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Chapter Nineteen
When the carriage slowed down, daring to stop entirely, the spell was broken. Hazel green ripped away from ice blue. Buffy scrambled to set herself to rights as William did the same. There was this flurry of movement to fix and hide what the darkness would, but the daylight without would not. Evening was growing closer; however, it would be hours yet before the sun fully set and disappeared on the horizon coated in green.
The slayer's eyes narrowed in the glass pane of the carriage, judging every aspect of her features and hair. Deft digits danced over the tightness still present in her cravat, over the fine lapels of her jacket.
She didn't dare look at William, not knowing if she feared the rejection that might very well come, or, the uncertainty in his eyes about what had happened. Though, despite the desire to look, her choice was quickly taken from her once the carriage jerked to a stop and the door snapped open. Hating herself, she didn't do more than glance at him before stepping out into the company of servants and…
"Kit?"
"Nephew," he replied soundly to her confusion, flashing a grin. His hands remained locked behind his back. "I know it might seem unorthodox for me to wait for you here, but I heard the carriages were coming up. Apologies, but I must speak with you presently."
Which, basically translated to: it's urgent—move it now. And really… she needed the distraction. No, she needed to tell him about everything that had been going on. Buffy really couldn't lie though; it was so good to see him. Him being here meant he'd found something; something about William—Spike. She'd kiss him if he'd found the key to all of this.
But, she didn't want to be rude, even if it killed her. And so, Buffy turned to watch as William stepped out of the carriage. Sharp cold blues met her head on and she did her best not to react, and to instead put on her 'slayer face'.
"I'm sorry to leave you so suddenly, but I must speak with my uncle."
"Worry not on the matter," he told her confidently and in a clipped way she hardly expected even from Spike. "These things come up." And then he nodded, excusing her entirely. Buffy, again, was left with her own uncertainty.
But all she did was nod in return… hesitantly. Kit's hand on her arm helped give her the extra push she needed to turn away and head into the house.
"You appear put out," he told her softly once they were inside, guiding them towards the stairs and, in all likelihood, to her room.
"You can say that again," she muttered as they progressed to the top.
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. Twentieth century slang. Again." Buffy shook her head as she cast her eyes downward and made the final step into the long hallway. "Bad day," she said, hoping he'd translate that easier.
"Ah…"
"More like… bad week," she amended, looking at him. "You?"
"I had an enlightening one. I've brought a few things with me, but they're in my room."
"You have one? I thought the place was booked solid."
Kit chuckled softly, catching her humor for once. "One was saved for me. I had Ian take a letter with him to be given to the lady of the house, as if were."
"I guess that rank isn't for nothing," she quipped, citing his being a lord of the realm.
"It has its benefits. But, at any rate, would you rather we speak in my room or your own?"
"Does it matter?"
"Not really."
"Mine then. We're pretty much there." Even as she said it she stopped in front of her door and turned the knob. Hazel eyes scanned the room, noting Ian wasn't about doing whatever the hell it was valets did when their master wasn't in.
She was a few steps in when she heard Kit close the door behind her. "You want me to ring up for tea or something?" she asked as she placed her hands on her hips and turn towards him.
"Yes, that would be good. I haven't eaten much since I left London."
She gave a nod as she walked towards the wall and yanked on the chord that made the staff hop and jump to get her whatever she needed. "Have a seat," she said next, motioning to the table in the room with a few chairs, joining him soon after. "I'm gonna guess you have some news for me?"
"Indeed I do. But, do tell me how things have been going here first. If that's alright?"
He must have seen something in her eyes, Buffy imagined. Or, maybe that was just Kit. Her Giles was always one to lend an ear, but when information slayer-related needed to be given he generally had a habit of overlooking such small details. To be fair... she'd been good at hiding those details.
"Yeah, I need to. A lot has happened." She opened her mouth to begin, but that was about the time a knock sounded at her door. "Enter," she called loudly, gaze directed towards it. She only smiled when Ian entered.
He returned it as he shut the door. "I was in the kitchen when you rang. Is something amiss? Good afternoon, my lord." He gave a short bow to Kit.
"And to you as well," he replied.
"We just need tea and a few snacks brought up."
"I will arrange it and return shortly."
"Thanks," Buffy said in return just before the door shut behind him. Slowly, she turned back to Kit. "Sorry about that… anyway… you need to be updated." And so she told him: everything. Literally everything in the most nonvulgar way she could manage, as if doing so wouldn't burn his gentle Victorian ears. She told him about the kiss in the library, about William saying her name but appearing to forget all about it, about him seeking her out on her way to her room, about the kiss there, and then finally the moment they shared in the carriage less than a half an hour ago.
All of it.
"I've got to be honest with you," she went on once she was done, eyes cast towards the side of the room and downward, "I… I hate feeling like I'm lying to him."
"About who you are?"
"Not totally about that. About being a woman. I don't know why I didn't think this would be a bad idea when I decided to be a man. I can tell he's all… fucked up because of it. I know Spike; I do. And he has a hard time with feelings. This just makes it worse.
"I feel stupid—wrong.
"Why didn't I think about this more? Why didn't I just go with the original plan and wear the dumb skirts?"
