Falling Rain

by Heather Long

 

Genre: Drama

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The Buffy characters belong to Joss Whedon and his assignees. No infringement is intended.

Summary: Spike makes a wish. Part One of Until. Set after "Normal Again" and loosely based on spoilers through the end of season six.

 



Falling Rain

A piece of siding crashed down, sending sparks shooting up. Dawn jumped as it hit the ground and spun to look at it. Xander didn't move from where he was standing, stake poised over Spike's heart.

"What did you do to her?" he growled again. "She wouldn't have done this if you hadn't done something."

"Do you live in denial?" Spike snarled. "I didn't do a blasted thing to her. She and Willow did it to each other. I was trying to stop the bleeping bus."

"You were both after Warren. She was HELPING you!" Xander's voice pitched higher, fury, fear and something else mingling in the tone.

"Xander—"

"Shut up, Dawn. This is between him and me. You either tell me or I make you dust." His fingers gripped the stake tighter. "Screw it, I'll just make you dust. Should have a long time ago."

Spike nodded slowly. "G'head. Do it. Be a man. Can always count on you to take out the thing that can't hurt you. Kinda like Anya." The baiting did the trick and Xander hauled back with the stake, plunging it downwards only to find it slam to a stop as a wrist blocked his swing.

"Stop it, Xander." Buffy said in a cold, quiet voice. A voice he'd never heard before. "Stop it now."

"Didn't you see what he did to Willow?"

"He didn't do anything to Willow." Her voice remained cold, detached, almost mechanical. "Now get up and get off of him, before I make you."

Slowly, all of them looked at her. There was blood running down her cheek and her eyes were flat, cold and hard. Xander stared at her for a long moment before letting the stake drop from his hand and standing up, staggering back away from the vampire.

"Slayer?" Spike asked, the implied questions crowding his voice.

"We don't have much time. I followed her as far as Rack's. We need to find them. Her. Stop them."

"Warren?"

"Dead."

Silence, perforated only by the occasional explosion of sparks and hissing, as rain begins to fall.

"Can't say as I'm sorry to hear that." He sat up slowly, eyeing Xander who just stood there, saying nothing.

Shrugging, Buffy turned her head to look at Dawn and Xander. Her eyes remained cool and aloof. "Xander, I want you to take Dawn to the airport. Get her on a flight to New York. My father is going to be there on a business trip; Dawny needs to go visit for a while."

"You—can't just send me—" Dawn's voice pitched back to the hysterical, snapped out of her shock by the sudden dismissal.

"Shut up, Dawn." Buffy's dead eyes remained on Dawn's face. "You're going. You're not arguing. We're not doing this anymore. This isn't about how I feel about you or you being wanted. It's about you being somewhere safe and normal. You fight me on this, you're going to regret it. Shut up, go with Xander. Go see Dad, buy a lot of shoes."

Dawn blinked at the onslaught. Buffy's deadly seriousness was infecting all of them and slowly she nodded.

"Xander, did you hear me?"

"What about—"

"Take Dawn to the airport. We'll deal with the rest of it later."

"Fine." Xander spun and stalked away, leaving Dawn to rush after him.

"Well, that got rid of the bit and the git." Spike turned slowly, predator to predator and eyed the cold dead stare in Buffy's eyes. "Why?"

"She's going to undo her spell," Buffy replied. "She's going to send me back to the dead. So we either find her and stop her, or I die. Either way, neither of them needs to be here for that."

Pain flashed across Spike's face. He reached out a hand to her, half-expecting her to yank away from him. But she stood there and he felt the icy coldness of her skin. "I've got your back, Slayer."

"I know. No matter what I do to you, you don't leave."

"I love you."

Simplicity itself.

"Spike ... if she's successful ..."

"She'll be right behind you."

Buffy nodded slowly. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"Ready?"

"May as well."

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to love you."

Silence.

"I'd like that, too."

