by LC Fenster
 

Genre: Drama

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Just borrowing them from Joss, ME and FOX. I promise to treat them well and return them in better condition than when I borrowed them.

Summary: After the apocalypse, Buffy has an epiphany that sticks. And admits a few hard truths to her friends. Post-Chosen.

Notes: My long-blocked muse decided to finally unblock when the Chosen wildfeed hit, and this is the result. I have not read any other post-Chosen fics, so any similarities (if such there be) between this story and any others are purely coincidental. Rated S for high sugar content. You have been warned. :-)

Dedicated: to Alane, and the wonderful members of BAPS. Because we deserve a better ending. Because Spike deserved better than to die unloved, unappreciated and unmourned. Because Joss Whedon gave us mall jokes instead of sentiment, so I had to do it myself.

Many thanks: to Celeste, Nim and Alicia for superb beta assistance. You all made this much better, so thanks guys!

Feedback: lucienlc@ix.netcom.com
 

It wasn't their mall or their Starbucks. Truth be told, Giles didn't even know whose mall it was. Or what town they were in. After dropping Wood and the other wounded at the nearest hospital, they hadn't really had a plan in mind. After all, the Sunnydale contingent had lost their homes, their possessions and pretty much everything they had ever had or known when Sunnydale disappeared into the crater that closed the Hellmouth once for all.

Buffy herself had been in a world of her own since they'd stood together over the crater. She'd allowed the doctors to wrap her own mostly-healed wound, but refused to take any medication or stay at the hospital with the other wounded.

"I can't be here," she had whispered. "Gotta keep going."

"What do you want to do?" Giles had asked gently. She'd seemed *off* ever since escaping the devastation that had been Sunnydale's fate at the last possible second. Every time he tried to press her for details about those final apocalyptic moments, she seemed to freeze up and turn in on herself. So he'd backed off. He'd known she'd tell him in her own time. When she was ready. Not a moment before.

"Just... drive," she had said. And that was the last thing she had said in hours. Since then, they'd just been driving aimlessly around in the school bus, daylight slipping into twilight and then into full darkness, everyone speaking in hushed voices, as the magnitude of what had happened began to truly register on one and all. Until Giles realized he was dozing and had to yank the steering wheel to avoid skidding off the shoulder of the nearly deserted highway.

Hence, the Starbucks. Besides, nobody had eaten all day. Faith, Kennedy and Andrew had taken the exuberant, newly empowered Slayers to the mall's food court. Willow, Xander, Dawn and Giles had gone to the
Starbucks. Buffy went with them.

Giles sighed, and adjusted his glasses. This wasn't good. Buffy wasn't comatose, but she wasn't reacting to her surroundings. She seemed lost in thought. The sandwich and coffee they'd chosen for her remained untouched as the others slowly ate their own selections.

Giles finally nudged her slightly. "Buffy, you need to eat something," he said.

She started, as though she'd forgotten he was there. "What? Oh." She shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten all day," Giles said quietly.

"If you'd prefer something else -- I spied with my little eye some chocolately goodness over by the counter," Xander offered. "Want a brownie, Buff?"

"Or some ice cream," Dawn offered. "There's a Baskin Robbins across the way. Want me to go pick up a pint of yummy chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream? Mmm-mmm good."

To Dawn's and everyone else's consternation, Buffy giggled hysterically, then abruptly burst into tears.

"Buffy! What is it?"

"What's wrong?"

"What did I say? You don't want ice cream?"

Tears still streaking her face, Buffy looked up. "Cookie dough," she whispered.

Dawn's face creased in puzzlement. "You want me to get you some cookie dough ice cream?"

"NO!" Buffy shook her head almost violently. "No," she said more softly, regaining control. "His last hours on earth, and I'm babbling about cookies," she explained, her tone ultra-sarcastic, trying to share the joke.

"Huh? His?" Dawn latched on to the one part of that statement that was remotely comprehensible. "You mean Spike?"

Buffy's face twisted. "God. I miss him so much. It's not even a day yet, and already I miss him so much. How did he do it? How could he stand it?"

"Um -- think that train of thought skipped a stop, Buffster," Xander said cautiously.

"When I died. One hundred forty-seven days. He counted each and every one, you know. Kept thinking of ways he could have stopped it." The tears were still welling up, though she had regained some control. "Missed me each and every second. Oh, God." Once again, she was fighting back the sobs.

Dawn wrapped her arms around her crying sister, as Xander and Giles looked around protectively, making sure that the private emotional scene wasn't disturbed. Not that anyone was paying attention to the group cloistered in the back of the coffeehouse.

"Yes, he did," Dawn agreed. "We all did."

"And now --" she visibly forced back the tears and pulled away from Dawn. Glared at her friends. "You don't care. You never cared. What he did, what he was --" She shook her head. "You never understood." Her voice caught with a hitch. "My fault."

"Buffy?" Willow asked tentatively. "Are you okay?"

For the first time, Buffy really looked around and saw her surroundings.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

"They went to the food court," Willow replied.

"Where are we?" Buffy asked.

Giles looked embarrassed. "I'm not precisely sure. I started to fall asleep, so I pulled into the first place I saw. Didn't stop to figure it out, I'm afraid."

"Well, we're going to have to do something soon," Xander remarked, as a loudspeaker informed them that the mall would be closing in fifteen minutes. "We could find a motel or something?"

Buffy shook her head decisively. "No. There's someone else who needs to know what happened. And we've still got the girls to deal with." She rose to her feet, picking up her sandwich and coffee. "We're going to Los Angeles," she decreed.

"Angel?" Giles guessed. He was relieved that Buffy seemed to be finally shaking off that worrisome fugue state that had possessed her ever since they left the detritus of Sunnydale behind.

"Angel."

***

Angel sat in his private conference room at Wolfram & Hart, pouring through files. Beside him, Wesley, Fred and Gunn were doggedly doing the same, though exhaustion was plainly visible on the faces of the humans. In the background, the television hummed softly, the sound turned off. The pictures hadn't changed much in the last several hours, not since the news broke about the disappearance of Sunnydale, California into an inexplicable sinkhole, with no survivors and nothing of Sunnydale left. Angel didn't know whether this meant that Buffy had succeeded or failed in her mission, and the forces of Wolfram & Hart didn't seem to know either. He was most concerned, however, by two things. First, he had heard nothing from her. That didn't mean anything was wrong: Buffy hadn't exactly kept him in the loop over the years -- Spike had a soul? Since when? And how? But still, it was worrying. Equally worrying was the feeling that something had happened to Spike. Spike wasn't his childe, but he was in his line, and on some subliminal level, he could usually feel something. That something now seemed to be missing. Again, that could be good, bad, or meaningless, but he wasn't taking any chances. Hence the accelerated effort on the part of the AI group to create a second front, if needed. After all, he had promised Buffy.

The intercom chimed, and he clicked on the speaker, frowning at the interruption. "Yes? I left orders I was not to be disturbed."

"Yes, Mr. Angel, I know, but there are some people here from Sunnydale, and I thought --"

Angel was on his feet. "I'll be right there," he interrupted. The others followed in his wake as he headed for the elevators.

***

Buffy looked up with a sad smile as the elevator doors opened, disgorging Angel, Wesley, and two people she had never met.

"Buffy! Are you all right?" Angel rushed over to her, pulled her close. She allowed the embrace for a moment, then pulled back stiffly.

"I'm okay," she said quietly. "Glad I remembered the new address from the file you gave me." She around the sprawling lobby, amazed. "Somehow not quite what I was expecting."

"You're not okay. I smell blood." Angel turned to give orders for a doctor to be summoned, but she stopped him, her hand firm on his arm.