Kit gave a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. He eased back into the chair and gave her a long look. "You mean, aside from the fact that it's easier for people to accept you this way?"
"Well… yeah."
"I don't know you all that well, Buffy. But, I know a bit about tangled emotions—denial. And I can tell you… if I had to hazard a guess based off what I've seen of you…
"I don't think you imagined you'd form this kind of relationship with William—Spike—again. Some part of you might have worried about it, but you told yourself no, didn't you? Isn't that what you told me back in London? Something about not wanting to subject him to 'hurricane Buffy' once more?"
Buffy was quiet and Kit wasn't sure if she was thinking about what he said, just what was in her own head, or a combination of the two. "You want to tell him, don't you? That you're a woman at least."
"I do," she said, letting it out in one breath—like she'd been holding it in by the very fragile and yet strong beat of her heart.
"And how do you suppose he'll react?"
"I… I don't know." Her viridian orbs went to him, pained and strangled. "If he's anything like Spike he might get pissed off… brassed off, as you'd say."
"Yes, this is true. And if he's feeling particularly vindictive he might tell everyone else and eject you from your position. It would certainly ruin me. Worse yet, he might not ever want to see you again.
"Can you say it's worth the risk?"
"….I don't know," she repeated the response, eyes downcast.
Kit felt for the girl; he really did. Truly, he didn't have an answer for her. He tried to imagine himself in her position and still didn't have an answer. The logical part of him wanted to tell her that she couldn't reveal herself, not until William figured it out. And he would ultimately, whether by spell or by Buffy's presence itself.
"I know that if things keep going the way they are he's going to find out for himself anyway. I don't have the right parts and it's not like I can shapeshift like Isabella." Buffy rubbed her eyes and then pinched the bridge of her nose. "And damnit… I want more." Now more than ever Buffy wished she could go back; she wished she could go back and ring her past self's neck about how stupid she was. She wanted to do it over and tell him that yes, she loved him—that they could weather any storm together be it Angel, Xander, or even Giles.
"I suppose I can't give you an answer… But, I can at least give you some good news about our Dijinn."
"I need good news right now." She sat up and placed her arms on the table, crossing one over the other to rest there. But, it was right about that time, before Kit could go any further, that Ian walked in with a tray of food and tea.
He set it all on the table between them. "Anything else? Should I pour for you?"
"No, but thanks," Buffy told him with a smile that wasn't quite there. "You're free to do what you want."
He nodded and left the room.
Kit went about pouring himself a cup and went on with what he'd been saying before, "Well, my colleague found a rather interesting book that has what appears to be your Dijinn in it."
"How do you know?"
"Well, he's cited as the only one capable of bending the rules of a time and space; that, and he's always resided in Africa… which, is how I imagine Spike knew where to find him so quickly."
"So… what do we have to do?" She murmured a thanks when he handed her a cup of tea. Deft digits went about pouring cream and sugar into her own.
"If you're up to it I'd like to go out into the woods tonight and summon the creature."
"Is that safe?" Summoning almost always equaled bad in her experience.
He paused to take a sip of his drink. "It wouldn't be if I didn't have a rather strong containment spell at my disposal. Still, I brought a few weapons just in case it gets out of hand."
Tentatively, Buffy nodded.
Sensing her mood, he went on. "It's not as if I don't share your fears, my dear. But, it's the very best I can do."
"I know. Believe me, I know." She grabbed a cookie and nibbled on it. "What time tonight?"
"Well after everyone has gone to bed. I'd say about… one or two in the morning. Will that suffice?"
"Nothing I haven't done before," she agreed after she washed down some of her treat with her tea. "So… you don't think I should tell him?"
"William? About yourself?"
"Yeah."
Kit sighed and shifted in his seat. "I don't have answers for you, dear. I'd like to tell you that you should tell him the truth. Often, the truth is the most viable option. I'd like to think William wouldn't react badly, but I can't promise you anything.
"If you want my opinion as a watcher…"
She nodded. "Yes, I do. Some logic might do me good."
"Well then, I'd say the risk is too high. At best I might advise you to tread carefully in both the physical and verbal sense."
"I thought you might say that." When she smiled it was soft and lacking the joy one normally attributed to such an expression. Her fingers gripped her tea cup on both sides where it sat in its saucer. "Why does life have to suck so much, Kit?"
"Ah… that means… bad, right?"
She chuckled softly. "Yes."
He rubbed his chin, eyes both alight with mischief and woven with sorrow for her. "Because," he told her, "if it were all good you wouldn't appreciate the good moments—the really good ones."
She hated that truth, no matter how much sense it made.
Really, she did.
"Thanks."
#
Cold blue eyes stared at the bottle before him on the table, stared at it in the abyss of a room barely lit by the casting shadows of night beginning to fall, of the sun setting in the distance. He looked on at the copper-colored liquid as if it might provide him with answers he'd yet to glean. Or, perhaps he stared at it as if trying to decide something.
The glass next to it stood empty and dry.
But the answers William wanted would not be taken from the drink before him; at least, that's what he told himself. Never one to drink too heavily, he was seriously considering it now. Some part of him wanted the haze that would sink into every aspect of his mind, the forgotten mire of memories laden with wants and desires he could no more be rid of than his own arm. He'd never been drunk before, never been so gone in his cups that the outside spun on its head and made him dizzy. What would it be like to lose himself for a few hours and then crash into the comfort of his bed?