"Maybe ... if ... when ..."

"Maybe, Slayer. Let's go."

Silence, punctuated only by the falling rain.



Hard Rain

The rain was coming down in torrents now. The water splashing against the dried blood on her face and scalp felt good. She trailed after Spike as he stalked through the underbelly of the town of Sunnydale. It never failed to amaze her that such a small town could have an underbelly, but its alleys, cemeteries and dirty corners far outnumbered the idyllic streets and suburbs it advertised.

They said nothing to each other as the rain sluiced over their clothes, saturating everything until even the inside of her shoes felt soaked. What were they going to talk about, how they might have to kill Willow? Or maybe they would discuss how Warren used the chip to drive Spike into a frenzy. Buffy felt her lips curl. No, maybe they could discuss the burns they were both still healing from when the door shattered, spilling sunlight over both of them.

Her fingers curled into fists. If Warren—the thought broke off as pain seized her chest and she hit the ground gasping. Something was closing around her chest; she couldn't breathe. Water splashed against her face as she fought the tremendous pain that started to black out her vision. She must have bitten her lip; blood filled her mouth and just as suddenly as the pain started, it ceased. She choked, reeling from the dual shocks.

Wild-eyed, she looked around the alley and realized that they were pressed up against the wall behind some crates. Spike was cradling her; his eyes were wary and watchful. "Better?"

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded slowly. She lifted up a hand to her mouth; the taste of blood was still there. Violent, copper and nauseating.

"Sit for a minute. Gather your thoughts, we'll get started looking for Rack again in a minute." His eyes went past her for a moment, sweeping the alley before returning to her face.

"You're having a hard time finding him, aren't you?" she asked quietly, still not quite trusting her voice. It rewarded her by trembling with the emotion she'd kept so coldly locked up before the painful attack.

"He's hiding himself. He has to know I'm coming. They wouldn't be stupid enough to think I'd let them—"

"He knows." A third voice, a familiar voice, interrupted. Their eyes shot upwards at the demon who appeared in the shadows next to them. Despite the altered features, her voice was unmistakable.

"Anyanka." Buffy didn't bother with her more human name as she struggled to stand. Spike put her on her feet and positioned himself partially between the pair. Buffy didn't object; she wasn't sure she was up to dealing with the vengeance demon as yet.

"Buffy. Spike's blood is going to slow them down, but it's not going to stop them."

"What?"

Buffy's eyes darted to Spike, then suddenly she turned her head and spit. "You put your blood in my mouth?!"

"Only way to slow them down. Vampire magic. Interrupts their magic. Had to do something."

"I do NOT—" Buffy steeled herself and cut off the diatribe. They so didn't need to do this right now. She held up a hand to ward off Spike's protestations. "I got it. You had to stop them. I won't be a vamp, you didn't drink from me."

"They're still working on the spell, Buffy." Anyanka spoke again. The rain falling around her didn't even seem to touch her. Must be nice to be all-powerful again.

"We need to find them, but Rack is hiding from Spike."

"I know."

Silence invaded the space between them as they stared at each other. Finally, Anyanka spoke again. "I can't help you, directly. But I can give Spike a wish. One wish."

"Spike?"

"Me?"

They spoke nearly in unison and with nearly as much shock.

"You dumped him, Buffy. You took his heart, you abused it, and then you dumped him. He may be male, but he's earned a wish." Anyanka folded her own arms. "I've learned a lot; it's not just women who are scorned. Men can be, too. So I'll give Spike the wish, it's all I can do."

"Why, Anya?" Buffy took a step towards her.

"Because bringing you back to life was wrong. I didn't want to do it and I let Xander's grief convince me to. I let Willow's conviction that she could convince me. I let Giles's mourning convince me. But it was wrong. I shouldn't have done it; I should have known better. I did know better. But what was done, shouldn't be undone. I know Willow needed to kill Warren; I applaud that. But what she's doing now is wrong, too. So, I can't help you directly; I'll do the only thing I can do. So, make a wish, Spike."