"I'm all right, Angel. It's practically healed already. Though this top is probably a goner." She glanced down critically at her blood-stained tunic.

"Er -- perhaps this reunion might take place somewhere more private?" Giles suggested. "And less evil," he muttered to himself. Something about the brightly-lit office building just didn't feel right to him.

"You get used to the miasma of evil," Wesley assured him. "Mostly."

As the ex-Watchers exchanged pleasantries, Angel registered the presence of the entire group. And it was a sizeable group at that -- Buffy and her sister, her Scooby friends, Faith, Giles, and a large number of young women who seemed to have *slayer* written all over them. The Potentials Willow had mentioned during her recent visit, he guessed. They'd also been mentioned in the Wolfram & Hart file on Sunnydale.

"Conference room?" Angel suggested, in response to Giles' question. "Sorry about the evil vibes. They kinda come with the place. But Wolfram & Hart is out of the evil business now that we're in charge."

"Oh, well, that's a relief," Giles said sarcastically. "Buffy?"

"Wait," Buffy ordered. "The girls are about ready to drop, Angel. Can you put them up someplace for the night?"

"Sure," Angel replied. "I still own the Hyperion. Gunn and Fred can take them over there." He nodded toward the two strangers in his party. "Plenty of rooms for everyone. Do you all want to go? We can talk in the morning."

Buffy shook her head. "I'd rather do this now, unless the rest of you are ready to drop." She silently queried her friends. "I know Giles has some questions, and there are some things I need to say, and I'm not going to be able to sleep until I say them."

"I'm still awake," Xander replied easily. Looking into his haunted face, Buffy suddenly realized that she wasn't the only one who was replaying the day's events on an unending loop in her brain.

"Not sleepy here," Willow agreed, peering around uneasily. The motley group had attracted the attention of the Wolfram & Hart overnight lobby staff, and Willow could tell that some of those people weren't people. Or anything else she wanted to meet on closer acquaintance.

"Dawn?" Buffy asked. Her sister had been dozing on her shoulder for the last hour or so of their drive to Los Angeles.

"Don't you dare try to send me away again," Dawn hissed, her eyes sparking angrily. If she'd been sleepy before, she wasn't any longer.

"Okay. Give me five minutes," Angel said. "My people will get the others squared away, and we can talk."

"Faith?"

The dark-haired Slayer looked up. "Yeah, B?"

"Can you go with the others, keep an eye on them?"

Faith smiled. "Sure, B. Can do. You'll fill me in later?"

Buffy raised a hand. "Slayer's honor. Thanks, Faith."

***

The remaining group reassembled in Angel's private conference room at Wolfram & Hart, which had been hastily cleared of files and notes. Angel ordered in food and drinks for everyone except himself. He noticed that Buffy seated herself at the far end of the small conference table, as far away from him as possible. Her friends occupied the seats closest to her, Dawn and Willow at her sides; Xander next to Dawn and Giles next to Willow. Wesley took the seat next to Giles. Angel acquiesced in Buffy's unspoken request and took the seat next to Wesley, keeping his distance.

"Nice," Xander said admiringly, looking around at the expensively decorated chamber. "Who did you kill to take over this place?"

Angel and Wesley shifted uncomfortably. "It's a long story," Angel replied. "And not important right now. Buffy?"

Buffy nodded. Her face was composed now. She had called upon her Slayer strength, and she was going to get through this without breaking down in front of them. Especially Angel.

"I don't know what they've been saying on TV," she started, glancing up at the picture of the still-smoking crater once again playing on the muted television screen. "But the Hellmouth is gone. Sealed forever."

Angel and Wesley exhaled in reaction. "Well. That's excellent news," Wesley replied. "Isn't it, Angel?"

Angel was still closely watching Buffy. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Spike's gone, Angel. He's the reason. He sealed the Hellmouth."

"You gave Spike the amulet," Angel realized he'd expected this on some level since Buffy had sent him back to Los Angeles. It still hurt.

"You told me to give it to a champion," Buffy said defiantly. "And I did."

"Whoa there, Buff!"

"Amulet? What amulet?"

"What are you talking about?"

Giles and the rest of the Sunnydale contingent were protesting in confusion. Buffy turned to them apologetically.

"I didn't tell you guys, because I didn't know what would happen, and we couldn't rely on it, since we didn't know what it would do. Angel came to see me a couple of days ago to give me an amulet that he said would help in the final battle. He told me it had to be worn by a champion, by someone more than human but with a soul." She laughed harshly. "Obviously, there weren't a lot of candidates available."

"I would have worn it," Angel reminded her.

She tried to smile. "I know you would. But if there's one thing I've learned as a Slayer, it's to follow my instincts. And every instinct I had said that the amulet was meant for Spike." Her face fell. "Though if I'd known what would happen..."

"What did happen, Buffy?" Giles asked gently. "What did Spike do?"

"He won our battle for us, Giles," Buffy answered. "Spike did. Not you, or me, or Faith, or Willow or the other slayers. There weren't enough of us, even sharing the Slayer power, to defeat all of the Ubervamps. We killed what? A hundred? Two hundred? There were tens of thousands more on the verge of attack. We'd never have beaten them all. But somehow, the amulet merged with Spike's soul to destroy all of the Ubervamps and collapse the Hellmouth."

"Oh my," Wesley interjected. He looked surprised, like he hadn't actually meant to say anything.

Buffy was trying to smile, but it was a losing battle. Tears welled up again, but she forced them back. She would do this without flinching, without weakening. She owed it to him.

"I tried to get him to leave with me," she continued. "I pleaded with him. Told him he'd done enough." She looked squarely at Angel. "I even told him that I loved him." She looked down, as Angel sadly nodded his understanding. The others were watching them in bewilderment.

"But he wouldn't hear of it. Said this was something he had to do. He had to finish it. He -- " her lip wobbled but she continued on, bravely, "-- he told me I didn't. Love him, I mean. I was just saying it to make him feel better, but he knew I didn't love him, and I had to go back to my world. The Hellmouth was crumbling all around us, and he yelled at me to go, and I went. And he stayed." She shook her head, gnawing at her lips, still fighting back the tears.

"Buffy --" Giles started, but the words of comfort froze on his tongue as she glared at him in anger.

"You tried to kill him," she bit out. "You didn't understand."

"Apparently not," Giles agreed. He rubbed his forehead wearily, feeling very much his age. "It seems I was wrong."

"So Spike died a hero," Xander remarked. "Like Anya." He swallowed hard, but couldn't control a few tears of his own at that reminder. "Well, I guess your instincts were right when you didn't stake him earlier this year. That's -- that's good."

"Yes," Willow agreed. "Yay Spike."

"And it was good of you to tell him that," Xander gamely continued. "I mean, after last year and all --"

"You know nothing about last year!" Buffy snapped at him, tears forgotten in sudden anger. "Nothing!"

"Buffy --"

As suddenly as the anger came, it was gone. "I'm sorry, Xander," she said quietly, but firmly. "But it's true. You know nothing about last year. Because I never told you. Not any of you."

Dawn was eyeing her sister in sudden horror. "But - last year -- Xander said -- are you saying that didn't happen?"

"It happened," Buffy confessed. "But it wasn't like Xander thought."

"Buffy, I know what I saw," Xander protested. "Okay, he's gone now, and I'm glad he died a hero and all, but that doesn't change the past. He was an evil soulless creature before he got cursed with a soul, and what he tried to do to you last year was unforgivable."

Angel shifted uncomfortably in his chair, being careful not to look anywhere near Giles.

"You know, Xander, sometimes I wonder which of us was really the evil, soulless creature last year," Buffy retorted. "Because if we're judging by motives and actions, it certainly wasn't Spike."