Would it help? Would the whisky help him figure out what to do about this mess? And by God, he hated calling it that. Dare was anything but a mess, a problem, something that needed to be cast out. The problem, the mess, lay with William himself. He'd hated being so short after the incident in the carriage, but he couldn't help the way he felt: out of sorts, dismissed, and once again upset with himself for losing his composure when he still hadn't figured out what he wanted. He knew it wasn't Dare's fault that he'd had to go; what was the man supposed to do? Tell his uncle to stuff it?
"William…?"
He nearly jumped out of his own skin as he turned, finding his younger sister right on top of him—her gloved hand on his shoulder. Deep blue eyes were soft, worried, and entirely focused on him as she squeezed gently. "Are you quite alright, brother? You missed the evening meal…"
"I didn't realize," he whispered as he pulled his gaze away from hers. His whole body slackened back into the wooden chair.
"And here I assumed you were hiding out in your favorite place," she told him as she released him, smiled, and then took a seat adjacent to his. "But, I can see now that you are deeply troubled. I will admit, while I'm not as good a counsel as our dear sister… I can certainly give it a try.
"Do you wish to talk, Will?"
He did, but he wasn't sure there was anyone with whom he could confide such a secret to. He loved and trusted his sisters… he did… but, he felt he lacked the fortitude to risk their opinions. He was worried. Men and women did not talk about such delicate matters, certainly not ones about relations with two men—not relations like he and Dare shared. And they most certainly didn't talk about it if they were siblings of a different gender. Again, he lamented that he and Reggie could not have been born differently. She would have the life she wanted—one where she was in charge of a title, land, and money to do with what she wanted. And he…. He'd be free to live without a burden he didn't have a damn clue how to deal with.
"Do you ever wish you were a man, Reg? Not in jest, but truly?"
She looked like she wanted to say something, but stopped short. Her eyes narrowed in contemplation even as they stared on at his. And then her hands came up to the top of the table, flattening and caressing outward once. "You're very serious, aren't you? This isn't like what we joke about from time to time, is it?"
He didn't say anything, wondering if he was trying to figure out how to respond, or, if he wanted her to come to that conclusion on her own. After some time passed on he then just shook his head. "Never mind, I'm not sure why I asked. I'll—."
As he moved to stand she reached out and took his hand and pulled him back down. The upper half of her body was pressed into the table as she looked up and met his gaze. "No, don't go. I'm sorry. I just… wanted to make sure you meant it."
Quietly, he sat back down and only righted his clothes once she released him.
For a little while she was silent and William had to good presence of mind to realize she was trying to sort her thoughts out. He watched has her hands smoothed over the soft pastel green of her dress, as she took a deep breath in, and then smiled gently once more.
"It's not that I want to be a man, Will. I want the privileges that go along with being one. Like any decently bred Englishwoman I'm certainly good at correspondence, needlepoint, singing, and even playing the pianoforte. I am. There are even times when I genuinely enjoy those activities. I love writing to my friends and singing. But…
"There are times when I wish I could participate in government, that I could talk to people about how much I love shooting and riding astride. I wish I could speak up a little louder about how I feel and what I want without someone thinking I'm indecent. I wish…" She sighed and looked down at her hands, both of which were in her lap and worrying the skin of the other. "You have no idea how lucky you are to be a man. You're still required to be gentlemanly and discreet… but, no one raises a brow if you go off on your own without an escort, if you go to a gaming club… Men… can do what they want. Their world, often times, is even hidden away from women; whereas, you can go nearly anywhere women go if you like. No part of our lives is hidden from the men it.
"If being a woman means being a locked and gilded bird in a cage… I would gladly cast it off to be you. I would gladly take your place, even with all the scorn that came with it, dear brother.
"How lucky you are…" she trailed off, her voice wistful and distant.
He'd never really thought about it that way… maybe because William had never really taken full advantage of being a man, of being a man of the ton. Still, he couldn't say it was the answer he expected. "My life isn't easy, Reg," he replied, "But, I'm not sure I would want yours."
"It's not so terrible. You and mother gave me a lot of freedom, Will. You're both so dear to me for that and more. But, I worry about marrying. I desperately need someone who will allow me to be myself within the means I have available to me. And… without being an heiress… that will be extremely difficult."
He nodded.
"But, this still doesn't tell me what's bothering you. Do you not wish to talk about it? What does it have to do with my being a woman?"
"Barely anything at all," he admitted truthfully with a long sigh. "I have a friend," he decided to tell her, "Someone who tells me they desire someone they should not."
"And why should they not desire this person, perhaps even love them? Is the person they care for below their station or something similar?"
"They are," he replied, grasping at the lie.
"And they worry about what society will think of them?"
"They do."
Reggie frowned and placed a few fingers on her lips. Her head quirked to the side and her blue eyes darted upward. The tilting action caused the ringlets about her face to jostle and caress her temples—her ears. "Would you disown me if I did the same? What would you do were I to marry a poor merchant?"
"It's not…"
"William," she insisted seriously as she sat up straight, her gaze meeting his in the dim of the room. Her lips were a flat line and her eyes were hard with some kind of passion—demanding an answer. "What would you do?"