Buffy looked at Spike. Spike was staring at Anya with a mixture of repulsion and hope. "Anything I want?"

"Anything."

His eyes traveled to Buffy's face. Somewhere lightning exploded in the sky and a power line erupted. Sunnydale was plunged into darkness.

And the hard rain kept falling.



Raindrops on Roses

One wish.

Time slowed around them as the rain spattered down. Rats moved slowly, lumbering through their nightly travels from garbage pit to garbage pit. In the dark of the alley, a vampire stood with the Slayer and a vengeance demon. They'd all been to hell and back together. None could be considered the best of friends and no matter how much he loved her, he didn't always like the Slayer.

One wish.

His eyes moved over Buffy's face. The soft contours of it. Her slight build. She was hardly half his size, yet she possessed twice his strength. The jagged flashes of lightning illuminated her features, marred by the dried blood which speckled her face and blonde hair. He could smell her blood, he'd been able to smell it since she shown back up. The scent of it was nearly as intoxicating as the shirts he'd cradled in his hands, purloined in secret.

One wish.

One hundred and forty-seven days; one hundred and forty-eight, except that the day she came back didn't count. One hundred and forty-seven days of keeping the so-called Scoobies alive, babysitting Dawn and saving Buffy every night. Saving her the way he'd been unable to that night. One hundred and forty-seven days of hunting the Doc, a demon who'd vanished with slithering ease. One hundred and forty-seven days of painfully trying to figure out an existence no longer defined by the woman he loved, but by a promise he'd made.

One wish.

Three years of suffering with the damned chip in his head. Unable to hunt, suffering the indignity of being chained in a bath tub, fed through a straw. Suffering the abuse at the hands of the people he offered to help in order to protect himself. Suffering abuse even when he stayed to help, despite getting nothing out of it. Three years of suffering sanctions from a world he once dominated.

One wish.

"You're beneath me."

"You seek something effulgent."

"It's all in your head, poor little Spikey."

One wish.

His eyes returned from the past to gaze once more into Buffy's eyes. He searched them; the cold hard gaze had faltered, revealing the depth of pain within. He'd accused her of thriving on her misery, being addicted to it and unable to let go of the pain. She clung to her friends, refusing to join him in the darkness. A creature of darkness and a creature of light. She was the bane of all vampires. She was the fire in his soul.

One wish.

He searched her eyes. He saw the girl he'd stalked in the Bronze, dancing joyfully with her companions. He replayed the video in his mind as she took out the minion with ease and a quip. The night in the school; so close, only to be driven away by a fierce mother wielding an axe. For a moment, his mouth quirked upwards at the image. Halloween, helpless under the sorcery of Giles's former companion; she should have been easy pickings.

One wish.

Abandoning her in the midst of her fight against Angelus. He knew then that Angelus was going to slay her, he'd ripped out her heart, stripped her of friends and now he was going to take her life. He remembered the odd tang of regret as he abandoned her to her fate. The curious thrill of joy when he learned of his mistake and her survival.

One wish.

"Spike, that robot ... that was sick ... what you did, though ... that was real."

One wish.

His closed his eyes slowly as he found in her gaze what he'd been searching for. There was no horror, no shock, no pain. There was just faith.

One wish.

"I wish ..."



Raindrops Keep Falling On Our Heads

I can think of younger days
When living for my life
Was everything a man could want to do
I could never see tomorrow
But I was never told about the sorrow

"I wish ..."

"Spike—" Buffy interrupted, her hand coming over to touch his arm. She stared into his eyes and wished she could read him as well as he read her. "I—" There was so much to say, so much she needed to tell him, and she couldn't figure out how to verbalize anything. How could she feel so much and not understand any of it?

"It's okay, pet." He covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers. His strength was such a perfect complement to hers. His heart was bigger than hers in some ways, but his methods were so very different. "It will be okay."