"He tried to rape you!" Xander protested.

"He did NOT try to rape me!" Buffy snapped, as Angel gaped and Wesley gasped in surprise. "He was trying to connect with me," she explained. "You weren't there, Xander. You don't know what it was like between us."

"I know what I saw, Buffy," Xander countered.

"So what was it like between you?" Dawn demanded, in very cold, clipped tones.

Buffy sighed. "When you guys pulled me out of heaven -- I hated it."

"We know, Buffy," Willow said in a small voice.

"And I hated you, I hated you so much for doing it. But I couldn't say that, couldn't tell you how I felt. You were so happy I was back. You were my closest, dearest friends. I didn't want to hurt you. But I was so angry. I hated you, and I hated myself. The only one I could talk to was Spike. Because he didn't matter.

"Spike loved me. Even without a soul, he loved me. He would have done anything for me. He kept my secret, about being dragged out of heaven. He was so kind and gentle. He tried so hard to cheer me up, make me feel better. He even promised to change, to be a good man for me." She snorted. "But I didn't want that. I wanted the monster. I hated myself and I hated him. I told him he couldn't change. He was an evil soulless monster, and that's all he'd ever be."

"And you were right," Giles said, trying to reassure her. "You had no way of knowing he'd ever be re-souled."

"Was I? I never gave him a chance to be anything else. Spike tried to be caring and tender with me, but I wouldn't let him. I wanted to be hurt. I wanted to be degraded. I wanted to *feel*, even if the only thing I could feel was self-loathing and hatred and disgust."

"Buffy --" Willow said in pain, hurting for her friend, her own guilt rising quickly to the surface.

"Spike had no part in bringing me back, but he's the one I punished for it. Instead of the people I was really angry with." She looked at Willow and Xander, both of whom looked stricken, and tried to smile. "It's okay, guys. I'm over it. I've been over it for a long time. I'm just telling you what it was like back then."

"That still doesn't explain why he tried to force you," Xander argued.

"He wasn't trying to force me, Xander. You don't understand what our relationship was like. Remember I joked once that punching Spike was like third base to him?" she asked Willow. "Well, it kind of was. For both of us. Our first time came after we pretty much tore a building apart fighting each other. 'Cause we discovered that his chip didn't work on me when I came back. Yes, Giles," she replied, seeing the question in her former Watcher's eyes. "Spike could have attacked me for a long time before his chip went all wonky on him. I asked Tara to check me out because I was so afraid I'd come back wrong. Tara said I was okay; called it a 'molecular sunburn'. I wasn't really different, but I was.

"But Spike wasn't the abusive one. That was me. I was horrible to him. Remember my birthday last year, when he showed up with all those bruises, and said he'd tangled with a Xyklin demon? The only demon he'd tangled with was a monster named Buffy. I hated myself, and I hated that he cared, and I hurt him because he cared. And he let me." The tears were beginning to fall again, as she remembered. Her friends sat listening, sympathetic and yet horrified by what she was revealing. "He never blamed me either. Just took whatever I dished out. Because he loved me, and if I needed to hurt him to feel better, that was okay with him."

"So what happened in the bathroom?" Dawn asked, her focus unrelenting.

Buffy sighed. "He came to apologize to me. For the thing with Anya. Why he should apologize -- I'd already broken things off with Spike at that point. Xander and Anya had broken up. They had every right to do as they pleased." She saw Xander poised to make a protest, and looked at him. Resigned, Xander subsided. "But he knew I'd seen it, and that it had hurt me, and he came to apologize anyway.

"He didn't know I was injured. We talked. It was the first time I admitted having feelings for him. Not love, but feelings. That gave him hope, and he became desperate to connect with me again. And the only way we'd ever connected -- the only way I'd ever allow him to connect -- was through sex." She laughed harshly. "Another part of our so-sick relationship was that *no* often meant yes. He'd start something, I'd tell him no -- and next thing, we'd be boinking like bunnies." She started to apologize almost reflexively for the reference, then looked sadly over at Xander. "So when I said *no* that day, at first he didn't realize that, for once, I meant it. And then he just completely lost it for a moment, until I threw him aside." She shuddered. "But the expression of horror in his face when he realized what he'd done -- if you'd seen it -- he was more horrified than I was. I'd always said he was a monster. He was the one who'd claimed he could be something better."

Dawn was crying softly next to her. Buffy reached over to give her sister a comforting hug, but Dawn pulled angrily away.

"And then Spike ran. He left Sunnydale. And later, I just wanted to put it all behind me. Forget what I had done, with and to Spike. I was ready to live again. I wanted us to be happy. Well, Xander and Dawn and me. You were in England with Giles," she nodded at Willow. "I knew Xander would never understand, and it was easier to just go on being the victim. But I wasn't a victim," she said, eyeing her sister and her friends in turn, wanting to make sure they understood. "Or at least, I wasn't the only victim.

"I didn't see Spike again for months, not until I stumbled across him at the new school. He was a complete mess when I found him -- filthy, hungry, disheveled, and more than a little insane. I didn't know what was really going on until the night when he accidentally stabbed that guy Ronnie and ran off. You remember, I went after him?"

Xander nodded. "That's when you found out he'd been cursed with a soul."

Buffy's face crumpled, and the tears started to fall again. "It wasn't a curse," she almost whispered.

"What was that?" Giles asked, shocked. "Did you say he wasn't cursed? He was soulless all along, and you lied to us?"

She shook her head. "I lied all right, but not about the soul. I lied about how he got it."

"I thought you didn't know," Willow said. "We all kind of assumed that he'd pissed off the wrong person while he was away from Sunnydale."

"Or that someone maybe granted a vengeance wish," Dawn suggested guiltily.

"It wasn't like that," Buffy reiterated. "I knew the truth. But I didn't -- I couldn't -- deal. It was easier to pretend I didn't know. But he wasn't cursed."

"What happened to him, Buffy?" For the first time in a long while, Angel entered the conversation, his expression somber and intent.

She looked up at Angel through her tears. "He wanted it. He challenged some demon in Africa. Fought for it. Earned it."

This time everybody in the room gasped.

"Earned it?" Giles asked, incredulous. "Is that even possible?"

Buffy nodded. "Apparently, there was this uber-demon in Africa. A place of testing in a cave somewhere. If you managed to survive and pass all the tests, the demon would grant your wish."

"Hold on a moment," Wesley said. He pressed the
intercom. "Records? Please bring me the unexpurgated version of the Festarius Codex, in the original proto-Bantu. Yes. Right
now. Thanks. Please continue," he nodded to Buffy. "This shouldn't take more than a few moments, with the resources presently at our disposal."

"So Spike sought out this demon, passed all its tests. He wouldn't tell me much about that part, but I know it couldn't have been easy. But he won, and he demanded his soul back. And the demon had to grant his request."

"That's incredible," Giles was totally at a loss for words.

"Unbelievable." Angel looked as though he'd been pole-axed.

"Incredible? It's beyond that, Rupert," Wesley jabbered excitedly. "Do you realize that if what Buffy is telling us is true, this vampire made an actual choice to be capable of good, instead of evil?! That turns everything we've ever studied as Watchers completely on its head. It should be impossible."

"Spike was unusual," Giles admitted grudgingly, thinking back to when Spike had allowed himself to be tortured almost to death in order to protect Dawn, to the many times Spike had acted to save Buffy or her friends. "Even soulless, he really did seem to care about Buffy and Dawn. Did he tell you why he wanted to be resouled?" he asked Buffy.

"Why does a man do what he mustn't?" she murmured.

"Okay, big with the not understanding here," Xander remarked.