"If you loved him, truly loved him" he said, "And were he a good forthright man… I would let you do as you pleased," he said, meaning it.
"Then you have your answer. This friend of yours should do as he or she pleases; that is, if they truly love the one they desire and that person accepts them. If society cannot abide them then they should… move to the Americas perhaps." Her hand waved as she said the last part, fingers splayed with the gesture. "One's happiness should not be contingent upon station or much anything else.
"Love has no limits, I say. Truly unconditional love comes without expectation.
"Now," she went on, "Are you going to share that whisky with your sister, or, are you going sit there and mire in your own depression when I've given you a perfectly good solution?"
At this William laughed, not entirely sure if she was serious or not. "Have you even ever had whisky before?"
"No, have you?"
"I have not. I believe we shall try it together. Carefully."
Her grin didn't make it all better, but it certainly helped—much more than the whisky ever could have.
#
"You're sure no one saw us?"
"Quite sure. I had Ian wander about the house to ascertain that everyone was abed. It's much easier for a servant to go snooping about than it is someone such as us. Odd, but true."
Buffy shrugged as she adjusted the sword strapped to her back. A hefty crossbow was in her other, but she wasn't certain it would do much good against something that granted wishes. After all, dealing with vengeance demons had never been easy, much less fun. Briefly, she wondered if this dijinn was related somehow to what they could do. Maybe D'hoffryn was a dijinn? It wouldn't surprise her, at any rate.
"How far do you think we should go?" she asked next, pushing bits of a bush out of her way.
"At least until we find a decent clearing. I think there's one in this direction." Even as he spoke he pointed and stepped over a rather large fallen tree.
It was dark, darker than Buffy was used to. In Sunnydale there always seemed to be a light on somewhere, some kind of post illuminating where she was going even in the graveyards. But not here; here they only had the light of the moon for a guide and the torch Kit has brought with him.
"Her we are," he said next, pulling Buffy from her thoughts. He stopped and she came out of the brush to stand beside him. Really, there was nothing fantastic about the clearing. Though, it did have a lot of space; the trees didn't reach out with their boughs and branches—leaving the night sky clear for view and light they both sorely needed.
"Alright, I suppose we should just get to it."
Buffy nodded and knelt with him as he opened the bag and started removing the thick candles and herbs. They went to work lighting them and setting them up in a rather impressively sized circle. The herbs were placed in a line between each of the candles; the scent of them reminded her of something distinctly Arabic. Still, she didn't question it. Really, magic was not a slayer's forte. That was left to people like Willow, Tara, and Anya.
When they were done Kit and she both stepped back a few feet. It was enough that one person could probably lie down length-wise between the two of them and the circle's edge. She watched as he took the book in his hand and drew it open with the torch for light in the other.
"Alright," he began, "what we've done should be enough to contain him. I'll go ahead and recite the summon spell. Be ready."
"Always am," she said as she hefted up the crossbow and readied it for just about anything. "But, I'm still not sure a few arrows or a pointy piece of steel will work on this guy."
"It shall assuredly. Those weapons are both primed with agents meant to subdue and kill this creature." He flashed a smile, but Buffy still wasn't certain. Things always had a way of biting her in the ass.
"Let's do it then," she told him, knowing such a statement would only make him raise a brow.
The watcher, after a curious pause, began reciting the words from the book. She didn't understand a lick of it, but she'd heard enough of Willow chanting in Latin to know that it didn't sound like Latin at all.
As he went on, one word rolling over the other, Buffy steadied her weapon and watched as the inside of the circle began to wisp with something—wind. The candles, rather suddenly, shot brighter and… no smoke came from them. The color changed to a brilliant red as they danced and jerked with the whimsical breeze she could barely see. It was then she realized why she could see it. The air current kept brushing and bouncing against a barrier.
And then the fire from the candles drew inward, coming together like a current of cutting water. The smokeless fire began to form a body—a large one: horns, a head, arms, and then legs. A snapping tail came last. Eventually, the fire receded, returning to the candles as they'd been just after Kit began reciting—bright red and alight enough to cast a glow on the being before her.
His skin appeared as charred bark or blackened charcoal. It looked leathery, in one way—all of it open for view aside from the black billowing silk-looking pants he wore. Even his feet were bare. When he smiled the white of his teeth stood out in a stark contrast to the rest of his abyssal skin. Much the same went for his eyes, both of which glowed fiery red in the iris and pupil before dimming to a duller illumination.
"How quaint," he began in deep and accented voice that reminded her of the Middle East. It was rough, as rough as the skin that covered his body. The very reverberation of it reminded her of a bear growling out words with the finesse of… well, someone like Kit or Giles. "The Slayer and Watcher have summoned me, with weapons drawn and answers required." He chuckled, making Buffy's eyes narrow. "Tell me, Buffy Summers of Sunnydale, how is your visit to the past?"
He knew?
And then he laughed again—louder this time as if to indicate he sensed her very thoughts. "Such an angry face, Ms. Summers. Were you not the slayer I would tell you that you have time yet to learn such an expression—that you needed another two hundred years yet on that lifespan of yours.