Buffy took her eyes from him to glance towards Anyanka, who stood there waiting patiently in the rain. She neither encouraged nor discouraged with her gaze. Buffy never understood Xander's attraction to Anya. She'd supported the relationship as something good and bright in her world of darkness. She'd so eagerly welcomed the idea of something good coming out of this nightmarish world, that she'd overlooked so much.

They didn't have time for this. She looked back at Spike and felt a wealth of regret. "There's so much I want to say."

"It's not goodbye, luv. Don't worry about that." Spike smiled at her, then leaned forward and kissed her temple.

If it wasn't a goodbye, why the hell did she feel like it was? Buffy opened her mouth to add something else, but clamped down on it. They really didn't have time for this. They'd lingered too long as it was.

And how can you mend a broken heart?
How can you stop the rain from falling down?
How can you stop the sun from shining?
What makes the world go round?
How can you mend a this broken man?
How can a loser ever win?
Please help me mend my broken heart
And let me live again

"All right, then." Spike turned towards Anyanka. Meeting her gaze squarely, he set his shoulders and braced himself. "I wish—"

The world around Buffy rocked and she felt, no she saw it beginning to change. The dingy alleyway vanished and was replaced by a cobblestone path. The skittering rats disappeared and a sleek, long-tailed black cat trailed out and wrapped itself around her leg. Buffy swayed on her feet and sat down abruptly.

The rain had stopped.

I can still feel the breeze
That rustles through the trees
And misty memories of days gone by
We could never see tomorrow
No one said a word about the sorrow

Fingers trembling, Buffy reached a hand up to her scalp. The blood was still there. She was still here. Where was Spike?

"Anya?" Buffy said slowly, pushing herself back to her feet and looking around. "Spike?"

She pushed away from the wall and slowly moved towards the street. Slowly, her eyes traveled the dark underbelly, which wasn't dark and certainly wasn't an underbelly anymore. Trees dotted the intersections, warm cobblestones decorated areas where only dingy pavement existed before.

No trash rested in the gutters. It was clean, it was fresh.

"No ..." Buffy's eyes whipped around frantically. She turned from the alley and started running. The fatigue in her muscles screamed at her and she ignored them. Her heart hammered and she kept on running. She covered the two miles to the crash site in no time, and slowly skittered to a halt as she arrived at the clean, fresh street.

There was no accident.

No overturned bus.

And how can you mend a broken heart?
How can you stop the rain from falling down?
How can you stop the sun from shining?
What makes the world go round?
How can you mend this broken man?
How can a loser ever win?
Please help me mend my broken heart
And let me live again

Buffy thrust her fingers into her hair and felt like she was going to rip it out. Her eyes skittered and danced over the pristine scene. She pivoted on a heel and started running again. Another mile, her lungs were burning and her muscles were threatening to quit. She'd been abusing herself too much, but she didn't slow down. She kept running till she crested the hill into Sunnydale park.

The swing set was empty.

No corpse of Warren swung in the breeze that was now gently blowing in from the coast, pushing away the rain clouds and alerting her to the sunrise in the distance.

How can you mend this broken man?
How can a loser ever win?
Please help me mend my broken heart
And let me live again

Buffy's heart thumped in her chest as she looked around wildly. Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed. Hurling herself into motion again, she ran across the park, ignoring the early morning joggers she startled as she dashed past them and left them in the dust. She flung herself over the wall and onto main street, and zig-zagged down the main drag to the small side street that housed the Magic Box.

Sliding to a halt, Buffy felt the skin on her knees break from the abuse as she fell on them and stared at the empty building.

"SPIKE!"



After the Rain

Buffy stared at the building for a long time and it wasn't until the sunlight crept over her lap that she realized that she needed to get up and go home. Touching a hand to her scalp, she looked at the flecks of blood on her finger tips. There was no way she'd imagined everything that happened. It wasn't possible. She remembered all of it.