"Just remembering something." She played with her fingers for a few moments, twisting them this way and that, before looking up to answer Giles' question. "Why did he do it? For me, of course. To give me what I deserved. I deserved a man, not a monster who might try to hurt me. Spike wanted to make sure he could never hurt me that way again. He totally blamed himself for what happened. And I let him." She shook her head, contemptuous of her own behavior.

"She shall look on him with forgiveness, and everybody will forgive and love. And he will be loved," she quoted the words that were seared into her soul, then looked around at the uncomprehending faces. "All Spike wanted was to be loved," Buffy continued softly. "He loved me. He loved Dawn. He loved Mom. But he didn't think he deserved to be loved, though he wanted it so badly."

"You lied to me," Dawn hissed, furiously. Tears stained her cheeks and continued to fall. "He was my friend, and he cared about me, and you let me think he was a horrible monster."

"I told you it was complicated, Dawnie," Buffy replied, knowing as she spoke just how lame that sounded.

"You lied to me."

"Yes. I did." Buffy was crying openly now, no longer trying to hold back the tears. "I lied to everyone. What happened last year -- I couldn't face it, so I lied." She hung her head. Spike had loved Dawn, and Dawn had loved Spike, and in all that time he was living in the Summers' basement, she had done nothing to mend the rift between them. "All Spike wanted was acceptance and forgiveness, and because of me, he got neither. He was alone in the school basement for months, and I acted like he didn't exist, except when I needed his help, which he always gave, despite how I treated him. But he needed my help, and I ignored him. Until the First made him a threat. But that was Slayer stuff - that wasn't Buffy."

"I had feelings for Spike, even last year when I wanted to die. I felt the same when he came back, though I tried my best not to. Ever since Angel, I've had a problem committing to relationships." She looked apologetically at her first lover, whose shuttered face reflected his own sadness over what she was revealing. "I was afraid to connect with people; afraid of getting hurt again. It only got worse after the resurrection spell. The more I cared, the more I tried to screw things up. When Principal Wood expressed an interest in me, I practically threw myself at him to prove that I didn't love Spike. But I wouldn't let Spike leave me either. Spike did offer to leave, you know," she informed Giles, who looked down and started polishing his glasses for about the fiftieth time that evening. "He feared the First might try to use him again. It was my command that kept him in Sunnydale. Because even though I wasn't ready to admit to caring about him, much less loving him, I wasn't ready to let him out of my life either."

She shook her head in disgust. "It's no wonder that at the end -- when I tried to tell him he was loved, that I did love him -- he didn't believe me. How could he believe me, when he'd seen me liplocking with Angel a couple of days ago. I wouldn't kiss Spike like that. I'd barely touch him, or let him touch me, though if I needed comfort, I could demand it from him at any moment, and he'd rush to provide it. When you guys threw me out of the house, and I was depressed and miserable, where do you think I found the strength and confidence to go on? Spike, of course. Not that I gave him anything in return. I never did." She was almost choking on her tears, hysterical laughter mixing in.

"And you know the funny thing? The cosmic joke in all of this? Now that he's gone, I realize I really did mean it. I loved Spike. I really did love Spike. And now he's gone, and I'll never be able to tell him that I meant it, and he died thinking he was unloved and unmourned, and I was so awful to have treated him this way when all he really wanted was to be loved, even a little, and I couldn't give him that when he needed it."

She had broken down completely by the end. Dawn, who'd been glaring at her until she started to cry, finally unbent enough to reach out to her, and the two sisters hugged each other, sharing their sense of loss, while the others looked away, feeling awkward, uncomfortable and unsure of what to do.

They were all relieved when the painful tension was broken by a knock at the door.

"Come," Angel ordered, and one of the Wolfram & Hart researchers came in, gingerly holding what appeared to be a very dusty, old book. "The Festarius Codex?" Wesley inquired.

"Yes, sir. The unexpurgated text, in the original proto-Bantu, as you ordered, sir." The research assistant hovered at his side, fluttering, looking around curiously at the strangers.

"That will be all," Angel said sharply. "Mr. Wyndham-Pryce will return the book when he is finished with it."

"Yes, sir." Reluctantly, the research associate left the room.

Wesley had ignored the byplay and was already pouring over the text. The others watched him, wondering what he was looking for. Buffy and Dawn had calmed, though they were still holding each other for comfort. Xander walked over to the side table and returned with a box of
Kleenex. Wordlessly, he placed it on the table between the Summers sisters, gave Dawn's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"Find anything?" Angel finally asked, after several minutes.

"Not yet. Buffy's description of an African cave demon reminded me of something. If I can just ... find... it..." His voice trailed off. "Ah. Yes. Here we are." He started to read what sounded like gibberish to everyone else in the room. "Loosely translated, that means *the home of the Chukra-Nalis, at the place of testing*. The Chukra-Nalis is reputed to be one of the Old Ones, one of the very last of the original demons to walk this Earth before they were banished to other planes. It reportedly inhabits multiple dimensions simultaneously, which is how it manages to maintain an existence on this plane. But it is linked to the cave in all its forms -- it exists only in that place in each of the dimensions of the multiverse that it inhabits. The text suggests that it can indeed grant wishes of a supernatural nature, to those who survive a series of challenges. How Spike learned of its existence, I cannot imagine."

"Would it have had the power to restore Spike's soul?" Angel asked.

"Oh, without question," Wesley replied. "The Chukra-Nalis is reputed to be extremely powerful. At least on a par with the Powers That Be. It would indeed possess the supernatural power to restore souls -- or remove them. But Spike must have been quite remarkable to survive the testing. The text is not specific about the nature of the testing that the challengers undergo, but the challenges are supposed to be quite arduous indeed."

"That would have appealed to Spike," Buffy said, with a sad smile. "He never could resist a challenge."

"He sounds altogether quite remarkable for a vampire," Wesley said wistfully. "I quite regret not having the opportunity to know him. You shall have to tell me more about him," he remarked in an aside to Giles and Angel. "At a more suitable time and place, of course."

"I confess, I'm not sure I'm qualified to provide the details you seek," Giles admitted. "Since I had no idea the resouling was Spike's own idea, I never gave him adequate credit for that, I'm afraid." Although he said it matter-of-factly, and wasn't even looking at Buffy as he spoke, she flinched nonetheless.

There was silence for a moment in the room.

"It's getting late," Angel finally said. "Why don't we all try to get some rest. I have some guest rooms on the tenth floor here, if you don't want to take the time to go across town to the hotel. We can plan our next move in the morning."

"I think here would be best," Giles agreed, looking to the others for approval. When nobody dissented, he continued. "I hope you have some spare changes of clothing, however. We had to leave Sunnydale pretty much as you see us, with nothing except what we had on our persons."

"I kind of guessed that," Angel replied. "Fortunately, with the resources of Wolfram & Hart at our disposal, that shouldn't be a problem."

***

Angel had given orders for rooms to be prepared before they ever left the conference suite, and by the time they had reached the tenth floor, the rooms were ready and waiting in that uncanny way that things happened at Wolfram & Hart. There were five guest rooms, so everyone got his or her own room. Toiletries and nightclothes were waiting on each bed. Buffy looked at Angel with an arched eyebrow. He just shrugged. It was a weird place, but it had its advantages.

After settling the others in their rooms, he escorted Buffy to the last room. They lingered by the door.

"Buffy --"

"Angel --"

They spoke simultaneously.

"Sorry. You go first," Angel said.

"Why don't you come in for a moment?" Buffy asked.

Angel looked around. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," he commented.

"Please. It's not like I'm going to jump you or anything," she said sarcastically. "I want to talk to you, Angel, and I don't want everyone else to hear."