"Terrible shame that your kind die so soon, really. You hardly have a chance to actually experience the world in all of its glory, its felicitous abstract beauty." As he spoke his hands spread outward. "Eons and eons…," he trailed off, sighing and dropping his hands to his sides. "Such a gift wasted; such a terrible duty before you."
The crossbow in Buffy's grip loosened as she tried to wind her brain around exactly what he was saying. Most of it she couldn't, and the rest of it she took for some kind of sarcastic insult. "Anyone ever tell you you're kind of annoying?"
"My sister did once." His smiled. "But, you didn't summon me to hear me regal you with tales of my impudent siblings or equally impudent childhood. You summoned me to this place to find out about Spike… the vampire, yes?
"Such an interesting creature, that boy. It's certainly the first time a vampire has come to me wishing for the return of his soul. Terrible thing about wishes though…" He grimaced mockingly, sucking air through his sharpened teeth. "Worded wrong… if not exactly… well, they have a tendency to …" He looked over at Kit. "How do you English say it? Muck things up?"
"Ah… yes," he agreed, frowning.
The dijinn flashed a grin, both hands now behind his back as he looked at Buffy once more.
"We want to know how to break the wish—how to bring Spike back. How to separate William from him."
"Is that a wish I hear?" he asked, still grinning with that straight posture and his hands behind his back.
Buffy groaned and dropped the crossbow down. Her hand went to her hip and she looked to the side a moment before looking back at him. "We can't really get the information we want without asking can we?"
"Either one of you is fine, but yet. You make wish, pass a trial or solve a riddle, and then I grant what you ask for."
"But it needs to be worded right."
"Naturally."
Buffy paused as she stared at him. She wasn't a scholar. If she were honest, she was a lot like Spike when it came figuring things out. She really didn't know how to word it right. But, she did know when she did she wasn't taking that riddle option. Fuck that.
When she felt Kit's hand on her shoulder she turned to look at him.
He smiled at her. "Think carefully, dear. We don't want a bigger mess than we already have."
"I can agree with that." Buffy sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It was then while looking at Kit that a thought struck her. She turned back to the dijinn and stepped forward. "Would it be alright if Kit asked the wish and I performed the trial?"
"If he agrees to speak for you, yes."
Buffy turned to the watcher. "Well?"
"I…" He blinked at her a few times and frowned.
"It's alright. Believe me," he told him as she reached out and squeezed his arm, "I trust you more not to fuck it up than I trust myself. I'd rather you do it."
He took a deep breath in and nodded. "Very well. If you insist, Buffy. I'll do the best I can."
She nodded and dropped her hand. "I do."
It was Kit's turn to look at the dijinn, his eyes narrowed and his mouth a flat line. Buffy watched him as he considered how to ask the wish, hoping against hope they didn't both screw this up. They just couldn't.
"I wish on behalf of Buffy Summer that…" he began and then paused, eyes narrowing as he though more, "…that you tell us how to break, undo, the wish you placed on Spike that sent him back in time, erased his memories, and combined him with his past self William."
The Dijinn grinned broadly once more in a way that had Buffy worrying. "Very good Christopher Giles. Very good indeed." He looked then at Buffy. "You were wise to ask the Watcher, slayer. Now… for your half. Are you prepared?"
"I am. I'll take the trial."
"Just the same as the vampire. Very fitting and well chosen."
Buffy watched as he snapped his fingers, still grinning, as he said, "It is done." And then everything went black—spinning, confusing, nauseous black…
#
"Hey Buffers, can you grab the spatula there for me?"
"Huh?" green eyes snapped open, jerked away from the haze of tunnel vision that had clouded her previously. The room around her, the voice that cut through the fog, zeroed in a focused. A brief moment passed and there was nothing else but…
…Her kitchen. She blinked a few times, gaze going to the windows where the bright sunlight peaked through closed curtains that were… really black. She could hear the crackle of something frying in the background and in the distance there were voices laughing and talking. She could feel the cool counter under her forearms and hands, the wooden support under it against her knees where she sat on a stool. Her long blond hair tickled her ears, neck and shoulders.
Wait… what?
"Buffy! Hello? Earth to slayer?"
She blinked again as a hand waved in front of her face and she found herself facing… Xander? "Huh?"
He rolled his eyes at her and smiled in a way that had every dimple on his face showing in overdrive. At the same time she watched as he nabbed a spatula from the thick glass cup in the center of the counter. "You alright? Got winter blahs? Or maybe you're worried something demon related is gonna go down on Thanksgiving again?"
"Thanksgiving…?" she asked mutely as he turned it back to the stove where something was cooking. Wait, Xander was cooking? "When did you learn to cook?"
"Lost that bet, remember? Anya put me in charge of the green bean casserole. Your boy toy got the worst of it though. You'd think a guy who rips through demon flesh on a daily basis wouldn't have trouble sticking his hand up the ass end of a turkey…." He chuckled as he scraped the pan. "Say, can you grab the mushrooms out of the fridge for me? Bottom shelf."
"….Sure." Boy toy? This thought traveled in her head as she slid off the stool and went to the fridge. What was going on? Why didn't any of this… what was this? Hadn't she been somewhere… else?