The rain.

The battle.

Willow going mad.

She remembered it.

What the hell had Spike wished for?

Tired, dispirited and for lack of anything better to do, Buffy trudged the long walk across town towards her house. She watched the mindless motion of busy streets. Kids called to each other as they made their way to the various schools. Shops were opening and people were diving into their normal lives with the eagerness most folks show at—Buffy paused in her trudge to look at her watch.

Eight a.m.

Exhaustion washed over her again. This was almost too much to grasp. Asylums, heaven, hells and Sunnydale. Nothing should surprise her, not even the sudden stop of what seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened.

Again.

As she turned the corner to her street, she started to laugh. The laughter was half-hysterical sobbing and her hands rubbed at her eyes to push the tears away. She turned up the path to her house and was fumbling in her pockets for the key when the door whooshed open.

"Oh, thank God. I was starting to get worried."

Buffy froze in place and lifted red-rimmed eyes up to stare at her mother, who was wiping her hands with a dish towel.

"M-m-mom?"

"Yes, I know I was supposed to be at the gallery early today," Joyce nodded, pulling Buffy inside and frowning at the scalp wound. "But when you were gone all night, I got worried. I called Mr.—"

"Mom. You're here!"

"Baby, how many fingers am I holding up?" Joyce frowned, her concern clearly etched across her face.

"Three. You're here ... where's Dawn?"

"She went to school. Come on, let's get you out of these clothes and I'll fix you some breakfast, then you can get some sleep. Or we can talk, whichever you'd like."

Her mother was already ushering her up the stairs and Buffy climbed them slowly, still trying to wrap her mind around this concept. She froze at the top step as a clearly British voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh, thank God," Giles repeated Joyce's oath from earlier. "Your mum called me when you didn't come in. We were a bit worried. No—" he motioned for her to keep going when she started back down the stairs. "Go get cleaned up. We can talk when you're done. I'll want a full report."

"Um ..." Buffy nodded slowly. "Sure. Just promise me something."

"Anything."

"Don't disappear while I'm upstairs."

Giles frowned at her, then shooed her again. "We'll be right here."

Buffy turned slowly and continued on to her room. The house was exactly the way it should be. She stopped at the doorway to her mother's room and saw all of her mother's things, statues, decorations, candles, everything was where it was supposed to be.

She slowly pushed open the door to her own room, cautious, as if expecting to find ... something. What she had no idea.

"Shower," she told herself. "Shower, clean hair, clean clothes, better b.o. Everything will explain itself and this will all make sense."

Showered, changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and a familiar t-shirt, Buffy descended the stairs and smiled as she heard the sounds of her mother in the kitchen joined by that dear, dear British voice. Who would have ever thought she would love to hear the sound of Giles's stuffy tones?

"Ah, here she is!" Her mother smiled warmly as she walked inside and motioned to the table. "Sit down. I'm fixing pancakes. Mr. Giles said that Mr. Carstairs will be here in a moment, let's get you fed before he gets here."

"Mr. Carstairs?" Buffy looked at them blankly.

"The envoy from the Watcher's Council. He's come to help us with the—" Giles sighed, pulling his glasses off and cleaning them. "He's come to help us with Willow."

"Oh." Buffy nodded slowly and kept staring at the two of them as she ate her pancakes.

"I'll leave you two to talk. But I would like Buffy to be able to get some sleep." Joyce looked pointedly at Giles. "So try to keep it short, okay?"

"Of course," Giles acquiesced to her request. Turning back around at the table, he cradled his tea cup in his hand. "How did it go last night?"

"I don't think you'd believe me if I tried to explain it."

His brow puckered as he regarded her. "Why don't you try? After all we've seen, I'm certain it won't be as bad as all that."