"All right." Angel followed her into the room, and closed the door. They stood several feet apart, each watching the other cautiously.

"Thanks for taking us in," Buffy began. "We really had nowhere else to go."

"Don't mention it," Angel replied. "Is that all?"

"No." A little too quickly. "No. I'm sorry. It must have been difficult for you to hear all that," she said sympathetically.

He smiled a little. "No more difficult than it must have been for you to say it. So." He hesitated. "You loved Spike?"

"I did, Angel. I really did." Her eyes teared up again, but she remained in control. "God, this is hard." She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Angel remained where he was, near the door, watching her.

"It's not that I don't love you, Angel. I do. But it's more I love the idea of you. Of us. Of what we were. You were the first man I ever loved. Well, not man, exactly. You know what I mean."

"Yes."

"When I look at you, I'm that sixteen year old girl who fell for Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious. Just for a moment or two, I can be that little girl again, who wanted nothing more than a tall handsome stranger to sweep her off her feet and take away her cares. Does that make any sense?"

"It makes a lot of sense," he said quietly.

"We'll always have that. But I'm not her. Not any more. And real love, a lasting relationship --" she shook her head. "It's not there. Not for us." She looked down at her feet.

"I know." Now he walked over to her, tipped her head up to face him. "Buffy, it's all right. I understand. I really do." He smiled at her.

"Do you?" She smiled back. "You're not just saying that?"

"Maybe it was something at the Hellmouth," he suggested. "Or just a sudden burst of nostalgic fever. Buffy, we've both moved on. I'm in love myself now, and not with you."

"Oh! Oh. That's -- that's good. Good. Where --" she looked around, as though she expected his lady love to materialize out of the walls.

"She's in a coma right now," Angel replied, not quite looking at her and avoiding the question. "I may never have her. But I can't stop loving her. Are you okay with that?"

Buffy thought for a moment, then nodded, looking at him in wonder. "I am. I really am, Angel. Guess I really did grow up."

"Maybe those cookies are baked after all?" he teased.

She flushed. "My god. You must be right about the evil Hellmouthy influence. Could I have said anything lamer? I mean -- cookie dough! Geez. I'm surprised you didn't laugh your way out of the cemetery."

"I would never laugh at you, Buffy," he said simply.

"Thanks, Angel," she said quietly. "So -- we're good?"

"We're good." He walked back toward the door, hesitated. "I'm sorry about Spike."

"Thanks." She looked down again, eyes shuttered, the pain of loss and memory returning in an instant, cutting through her like a knife. But not before she saw that same pain reflected in his own eyes.

"We'll talk more in the morning. Good night."

"Good night, Angel."

***

Giles sat on the side of the bed, staring at nothing. He was still trying to make sense of the amazing -- and profoundly disturbing -- revelations of the night.

Spike had voluntarily sought out his soul. Had wanted to be resouled. Because he loved Buffy. Because he'd hurt her and regretted it. Giles still couldn't take it in. It went against everything he had ever learned about vampires as a Watcher.

He wanted to be angry at Buffy for not telling him. The opportunity to interview Spike about this, to document the event for future generations of Watchers if the Watchers Council was indeed reconstituted as was already being discussed in some circles... that opportunity was forever lost. But it was hard to blame Buffy when he wasn't sure what he might have done differently even if he had known.

Buffy had told him Spike had changed. That Spike was different. That Spike cared about her. Hell, he knew that without Buffy telling him. Even before the soul, Spike had evidenced feelings that should have been impossible for a soulless vampire. He'd almost died to protect Dawn. He'd been consumed by grief at Buffy's death. He'd fought side by side with the humans, against his own kind, for years now, and received precious little in the way of consideration or camaraderie from anyone but Buffy in return. Giles winced, feeling ashamed of some of his own actions. Buffy had after all been proven right. Spike, given the chance, had chosen to sacrifice himself and save the world. And Giles had tried to kill him because he had never imagined that possibility. Had thought Buffy was deluded by her foolish, sentimental fondness for the vampire. Whereas, it turned out, he was the deluded fool, not his former protégé.

If he'd known about the amulet, what would he have done? At the very least, he'd have counseled Buffy against entrusting it to Spike. They couldn't afford to take such a chance. Spike was, after all, still a vampire even if he were an ensouled one. He couldn't, shouldn't be trusted.

Giles frowned, annoyed with himself. What had happened to him? Hadn't he been the one to suggest to Spike that the chipped vampire might have chosen for a higher purpose? Certainly, the vampire had ignored him, but why had he himself so completely dismissed the possibility, especially in light of the many times Spike had saved them when he could as easily have walked away?

The ex-Watcher sighed. God, his head hurt.

There was a soft knock at his door. He looked up, surprised.

Wesley poked his head inside. "May I come in?"

Giles shrugged. "By all means. It's not as though I'm going to be falling asleep anytime soon."

"I know the feeling." Wesley was carrying a small satchel, as well as a notepad under his arm. "I thought we might have a bit of a chat, if you feel up to a little more conversation tonight."

"As I said, I don't exactly feel sleep beckoning," Giles said wryly.

"Too much to think about," Wesley agreed knowingly, closing the door behind him.

"Something like that," Giles agreed reluctantly. He was irritated that the other man could read him so easily.

"Well, I've got something else to toss into the mix." Wesley placed the satchel on the side table, and withdrew two glasses and a bottle of single malt scotch. Giles eyed the bottle appreciatively.

"And a little something to wash down the conversation." He poured three fingers of scotch for each of them, then air-toasted his fellow ex-Watcher before taking a sip. "All of this apocalyptic talk has got me thinking. Are you familiar with the prophecies of Aberjian?"

"The prophecies of Aberjian?" Giles sipped the quite excellent scotch, as he tried to think. "I do remember something, but it's a little vague. I believe they comprised a compendium of prophecies assembled over a period of millennia by the Aberjian cultists. They were a group of mystics, if memory serves, with a particular fascination for the occult and for the concept of predestination. The cult died out in the twelfth century, if I recall?"

"Thirteenth, actually," Wesley amended. He had pulled a chair over to sit across from Giles, who remained on the side of the bed. "But your recollection is accurate, in the main. The cult existed for some 4,000 years, and collected prophecies in over a dozen different human and demonic languages, in addition to its own."

"Yes. I remember. Though it was all theoretical. Nobody has actually ever seen the prophecies. The compendium disappeared along with the cultists during the Dark Ages."

Wesley coughed, looking a little embarrassed. Giles stared at him.

"I've seen the Aberjian prophecies," Wesley admitted. "The forces behind Wolfram & Hart are very powerful, and they don't allow potentially useful information to go missing if there's anything they can do about it. And there's rather a lot they can do, usually." He waved the notepad in his hand. "I first encountered the prophecies during my initial year working with Angel Investigations. Angel had done a spot of breaking and entering at the Wolfram & Hart offices, and turned up several scrolls comprising a portion of the prophecies. Now, of course, I have access to the entire compendium."

"There do seem to be certain advantages to working for the forces of darkness," Giles conceded, sipping at his drink. "Their scotch is excellent, for one thing. Though I imagine the price of employment must be perilously high. In terms of one's soul."

"To this point, no price has yet been named," Wesley replied. "As for the future, we shall have to see. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you aware of the shanshu prophecy?"

Giles looked blankly at him. "Shanshu? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that term. Or is it a creature?"

"It's a term." Wesley nodded. "I didn't think Buffy knew about it. Angel probably thought it best not to tell her. Raise her hopes too much."

"What are you talking about, Wesley?"

