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Banner by pamsblau

Authors Chapter Notes:
This was written for the art-to-fic challenge at the spuffy_wonder LJ. I was inspired by pamsblau's beautiful banner, which you'll see above. I have six chapters of this written and I see it ending up at around ten chapters. Massive thanks to Sotia for all her help with this. She is a saint for putting up with all my emails!


Out of the Grey

Chapter One


The lines on the map blurred together under her stare. Red and blue and green squiggles, they criss-crossed the picture in a way that made little sense. A giant yellow arrow pointed helpfully to where all the lines conglomerated, the words ‘You Are Here’ in blocky, black letters.

Buffy put her finger against the arrow and closed her eyes. She let her hand drift across the plastic casing of the map, not knowing—and she wouldn’t care, anyway—about the stares and jeers she was attracting from the passing crowd.

She stopped the movement of her hand and opened her eyes, blinking under the brightness of the harsh, artificial lights. Her finger had traced a path south-west, coming to rest near the bottom of the map.

All right, then. She tapped her finger against the plastic, and nodded to herself. Glancing once more at the ‘You Are Here’ arrow that pointed to London Euston, she set off in the direction of the ticket offices, thinking to herself that she wouldn’t be ‘here’ for much longer.

***

The train pulled into Axminster Station at a quarter to four. Buffy’s phone had been pinging all the way from London—missed calls and frantic text messages from her friends and Dawn.

Where are you? Buffy, where did you go? Why d’you leave? BUFFY WHERE ARE YOU?

She hadn’t sent a reply.

Stepping off the train, she let herself be caught up in the flow of the crowd towing her towards the exit.

Her small bag, packed with only the barest of essentials, swung at her side. The queue at the taxi rank was a short one, and whilst she waited for a cab, she tried to clear her mind. Make it go blank of all thoughts.

It was difficult. Along with all the doubts clamouring around in her brain—What are you doing? Why here? Why leave your friends and sister just when they’ll need your help with the new slayers?—were thoughts of Sunnydale, of Sp—him—and she didn’t want to think of any of it at all.

Much more preferable to have a clear mind, a blank canvas for this trip to paint upon. She needed the time to herself after being part of a group for so long, being the leader.

She had no doubt that it was selfish, to take off mere hours after arriving in England, and only days after the battle. But right now, she didn’t care. She needed some Buffy-time.

A taxi pulled up and she mumbled her destination to the driver, liking the way the strange words rolled off her tongue. “Lyme Regis, please.”

She didn’t know what had drawn her hand to that point on the map; if it had been fate or chance or nothing of the sort. It didn’t really matter. She just wanted somewhere away, somewhere quiet. And the name of the place felt right, somehow, and trusting her feelings seemed important.

God knew she should have done more of that in the past.

The cabbie let her out at what he called the Cobb, a long harbour wall that stretched out into the sea.

She paid him, passing over a handful of the unfamiliar notes Giles had presented her with upon their arrival in London. The driver accepted the cash with a smile and nod of thanks before driving off, leaving her standing in front of a shuttered bucket-and-spade shop, staring out at the ocean and the setting sun.

***

The Rose and Crown looked a welcoming sort of place, the outside so charmingly British that Buffy felt like she’d stepped into a period drama. Inside, the pub was dark and cosy, offering an array of delicious-sounding meals and—best of all—rooms to rent.

She paid for one night’s stay and ordered the steak and ale pie, feeling it would do a disservice to the country she was in to go for the more-tempting cheeseburger.

She ate her meal in her room, not wanting to partake in the hustle and bustle of the bar. She could still hear the hum of voices from below, and the occasional clink of glasses, but it was a comforting buzz, something to focus her mind on.

After she’d eaten, she slipped out of her clothes and stood shivering in the middle of the room. The night had turned chilly, a cold breeze coming in through the open window. The inn overlooked the sea, and the constant sound of the waves crashing on the shore, rising and falling on the beach, was a pleasant one.

Buffy slid into the bed naked, realising for the first time that she hadn’t packed any nightclothes. The soft cotton sheets felt far too much like a familiar caress when she turned off the light and allowed the sound of the ocean to lull her to sleep.