Buffy stuffed some pancake in her mouth, savoring the flavor and avoiding the question. She'd just come up with something that didn't sound like straitjacket material when her mom sailed back into the kitchen. "They're right in here," she was saying over her shoulder. "Buffy, Mr. Giles, your guest is—"

Her jaw dropped as he strolled into the room, tucking a pocket watch into his jacket. "Thank you, Mrs. Summers." His accent was impeccable. "Mr. Giles?" He offered his hand to Giles.

"Mr. Carstairs." Giles stood immediately and pumped the blond man's hand. "Very good of you to get here so quickly."

"They took the request seriously and dispatched me immediately."

"Excellent. This, of course, is—" He gestured to Buffy.

"Is the Slayer." Spike grinned. "I believe I would know her anywhere."



World in a Bottle

Buffy stared at Spike, stunned. Giles was talking and Spike answered a few of his questions, but she barely heard anything of the exchange. Her eyes were riveted on the silk cut of his suit. The watch he wore, the button down shirt. Everything about him bespoke of refined elegance, even his language. He sounded stuffier than Wesley did, if that was at all possible.

Lifting a hand to her head, she rubbed at the dull ache that was starting to form. A muscle was starting to twitch at the corner of her eye. She glanced up when she realized the conversation between the two had ebbed to a halt. "What?"

"Mr. Carstairs was just asking if you were all right. Do try to pay attention, Buffy. I know you're tired, but we've finally got the help we need for the Willow problem."

"Really," Buffy's gaze slanted back at Spike. "What exactly do you do, 'Mr. Carstairs'?"

The corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile, but his response was interrupted as Joyce stepped into the room. "I'm sorry to keep interrupting you. There's a call for you, Rupert." She glanced past him to Buffy. "Eat. That's an order."

Giles excused himself and Joyce followed him from the room. Buffy looked back at Spike or Carstairs or whoever he was. Suspicion inched through her as his smile grew. "Are you really Mr. Carstairs?"

"William Carstairs," Spike grinned. "At your service."

"Spike, what did you wish?"

His mouth quirked with an odd look of disapproval, then he shot a glance over his shoulder and nodded to the door. "Why don't we step outside for a bit of fresh air?"

"Because it's seventy-five and sunny?"

He grinned again and strolled over to the door, straight into the sunlight, opening the door with a flourish. "After you."

Her head felt like it was going to explode. They stepped outside onto the porch and it struck Buffy just how normal it all was. The sun was shining, there were birds chirping away merrily. The dog two streets over was doing its normal barking frenzy at passing cars.

She turned slowly to regard Spike. He was standing in the patch of sunlight, illuminated, his hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his trousers. He seemed absolutely at ease. She was as happy to see him as she was ready to strangle him.

"My mom's in there." It was a weak beginning.

"I know."

"Giles, too."

"Yep."

"Willow's ... ?"

"Still a bit around the bend."

Buffy sighed. "You are Spike, right? I'm not really in a mental institution hopped up on psych drugs?"

"No," he replied quietly. "You're not."

Relief exploded through her as she let out a deep breath. "Okay." Sitting down on the porch, she put her hands back to her temple. "I'm me. You're you, but you're ... not all crispy critter in the sunlight which means something is different. But that was obvious from the—" she rambled and then looked at him as he sat down next to her, clasping his hands together loosely. "What did you wish?"

He took a deep breath. Buffy blinked slowly. He took a deep breath. She reached out a hand to touch him. His face was warm. His chest was rising and falling. Slowly her hand slid down until it rested intimately against his chest. His chest which housed a beating heart.

"Oh."

Covering her hand with his gently, Spike smiled a bit. "Oh. But that wasn't what I wished."

"But you're ..."

"I know."

"Then how?"

His mouth quirked up into that small grin again, one that said he was having a private joke at her expense. But his eyes, his expressive eyes, told her he wasn't laughing at her. "I wished for a world where we could be together and I could still help you, support you and not cause you pain to be with me."