"One of the prophecies of Aberjian concerns the vampire with a soul. According to the prophecy, at the End of Days, the vampire with a soul will ally itself with the Slayer and fight on behalf of the forces of good, against the forces of darkness. According to the prophecy, the vampire will be rewarded by being allowed to *shanshu*."

"And that means?"

Wesley winced. "I'm not exactly sure, to be honest. The word shanshu itself has roots in several languages, and it can be interpreted in a variety of ways, most of them contradictory, I'm afraid. But one of the more likely interpretations is that the word comes from a proto-Bantuan source referring to the cycle of life. To die, to live again, and then to die."

"I'm sorry." Giles drained his glass and poured himself more of the excellent scotch. "You just lost me."

"If my interpretation of the prophecy is correct, it is possible that the vampire with a soul who has fought by the Slayer's side in the apocalyptic battles may be rewarded for his actions by being granted new life. As a human."

Giles, sipping at his refilled glass, spluttered in surprise. "Human?"

Wesley nodded. "That is a plausible interpretation of the prophecy. Not the only interpretation, of course. At times, I've had to consider other interpretations. But in light of recent events, I decided to review my notes on the matter. If you'd care to have a look?" He handed the pad over to Giles, and seated himself beside his colleague on the bed so they could study the notes together.

"Thank you." The two men poured over the various quotations, translations, and annotations Wesley had made, considering the implications.

"I can of course fetch the original scroll, if you think that would be of value," Wesley remarked. "But as much of it is written in proto-Ugaric and proto-Bantu, I felt my notes were probably more useful than the original source material."

"This is more than sufficient," Giles agreed. "And quite fascinating. Of course, when you first encountered the prophecy, you undoubtedly believed it related to Angel."

"Of course. The vampire with a soul. But as I said, in light of recent events, I've had to rethink that."

"Quite." Giles continued to study Wesley's detailed analyses and notations on the prophecy and its possible interpretations. "This was very well done. A most thorough analysis."

Wesley preened at the unexpected compliment. "Thank you. Very kind of you to say."

"I suppose it's the mention of the *utakae-tupu* that has caused you to rethink the prophecy at this time?"

"I was never able to derive a satisfactory interpretation of that portion of the prophecy," Wesley agreed. "All I managed to determine is that it seemed to relate to some kind of artifact or a purification ritual. But now I think it may possibly relate to the amulet that Angel described."

"Curious that Wolfram & Hart would have provided the amulet to Angel," Giles remarked. "I would have expected them to intervene on the side of the ultimate evil."

"Yes," Wesley agreed. "Although I can think of several possible explanations. The amulet was part of the inducement for Angel to accept their offer of employment. It could be that in the greater scheme of things, this particular apocalypse mattered less to Wolfram & Hart than their desire to draw Angel to their side. Or perhaps they wanted Angel to use the amulet, believing him too compromised to trigger its power, which would have allowed the forces of evil to prevail."

"That seems plausible," Giles agreed. "Alternatively, they might have expected that Buffy would be the one to bear the amulet, and they knew it would destroy her, as the power was not meant to be wielded by a human, even one with Slayer strength. I find it difficult to imagine that they foresaw that Spike would be the bearer."

"I tend to agree. If the amulet is indeed the utakae-tupu of which the prophecy speaks, the text indicates that the artifact is very powerful, but certainly not a malign force. Indeed, the roots of both words 'taka' and 'tupu' are terms relating to purity and goodness. So if Wolfram & Hart did intend mischief by providing the amulet to Angel, most likely they were expecting that to result from use by an unqualified bearer," Wesley concluded.

"And most likely they never thought about the shanshu prophecy at all," Giles added. "Speaking of which, I think you could be right in your analysis. Certainly, the proto-Bantu concept of the life cycle would support such an interpretation."

"Yes, I think it would."

"But Spike is dead."

"Yes." Both men sipped their drinks in silence for a few moments, considering.

"Could he return? Is that even possible?" Giles finally wondered.

"Buffy returned from the dead," Wesley suggested. "So did Angel, if memory serves."

"Indeed." The two men sat quietly, drinking their scotch and pondering impossibilities.
 

***

A week had passed, Buffy realized. At least five minutes since she'd last thought of him. Seven days, thirteen hours, twenty-five minutes, and counting. She raised her glass of lemonade in a morose salute.

She sat alone in the garden of the Hyperion Hotel, enjoying the sunshine and the beauty of a late spring day in Los Angeles. After that first night, Angel had arranged rooms for all of them over at the Hotel. She highly approved that decision. The Wolfram & Hart offices gave her the wiggins, and she could see they had a very similar effect on her friends.

Things were a lot quieter now than they had been in those first few tumultuous days. Those first days had been a hurried procession of paperwork, shopping and hasty goodbyes. Most of the Potentials -- Slayers, now -- were gone, returned to their homes now that the danger was past. She guessed there'd be some difficult adjustments there, and wondered, not for the first time since the battle, if she'd done the right thing in sharing her burden with so many others, consenting and non-consenting. Already, there'd been news in some circles about young girls suddenly displaying amazing physical prowess. Several governments were investigating. Or worse. There were also reports about girls suddenly disappearing from their homes.

Angel was using the powers of Wolfram & Hart to discourage investigation, at least locally. And he'd been wonderful in terms of supplying the girls with the means to get home -- money, airline tickets, clothing, new identification, everything. It must have cost a small fortune. Good thing the forces of darkness paid so well, Buffy thought sarcastically to herself. Not that she wasn't grateful for her spanking new drivers license -- no ability to actually drive required -- and credit cards. But she did wonder if Angel really knew what he was letting himself in for, in aligning himself with a former bastion of evil. Angel's assurances that the deal from Wolfram & Hart came with no strings attached was scarcely reassuring -- or believable. Still, that was Angel's problem, and so far at least, he seemed to have a handle on things.

Angel had told them all they could stay at the Hyperion as long as they wanted. Still, after all those years spent together, the group was beginning to go their separate ways.

The new Slayers were gone, or would be soon. Faith was gone -- as soon as it was clear that everyone was safe, she'd taken off to rejoin Wood at the hospital. From all indications, that relationship was going to be the most lasting that Faith had ever had. Hell, it probably already was. Buffy wished them well. She and Faith had reached a meeting of the minds in those final hours before the battle, and her fellow Slayer deserved a little happiness in her life. Angel had done his part, using the Wolfram & Hart connections to eliminate any evidence that Faith had ever been in any trouble with the law.

Kennedy was also gone -- once the pressure of constant danger was past, she and Willow realized that they didn't really have all that much in common. There was affection for each other certainly, but not love. So Kennedy had also gone home. Buffy had worried for a day or two about her friend's mental state and the possible impact on the city of Los Angeles. Willow didn't have the greatest history in terms of taking the end of a relationship well -- but Buffy soon realized that, if anything, Willow actually seemed relieved by the ending of this particular relationship. That was fortunate. Buffy didn't feel up to handling another apocalypse anytime soon.

Willow and Xander were still around, as was Andrew, but not for much longer. Willow had made contact with her family at their new home in Torrance, and she was going to visit them for a few weeks before going back to school. Angel had arranged her enrollment at UCLA for the upcoming fall semester. He'd offered both Willow and Xander employment at Wolfram & Hart, but both had politely declined.

Xander had his own plans. It seemed he and Andrew had become friends, and they were going to hit the road, do some traveling together. Xander had prudently banked with the Bank of America and not the
no-longer-in-existence Bank of Sunnydale, so his savings were intact. And Andrew had some money of his own, although nobody was looking too closely at the source of his funds. The two of them had rented an RV, and were planning a long, leisurely trip North to Canada and Alaska over the summer. After that, their plans remained unclear.