***

She settled into his embrace, his arms giving her the peace that she had craved for so long. She could feel herself trembling, the stress of the last few days catching up to her—the fight with Caleb at the vineyard, the arguments with her friends and family that had resulted in her being kicked out of her house.

The lightest touch to her arm made her shiver and she closed her eyes, her head on his chest, strong and solid beneath her even though no heart beat within it. Soon, she succumbed to sleep and when she woke, he was the one who was under the spell of slumber.

His words from the night before had given her the strength to get up, go out and be a hero. Leaving the abandoned house was difficult—she would give anything to be able to go back and lie in his arms forever. But it was not to be.

The walk to the school seemed to go on forever and she knew as she started walking that she was going in the wrong direction. She needed to be back at the vineyard; that was where Caleb would be.

Buffy went up the steps to the school, and then she was suddenly in the Hellmouth, rocks crumbling and Turok-Han burning up. She saw Spike, bathed in a column of light, his hand clasped with hers and flames licking their skin. Her breath caught in her throat, as she marvelled at the strange beauty of the scene.

She let out a wordless cry when she watched him start to burn, tears filling her eyes. The light consumed him and he started to fall to dust, but before he disappeared completely, the dream changed.

The orangey glow of the Hellmouth fire transformed into the reddish light of a portal, and she found herself back in the mansion on Crawford Street, standing in front of a wide-eyed Angel. She lifted the sword and slammed it through his chest, pain searing at her insides.

“Buffy—”

The voice wasn’t Angel’s, and the figure being sucked into hell was no longer the brunet vampire. It was Spike, reaching out for her as the portal pulled him in. And then he was gone.


Buffy sat up, startled from the dream, her heart pounding and tears pricking her eyes, bile rising in her throat. She stood up, clutching the corner of the bedside table for stability as she swallowed back the sourness in her mouth.

She didn’t have to wonder what the dream meant.

She had killed Spike by giving him the amulet, as surely as she’d killed Angel with the sword.

It had been her fault.

***

Packing up her meagre belongings took hardly any time at all, and—once she was done—she gave the room a final glance before leaving.

It was warm and sunny outside, almost disappointing in a way; Buffy had always been told by the various Brits in her life that England was constantly gloomy.

She remembered Spike in particular talking about it, saying how good it often was—murky and overcast enough for a vampire to go about in the daytime.

No so at present. She stepped out onto the beach, knowing as she did so that she really should be looking for somewhere more permanent to stay, but unable to resist the pull of the sea.

Early-bird holidaymakers were already setting up camp, laying out towels and beach mats, sun-umbrellas and windbreakers. She ignored them and slipped off her shoes, her feet sinking immediately into the soft sand.

It was nice. And despite the hum of activity—the screech of someone dipping their toes into the cold water; the delighted yell of a child as a sandcastle turned out perfectly—it was peaceful.

Buffy liked it. Something about the place just felt... right.

She walked a little way along the beach until she was away from the Whitsunners and the sandy cove, and onto the stony, shingled part of the beach.

Tall sandstone cliffs sheltered her from the wind, and that far up the beach there was only herself and a lone dog walker for company.

She sat down on one of the sea-smoothed rocks, and rifled through her bag until she found her cellphone. Switching it on caused a cacophony of beeping; jarring, as though telling her that she was a bad person for not letting her friends and Dawn know where she’d gone.

She remembered their anger and upset the last time she’d done a disappearing act—after killing her other boyfriend—and felt guilty.

The phone rang.

“Buffy?” It was Dawn. “Buffy, where are you?”

“I’m fine, Dawn.”

“Buffy?” Giles had taken the phone. “Good God, we’ve been so worried!”

That annoyed her. “Giles, I’m a big Slayer now. Perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“Yes, I know. But after everything—are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m fine. And I’m not telling you. You’ll just come and drag me back.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I need some time alone. Please.”

Buffy switched the phone to her other ear, gazing along the shore as she did so. Something wasn’t right; there was something wrong with the air…

“Buffy? Buffy!” Willow now, but Buffy barely heard her. The shimmer in the air coalesced into something solid.

Something man-shaped, wearing a black leather coat.

Spike.

-TBC-


Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought in a review!




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