She opened the fridge and leaned down, eyes narrowing on the bags of red liquid that took up the entirety of the bottom plastic drawer. She hesitated for a second before grabbing the container of mushrooms and shutting it back.
"Thanks," Xander told her as she handed them off. She watched as he ripped through the store packaging and dropped the sliced bits into the pan with what looked like onions. "Almost forgot about them. Think you can open those two cans of cream of mushroom soup for me?"
"I—." Her mouth snapped shut as two arms slid around her middle and a hard front pressed into her back. Instantly, she stiffened up.
Vampire!
"You trying to hassle my girl into doin' your work, Welp?" a deep voice reverberated along her neck and into her back.
"Hey," Xander said quickly, pointing the spatula at the man behind her, eyes narrowed with his face dipped down just enough to make some kind of attempt at looking menacing. It was more funny that intimidating, really. "I thought we agreed that nickname was out, Deadboy Jr."
And then came laughter; that soft chuckling laughter than melted her to her bones, that made her heart race and ache at the same time, that made her want to laugh and cry all at once.
Spike, her mind whispered as she closed her eyes.
"We agreed I'd quit callin' you Welp when you stopped with the Deadboy Jr. bit. S'getting old, Harris."
"Not nearly as old as you though. Tell me, did you beat sticks into stone with joy when they invented the wheel or did you just scratch your ass?"
Spike snorted.
"What the hell is going on?" Buffy blurted, realizing they were exchanging friendly banter instead of trying to cut the other wide open. "Has the world flipped upside down?" She twisted in Spike's arms and pulled away, her throat nearly catching at his familiar peroxide locks and the ever present leather duster.
"Usually does with Spike around. Half the time I wonder why I put up with him," Xander said with a smirk as he grabbed the two cans of soup and went about opening them with can opened on the counter.
"My enthralling good looks and charismatic wit. Oh, and that whole getting you and the bird back together after you acted like a royal prat."
"Big words, Spike. You been reading a dictionary? Buffy, you've got to tell him to bring better reading material into the bathroom with him."
Spike rolled his eyes, but there wasn't any malice in the action. It was far too grand and mocking for all that. "At least I read, you bloody caveman. When was the last time you picked up a book?"
"I've lost it," Buffy whispered as they went on, as she placed a hand on the side of her head. She'd gone and lost her mind. In what universe did Spike and Xander make jokes at one another? At least, without meaning what they said… without it ending in Xander punching him and pushing him out of the house?
"You alright, Buffy?" Spike asked. Not Slayer, Buffy.
Her gaze shot to his and she swallowed—hard. "Uh…" And then all present thoughts were gone when he reached for her, wrapping his arms about her middle and pressed his lips to her forehead.
Guh… huh?
"Not a fever. Still, you wanna lie down, luv? You're lookin' a bit on the pale side there for a California girl." He flashed her a grin as he stepped back and placed his hands on her shoulders.
"You do look pale," Xander observed, staring at her from the stove.
"I… ah…" She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her middle. "I'm fine, sorry. Just felt weird for a while." She grinned in a way that hopefully assured them. "Really. Buffy is A OK. Promise." And she realized she did feel perfect, as perfect as she said she sounded. It was like all of the weird was gone in just saying it out loud.
Xander shrugged. "If you say so. Any chance you'd help me with this?"
"A world of no," Buffy told him with a soft laugh. "Stoves and Buffy really don't mix."
"Accepted your fate then?" Spike asked.
"The fate of being an ok cook and not a celebrity chef? Totally."
He chuckled. "There's that Summer's fire. C'mon, let's leave Harris to the cooking and go join the girls; who, in my opinion, are much better company."
"I'd have a handy retort ready, but you've run me dry. Later?"
"Anytime, Welp." And then Spike pulled her out of the kitchen just as Xander tossed an empty can of soup at him. She could hear Xander muttering a curse as Spike laughed.
"If I didn't know Xander better I'd say he was pissed."
"Nah, you know he isn't. If he was he'd have thrown the unopened one at me." And then he stopped in the foyer and turned to her, smiling and staring… as if reading her face carefully… as carefully as he would looked over each sentence in a novel: reading and rereading.
"What?" she asked.
"Just thinking about kissin' you, is all."
Buffy couldn't speak, mostly because Spike never announced that sort of thing. He just did it. But then he did. Her eyes shut automatically as soft lips pressed into her own. She expected it to be hard, demanding, and a little forceful… but it wasn't. It was gentle, endearing, and exploratory. He painted his her lips with his own, her mouth a canvas. She was so surprised that she just let him—barely moving beyond what she could manage through the shock.
When pulled away she was lost, almost teetering as she blinked slowly several times. Her hands reached out and grasped his shirt, fingers coiling into her palms.
He laughed softly as he stood there with his arms around her, barely embracing. "Still leave you breathless, 'ey luv?"
"…Yeah," she found herself agreeing as she got her bearings back.
"Are you guys just gonna snog or what? I'm starving. Is Xander done with that stupid casserole yet?"
Buffy released Spike and looked over as she heard her sister's voice. She could see her coming through the opening that led to the living room.
"I don't believe you're English enough to use that word. And no, the welp isn't done yet. But, we could all get the table set. He's probably got about a half an hour left."