Only Buffy and Dawn were going to remain at the Hyperion indefinitely. With Buffy's father still AWOL as usual, and all her worldly possessions at the bottom of a smoking hole, her choices pretty much boiled down to living at the Hyperion or living at the Hyperion. Unless she went back to living in a homeless shelter, and she wasn't about to do that to Dawn. Eventually, she supposed, she'd find herself a job, and a new home, but for now, she was content to enjoy Angel's largesse. She'd just saved the world again, after all. She was entitled to a little down time. Perhaps, when she was recovered, she'd go check out that Hellmouth in Cleveland, if Faith hadn't beaten her to it.

Footsteps alerted her to the presence of visitors, and she looked up, then smiled as Wesley and Giles came over to join her. She hadn't seen much of the two ex-Watchers in the last week. They'd pretty much closeted themselves over at Wolfram & Hart, huddling together in whispered conversations and doing ex-Watchery things, she presumed. At dinner, the first full day after their arrival, Giles had practically been in raptures over the Wolfram & Hart research collection. He'd almost waxed poetic on the subject. It had been very amusing, though she was glad not to actually have to take part in any research. Plus it was keeping Giles around, which was of the good. He hadn't even begun to talk about returning to England. She hoped he'd stay around a while longer, especially with her friends disappearing for the summer and maybe longer.

"I made lemonade," she said brightly. "Want some? It's in the kitchen."

"Thank you, Buffy, but not just now. There's something we wanted to talk to you about."

Her eyes narrowed. Both men looked jittery, and excited. "Wait a minute. What's going on?" she asked suspiciously. "What have you two been up to?"

"We've been doing some research," Wesley began.

"Yes," Giles hastily interrupted, throwing his colleague a warning glance. "Some research. Amazing facilities at Wolfram & Hart. Really quite amazing."

"Quite." Wesley jumped back into the discussion. "We've been investigating something, as I said, and we think there's something you really should see."

"What?"

"Not here," Giles hastened to say. "At Wolfram & Hart."

She looked at him. "Giles, if this is part of some scheme to turn me into research girl, I'm not buying."

"No, no. Nothing like that."

"Because I'm really okay. Well, not okay exactly, it still hurts, but I'm dealing." She smiled at them sadly. "I do miss him, Giles. I miss him all the time. But I can deal."

"We know, Buffy. Trust me, this isn't some *let's get Buffy to stop moping by creating some make-work project to occupy her time* plan."

"That's good. Because I'm not moping. Am I moping?"

"I haven't seen any moping," Wesley assured her.

"Can you come then?"

"What about Dawn?"

"I believe Xander was going to take her for ice cream," Wesley remarked. "She mentioned something about a pineapple chocolate banana sundae as we were coming in." He repressed a shudder, as Buffy tried not to giggle.

***

Angel was waiting for them at Wolfram & Hart. "What's going on, Wes?" he asked, as the trio entered the lobby.

"They didn't tell you either, huh," Buffy remarked. "Big Watcher secrets afoot. Or is that big ex-Watcher secrets?"

"Actually, neither," Giles said. "We're just not entirely sure that this is going to work."

"Though it should," Wesley said. "We think."

"Riiight," Buffy said, rolling her eyes, as the Watchers guided them over to the elevator bank.

"The White Room?" Angel exploded incredulously. "We're going to the White Room?"

The room was indeed white, as the name had suggested. If white could be said to be intense, this was intensely, almost painfully white. The only thing marring the perfection of the featureless canvas was the carefully placed charcoal-drawn pentagram surrounded by a circle etched into the floor in the center of the room.

"It's not as though the Senior Partners are using it these days," Wesley defended. "And the interdimensional barriers are weakest in here."

"Oh, well, that explains everything. Not," Buffy grumbled. She looked around curiously. The room was lit with white beeswax candles, spaced around the perimeter, and there was a pungent, spicy smell that Buffy couldn't identify.

But Angel could. "Sandalwood, peppermint, lemon oil, clove. Burnt feathers? And blood? *Human blood*?" he asked incredulously.

"Voluntarily donated," Giles assured him.

"Excuse us a moment," said Wesley.

He and Giles started circling the pentagram, sprinkling spices within the circle and muttering under their breaths. Buffy and Angel just watched them, wondering what in the world was going on.

After circling the pentagram three times, they stopped. "There, that should do it," Giles said with satisfaction.

"Yes. It should. You see, there's this prophecy," Wesley started to explain. "I've been pondering its significance for some time now. But it wasn't until Rupert and I began to study it further that we discovered a cross-reference in another text. Which led us to another reference. Which brings us here."

"It seems this particular prophecy was not self-fulfilling," Giles explained. "It requires a bit of an intervention from outside forces to make it reality." He rubbed at his neck. "Are we ready?"

"Yes, I think so. Please remain quiet during the spellcasting," Giles warned the others. "We're not entirely sure what might happen if the spell is interrupted in any way."

Buffy and Angel stared as the two former Watchers began to chant in measured cadence. First Wesley would say a phrase; then Giles responded with another phrase. None of it in English. This went on for several minutes, and Buffy had to repress the urge to mutter something sarcastic. Instead, she smirked at Angel. He shrugged his equal incomprehension.

Suddenly, the area above the pentagram began to glow with an ethereal light. They could hear a thunderous wind, although the room remained eerily still, the candles not even flickering as they burned.

"Essendere!" Giles commanded.

"Essendere!" Wesley echoed.

"Essendere!" They shouted the word in unison.

Buffy cried out as a figure began to take form within the pentagram. It formed in midair, then slowly solidified. Suddenly, the wind shrieked once more and fell silent. The candles suddenly flared up, then blew out. The naked figure dropped to the floor, still contained within the protective circle. A very familiar form, Buffy suddenly realized, her heart skipping a beat.

"What have you done?" she whispered in disbelief, staring at the motionless figure.

"It has to do with the prophecies of Aberjian," Wesley started to explain, glancing at Angel with a look of embarrassment on his face.

"Spike shanshued?" Angel gasped.

"Spike what-ted? What kind of shoe?" Buffy asked. "Whose prophecies?"

"We didn't want to get your hopes up," Giles explained. "That's why we said nothing till now. And as to whether Spike has indeed shanshued, that remains to be seen." Giles stepped carefully over to the circle, and muttered several phrases as he waved his hand over the barrier. Evidently satisfied with the results, he stepped into the circle to examine the newcomer.

The moment he crossed the protective circle, Buffy rushed to join him.

"Spike?" she whispered, still disbelieving. "Spike?" She knelt beside the prone figure and stared at the chest, which was rising and falling with a steady motion. Astonished, she touched his warm skin. Fingered the curly, light brown hair. "Giles! He's breathing! He's human!"

"Yes. That is the prophecy," Giles replied. He too was now examining Spike, taking his pulse. "It would appear to have worked," he remarked to Wesley.

"The shanshu?" Angel's face was a storybook of realization, confusion and envy. "Spike got my shanshu?"

"Apparently, it wasn't your shanshu at all," Wesley replied. "It was Spike who fulfilled the requisite elements."

"Why isn't he awake?" Buffy demanded. "Spike! Spike! Wake up!" She shook his shoulders gently at first, then with increased urgency. "Maybe you did something wrong," she accused the ex-Watchers.

"More likely, the spell has drained him," Wesley suggested. "Interdimensional translocation, to say nothing of metamorphic transformation, is an exhausting business. Give it a few minutes."

Buffy ignored him, continuing to gently caress Spike's cheek, shake him lightly, and beg him to respond. Angel watched them from a distance, shifting his weight awkwardly and feeling very much the fifth wheel at what should have been a very private moment.

