something I thought I should be. Using you like that… it was killing me. But it's okay now. I love you. Being the Slayer doesn't change that. I am the Slayer and I love you."

It was something she barely understood herself; that she could be a Vampire Slayer and love a vampire. Love didn't appreciate rules and callings; it simply was, and it was greater than anything else Buffy could name – much more powerful than the Slayer. And having recognized that, Buffy knew she could love Spike until the sun burned to a dark hunk of coal, and the Slayer wouldn't care that he was a vampire, that he was soulless; wouldn't care about anything except that he was the one she loved.

Spike reached over to her and pulled her into his arms. The stone floor below her wasn't cold anymore, not when she was buried in the cool haven of his chest. He held her close and she wrapped her arms around him. They sat like that for what may have been hours, comfortable in the knowledge of their shared love. Buffy knew, at last, she was home. She knew exactly who she was, Slayer included, and she still loved Spike. She would always love Spike.

"Love you," she whispered into the deep silence, her words filling something that wasn't quite emptiness.

"I know," Spike said, kissing the top of her head. "Can't believe how bloody lucky I am. You being the Slayer and still loving me…"

"Always," she vowed, turning around to sit face-to-face. "I always will."

"Me too," he said, with that gorgeous grin she loved so much. She leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and kissed him. The world melted away and there was only them. Only her and Spike. Nothing else mattered but her and Spike.

Buffy knew that despite supposedly having lost everything, she could have nothing more than this for the rest of her existence and be completely, perfectly happy.