Dawn wrinkled her nose. "I guess… want me to get everyone?" Just as she said it a burst of laughter came from the living room and Dawn frowned. "They're looking through the baby albums." She gave a pointed look to Buffy.
The blond winced and then smiled wanely. "Yeah… setting the table sounds good. All about the good." With that she turned around and went right back into the dining room. There was this flurry of people gathering and all moving about: setting the table, putting food in place. It all zoomed by without her really noticing one person or another. But, before she knew it they were all sitting down and passing around platters and plates. It around this time that she noticed Miss Calendar.
For a moment she just stared, her fork half into a pile of stuffing on her plate. She couldn't wrap her mind around it. Wasn't she dead? Hadn't she died? There was this fliting image in her mind of Giles crying and bent over his desk—over her death, over Miss Calendar's death.
Something was wrong here.
Wrong.
None of this was right no matter how right she wanted it to feel. Her chest physically hurt with it—panged with a pain that could be likened to the stabbing of a knife cutting her wide open. She reached it, the knife that wasn't there. And then Miss Calendar looked at her.
"This isn't real," Buffy whispered. "You're not real," she got out despite the closing of her throat.
"Of course it's real," she told her with a smile.
"The only part that isn't real is that sick obsession you have with Deadboy Jr. over there," she heard Xander say.
"Yeah, you know you could do better, Buffy. What's so great about sleeping the only one in the room who could kill all of us? You know, like Angel tried?"
"Oh, you mean how he like killed me?" Miss Calender said as she passed a bowl to Giles.
"Yes, what were you thinking, Buffy?" the watcher said as he put down his fork and took the bowl. "You know vampires are all wrong."
"Definitely wrong," Dawn said with a nod. "He tried to rape you that one time."
And then they all started talking one after the other; voices overlapped one after the other, each one worse than the latter. No one was yelling or shouting; it was made worse by the fact that they didn't, that they all talked as if they were discussing something they happened to see on television.
And somehow in the mix Spike was gone from the table. He wasn't next to her or telling her, like the others, that he wasn't good enough for her.
"Really, how could you have been so stupid?" Xander said between bites. "Spike's a monster. You've said it before. That chip just keeps him leashed. You're fucking a loaded gun."
"It'll be Angel all over again if it stops working," Giles said next. "Do you think he'll kill Dawn?"
"Not me," the teen spoke up. "Probably Tara."
"That's not true," Buffy whispered.
"Sure it is," someone else said. "But, I guess we just have to accept you have a thing for vampires."
The words echoed and just went on and one; the more she listened the more it weighed her down. They just gathered on top of her one by one. And the more they settled the harder it was for her to differentiate them from her thoughts. She felt her hands come up to her ears, covering them. And yet, it didn't do any good.
She gasped, mouth wide open as she bent over the table.
She could see Angel again; sweet loving Angel suddenly leaving drawings in her room, killing Willow's fish, goading her, torturing Giles… killing Miss Calendar. She could see the rose petals strewn all over Giles' room—the bed, the floor… she could hear the music playing.
I loved and look what got me. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.
And then she could see Spike—Spike threatening her at the school, in the alley of The Bronze, Spike killing people… kidnapping Willow and Xander for that love spell… Spike ripping at her robe on the floor of the bathroom and her own voice screaming for him to stop.
But that's not all is it? her mind shouted, the other half of her heart that cried that this was all wrong—that they were wrong.
And then she could see Spike reaching for Dawn on the tower; Spike drinking with her and listening to her worries—fears; Spike trying to hold onto her after they had sex, wanting her to stay; Spike telling her he loved her over and over again even when she hit him and pushed him away; Spike enduring all the awful things Xander said… she said.
Another gasp escaped her and she inhaled. Her eyes opened—snapped wide as she pushed through the weight and stood. The table rattled through the echoe of voices and accusations.
"Shut up!" her voice shouted, screamed, crying for the silence she wanted but couldn't find the will verbalize before. And just like that, there was silence; everyone stopped talking and simply stared at her.
And then words began to tumble out of her mouth—as if they'd always been on the tip of her tongue for ages waiting to spill out like a great dam that couldn't stop flowing. "You're wrong. All of you are so wrong… He's so much more to me. Can't you see that? Can't you see…
"Don't you want me to be happy?" she asked, feeling as the heat bloomed in her face and burned along her throat—as the hot wet of tears began to fall. She pushed through it, not caring. "I get that you care about me; you have every right you worry. But, at the end of the day it's my choice. Can't you trust in that? Yes, something might go wrong. I realize that I'm sleeping with a ticking time bomb. I realize that could ruin everything for more than just me. I do… I get it.
"But, trust me to make the right choice. I'm not a teenager anymore—not some doe-eyed moron. What I feel for Spike isn't… it's not some stupid crush glossed over with what I think it should be so I don't see all the ugly parts. I like Spike's ugly parts. I know who he is and what he's done.
"I'm ok with that. I have to be. And…. If you're not…. don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."
All at once it ended; the room dropped dark and there was nothing but the abyss.
#
When Buffy came back to herself in the clearing it was as if nothing had changed. Kit stood next to her and the dijinn watched her curiously. He made no outward motion to really indicate he was trying to size her up—to analyze her—but she'd faced enough of the underworld to know when one of its own was looking at her as if he were trying to decide if he was impressed or not.