"Perhaps we should move him out of here? Is there a doctor on the premises who can examine him?" Giles suggested.

"I don't know if we should move him like this," Wesley countered. "We really don't know how things are supposed to go from here."

"You don't know?!" Buffy all but shrieked at them. "How could you do this when you don't know?"

"Spellcasting is not an exact science, Buffy," Giles defended. "You yourself know that resurrection spells are very tricky things, even when they are tied to prophecies. Wesley and I are quite sure that the spell was the correct spell to trigger the shanshu process and that it was performed properly. We spent some considerable time yesterday in preparation to make sure that everything would go off perfectly today. Give it --"

A groan interrupted him. All eyes turned to Spike, whose eyes were now fluttering open.

"Spike?" Buffy whispered, almost afraid to hope.

He looked at her confused for a moment. Looked at them all crowding around him. Then back at her. Then at himself. Obviously disoriented.

"Where am I?" he whispered, his voice weak and cracking.

"At least he can speak," Wesley said in relief. Angel quickly shushed him.

"You're safe," Buffy replied. "In Los Angeles."

"Do you know who you are?" Giles asked, getting right to the point.

Spike thought for a moment. As the others watched, it seemed they could almost see the cobwebs lifting from his mind. "William Prescott Smythe?" he asked tentatively. "William the -- Spike?" His eyes suddenly widened, as memories came cascading back en masse. "Buffy!" he gasped. He tried to leap to his feet, but collapsed, Buffy and Giles easing him back down.

"Take it easy, you have no strength now," Wesley counseled. "Give it time."

"Who are you?" he asked in an enervated tone after several badly needed breaths. That simple exercise of trying to stand had exhausted all his strength. "Buffy?" He raised a shaking hand to touch her brow.

"I'm here," she said, placing her hand on his, tears welling up. "Are you okay?"

"I have no idea," he confessed honestly. "Not to complain, but why aren't I dead?"

"You were," she said, the tears streaming down her face now. He reached up to try and wipe them away, and she smiled at him. "There was a prophecy," she explained. "Giles and Wesley brought you back."

"Ole Rupert did that?" He tried a smirk, but it didn't quite work. "Thought he'd be dancing on my ashes."

"I would have, but there weren't any ashes to dance on," Giles said gravely. "If there were any, they were sucked into the Hellmouth when you closed it. Welcome back, Spike."

"Thanks, Watcher. And you, whoever you are," he added to Wesley. He looked around again, at the others, at Buffy, and at himself. "Would now be a good time to mention that I seem to be human? And naked? And has anyone but me noticed either of these things?"

"Ah. Yes. Quite." Wesley stammered. Angel, being more practical, offered Spike his coat. Buffy wrapped it around him, as he was too weak to do it himself. She repressed a smile. He looked, for all the world, like a little boy wrapped in his father's coat that was much too big for him. At least until he spoke and spoiled the image.

"Ta, mate," Spike said to Angel. "So, what is this place? Could stand a little decoration. Bit bland for my taste."

Buffy started to laugh.

"What? Just saying the place could use a bit of color. What's wrong with that?"

Wesley was staring at the shanshued ex-vampire in fascination. "This is fantastic! Does he seem normal to you?" he asked Giles.

"Usually, he's far more irritating," Giles said dryly. "I think we can move him. He seems well enough."

"And the White Room isn't a good place to linger," Angel agreed. "We can put him into one of the guest rooms." He shook his head. "I still can't believe Spike got my shanshu," he grumbled under his breath.

"I'll do it," Buffy volunteered, helping Spike to his feet. Actually, she found herself carrying him, as his legs stubbornly refused to support him.

"This is bloody ridiculous," Spike grumbled. "Feel weak as a newborn kitten."

"That's not far from the truth, actually," Wesley remarked. "I don't suggest you try anything more strenuous than eating and breathing for a day or two."

"Human, am I?" he asked the others for confirmation. They nodded, and he sighed. "Whose bloody brilliant idea was that?"

"Blame Aberjian if you want to cast blame about it," Giles remarked. "Though since he's been dead for more than 3,000 years, I very much doubt he'll be concerned. Coming back as a vampire souled or unsouled wasn't one of your options, Spike. Speaking of which -- you and I are going to have a long talk one of these days about cave demons in Africa."

"Not now, Giles," Buffy growled. "You know, for a formerly dead guy, you're awfully heavy," she informed Spike. "Angel?" Angel moved in to help her support Spike's weight.

They moved Spike into the room that Buffy had used that first night at Wolfram & Hart. Even though Buffy and Angel did all the work, he was limp and exhausted when they reached their destination. Angel found Spike a pair of sweatpants, then looked away as Buffy dressed him. Together, they helped Spike into the bed and covered him with a sheet.

"Some Pedialyte or Gatorade would probably be a good idea," Giles noted.

"Not a child here," Spike muttered in protest. "Brandy."

"Not likely. Pedialyte. Gatorade," Giles repeated. "Can you get some?" he asked Angel.

"I'll arrange it. Perhaps we should let him sleep for now?"

"You guys go," Buffy ordered. "I'm staying here. Spike and I have some unfinished business to take care of."

She and Angel exchanged a glance, and Angel nodded in understanding. "C'mon, guys, five's a crowd. Let's get out of here," he said to the ex-Watchers.

Giles hesitated, then shrugged. "He needs to sleep," he warned Buffy.

"I know, Giles. Don't worry. I'll see that he gets his sleep. And thanks again for bringing him back. Thank you both." She hugged both men before returning to Spike's side.

"It was our pleasure," Wesley said sincerely.

Once they had left, she slipped out of her own clothes, leaving only her bra and panties. She climbed into the bed, facing the man she had loved and mourned. She wasn't going to let one day go by before she did what she should have done a long time ago.

She reached up to caress his face. Spike seized the hand in his. "Unfinished business?"

"Uh-huh. I told you something at the mouth of Hell. Do you remember?"

He smiled at her, hesitantly stroking her cheek, marveling when she didn't pull away. "I remember," he said cautiously. "Something about love, wasn't it?"

"You said you didn't believe me," she reminded him.

"Wasn't the greatest timing, luv," he replied. "Had a lot on my plate just then."

"I know. I meant it though. Guess I'm going to have to do a much better job of proving it."

He pulled back a little and stared at her. Fear and hope warred in his eyes, and it hurt to know it was her fault he found it so hard to believe her. She'd made it so hard.

"And Angel?" he asked carefully.

"Angel was my first love. That won't ever change. When I'm with him, I feel sixteen again." She smiled at him reassuring, and held him as he tried to pull away. "But I'm not sixteen," she whispered. "What Angel and I had is in the past. For both of us." She pressed a kiss on his cheek. "There's only one man in my life now, and I happen to be with him now."

"Buffy --" raw need and pain etched his voice.

"I love you, Spike. When you died," her voice trembled, " it was like a part of myself had died. Every day, every moment, I thought about you." She caressed him, as he pressed kisses into her hair, into her neck. Tenderly, she pulled him away, so she could look at him.

"Seven days, sixteen hours, twenty-five minutes. Except today doesn't count, does it?" She smiled tremulously, the tears sparkling in her shining eyes.

"Guess not," he said, his voice shaking. He didn't look far from tears himself.

"I got another chance. And I'm not screwing it up this time. So prepare to be loved, Mister, like you've never been loved before."

"Buf-" Whatever he was about to say was smothered in their passionate kiss. They clung to each other, tasting each other, lost in a perfect moment. Then he fell back, sound asleep, a smile on his face.

Buffy slid around to hold him in her arms. She too was smiling when sleep claimed her.
 

FINIS
 
 

Back to Authors G-L

Back to Fan Fiction