She stared at him for a long moment. Speechless.

"But Willow is ..."

"I know. I didn't know what I was going to get. I almost wished to be back at the top of the tower ... to be the one that ... to have done my job right that night. But it wouldn't have changed everything. I wanted a world where we had a chance. It got your mum back," he offered weakly and looked away from her.

"Spi—William … I … God, this is.."

"Oh, beg your pardon." Giles sounded startled as he stepped through the open door to where they sat, Buffy's hand still intimately pressed against William's chest. Giles whipped his glasses off and wiped at them frenetically. "I'll just be inside when the two of you are ready ..."

Buffy almost laughed at Giles being so Giles and fleeing inside just as he offered, then as soon as the mirth arose, it evaporated. She looked back at Spike—William—whatever he called himself now. "You're a Watcher?"

He nodded slowly.

"Sent to help me with Willow."

He nodded again.

"And you know all this and I … Spike, why do I remember? Why do we both remember?"

"Because I didn't want you to forget me and I could never forget you. It's not perfect, Buffy,; I don't even know what all has changed. But we're both here. I'm still going to help you. We're going to do this together. You have your mum and Giles,; the bit, too. It can be good, don't you think?"

Buffy stared at him for a long minute. "But is it real?"

"It's real if we make it real." His voice hung heavy with emotion. "I thought ... I thought it was a good idea at the time."

Gazing at him, Buffy slowly drew her hand down his chest until she could touch his hands with hers. "We still have to fight Willow. And there's a lot to get used to. I just ..."

"Just?"

She took a deep breath. "I just feel like we cheated."

He chuckled. "It's not kitten poker, luv. It was a wish. Could have wished for anything, but didn't want to not share it with you."

"I know. I know, and I can't ... I can't tell you what that makes me feel. I'm so overwhelmed by everything, but Spike … we ran away. I've been running away my entire life and the only thing different about this is that I didn't run away alone."

"I told you, Slayer. You don't have to be alone. Not as long as I'm here. You don't have to be."

"What if ... I want to ... what if I need to go back?"

He withdrew from her, physically and emotionally. Standing up, he strode into the yard and then spun on his heel to face her. "What the bloody hell do you want? You wanted normal. I got back part of that normal. You wanted me to not be an evil vampire. I'm not an evil vampire. We have a chance here Slayer, you said that you wanted to—"

Standing slowly, Buffy nodded. "Yes, Spike. I said I wanted to. But this ... this is a wonderful gift. But everything keeps changing so much, so fast; one year I'm an only child, the next I have a sister and my mother dies; then I'm dead, but then I'm not. My world falls apart; I can't tell what's real and what's not. When I finally start to figure it out, no matter how hateful and awful it was, it changes again."

"Life changes things, Slayer. It's called progress and time and evolution. It's what happens."

"But we don't change."

He hesitated, dropping his hands back into his pockets and studying the grass beneath his three-hundred-pound leather loafers. "We change, Slayer. We just don't always like those changes."

"I feel stupid even asking this. Can we change it back?"

"You mean do we have a choice?" At her nod, he shrugged. "Ask Anyanka. She granted the wish."

Their eyes locked for a long moment; it was as though their minds meshed. It had happened in battle, and once or twice when they'd gotten physical, but never so intimately or when they were so at peace. "Let's find out what Giles has for us; we'll figure out about Willow, and then maybe ..."

Nodding slowly, he looked back down at his loafers. "Maybe. I haven't been human in over a hundred years, Slayer. Do you really want me to go back to being a monster?"

Back turned, facing the house that his wish had restored for her. The life she'd craved, they'd craved, a life where they could be together without the pain and bitterness of the past. She paused for a long moment, letting the memories tumble over her. "You might have been a monster, Spike. But I know something now that I didn't then."

He waited, silent.

"You were my monster."

She walked back into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the sunshine. His eyes trailed after her as he murmured, "And you were my Slayer."



The End



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