"You've passed, Buffy Summers. Very good indeed."
When her insides stopped shaking and she finally found words, all she could say was, "What the hell was that?"
"I'm in the business of making one face their own fears, you could say—or worst nightmares. I think I might have gone a bit overboard with your test… but, you did admirably."
There were so many things she wanted to ask him, to say to him, but she didn't feel comfortable doing it with Kit around.
The creature smiled and unwound his arms from where they had settled—crossed—over his chest. "But, you know the answer to that question. Perhaps not now, not entirely. But, I believe you'll need it later."
Not really satisfied, Buffy just nodded. "Time for your part."
"It's rather simple really. Spike wished that he should become what he had been before. His exact words were: Make me what I was, if I recall correctly. He didn't put it together right, as I said at the start. And so, the wish got muddled. He was fused with his past self and William took precedence as a result."
"But that doesn't tell us how to break it," Kit observed openly.
"All in good time, Watcher. I assure you." He smirked and the drew his gaze back to Buffy as if she were the only one he was truly addressing. His hands moved to clasp behind his back and his legs spread just so. The entire action put his body in the position of who might command or direct.
Buffy really didn't care how much he felt like posturing, as long as he got on with it.
"He's not quite a vampire, but not entirely human either. William's in control with a few extras."
Buffy had a feeling he didn't have to tell them that, but it made her wonder why he had.
"The key to breaking the wish has everything to do with the intention of the wish. Spike wanted the return of his soul because he didn't think he was good enough for Buffy."
"O….k…" Buffy replied, edging with her tone that she kinda got it and just really wanted him to continue.
"This is why I knew you would come back. The Powers knew it from the moment it happened. It's why they sought you out. And it's also why you've garbed yourself in men's clothes. The very instant Spike's wish commenced I planted that seed—you became apart of that wish and key to his freedom from it."
"I don't understand." She got that she was the key… but, what in the hell did her dressing like a man have to do with anything?
"I'll spell it out for you then: If Williams finds out that you're actually a woman before he accepts you then he'll remain as he is now and forever, causing all levels of chaos and ruin to the timeline. Though, I imagine the mess will provide quite the folly for the demon community as a whole."
Something white, hot, and fluidly out of control boiled in her gut; the emotion flared and for a brief moment Buffy seriously considered toppling Kit's little barrier to get that the beast behind it.
Jaw flexing, she asked, "Are you telling me… that against my will… you… you made me dress this way? So that…" She couldn't even say it.
"It's not entirely unwarranted given what they boys' been through, wouldn't you say?"
"But it's not even about us!" As she spoke her hand waved out in front of her. "A lot of people who have nothing to do with any of this could end up—."
"Dead?" he interrupted her with a raise of his brow. "Well, naturally. I'm not a being wrought from candy, sunshine, and rainbows, now am I? Not entirely evil though either. Whatever happens happens. If you wish to blame anyone perhaps you might want to blame your vampire, or even yourself for driving him to it?"
"I don't need your judgment."
"You certainly don't," he told her next, voice oddly soft for a moment before changing again. "You know what is to be done. It can't be changed unless by your own hand, Slayer. If you want Spike to return home with you and William to go about the way that he was meant to then you would do well to keep on the path you've been carving out thus far."
How…? she wanted to ask, but refrained. Kit was allowed to see that weakness, Tara was. Not this demon with whom conversing to felt more like playing with fire than talking. Buffy had no desire to get burned when she imagined she'd just barely escaped it already.
"If you no longer have a need of me…?"
"We don't," Buffy bit off, refusing to look at him.
"Very well. And…" he trailed off.
She felt those glowing orbs on her, but refused to meet his gaze… too worried she'd blurt out something inane and stupid in all of her anger and regret.
"…I wish you luck."
And then he was gone.
#
"Can we leave now?"
Halfreck watched very carefully as the dijinn left, as the candles dimmed down, and the smoke once more returned to the flames. Her eyes remained narrowed on the two that stood in the glade—the woman called Buffy and the watcher. Her mind wove through a millions questions... and yet none of it mattered really.
She had the answer she sought.
"God damnit, woman. If we don't leave right—."
"We can go." She released her gaze from the duo and zoomed in on Anya with a smile. "I'm satisfied."
"Oh… well, good. Great." The blond smiled brightly in return—anger lost to who knew where. "I've already left a note with one of the footman. Ready?"
Halfreck nodded as she kept on smiling. As they both disappeared in a tumble of magic… Halfreck couldn't help but look at Buffy once more.
Take care of him, will you? I don't know how to do the right thing anymore…. but, I think you can. You'll take care of my William.
AN :: Sorry I'm a few days late on this. I know I promised the first of the month, I know. But, I had finals at the start of October, then Halloween, and then classes started again. I just didn't have time to hash this all out. So, I hope you'll forgive me given how much I put into this chapter. (Over 9k words!) And by the seven hells was this long... took me nearly three days to write.
I shall do my very best to get the next chapter done before the end of November so it's ready to go for the first of December. I'm not participating in NaNo, so that won't be an issue on top of everything else in my life that keeps me from writing... like chores.
—Blade