| Taste of Juliet by Megan |
| Chapter #3 - Eleven ~ Fifteen |
by Megan Chapter Eleven Giles had felt it necessary for everyone to witness the spell. Willow’s triumphant ‘Eureka’ had set the tone for the rest of the day, and the in depth demystification of all elements of the spell meant that it could proceed as soon as possible. A quick trip to the magic shop to purchase elemental ingredients; a wait for the end of the working day and the final arrival of Xander, and the living room was filled once again to capacity with Scoobyness. Buffy stood apart from all as she darted between excitement at getting a glimpse of her future, and nervousness about the possible negative origins of Spike’s soul. In her self-absorbed daze she missed the preparations of the spell and letting Willow and Tara undertake the necessary preparations, feeling a little stage fright as she took note of how many people really were crammed into the little flat. Oz sat back, solemn and quiet, with Xander and Anya, while Angel and Giles were spaced around the edge of the room but in an easy distance for the scenic view. All that Buffy had gotten so far was that she and Spike were to sit holding hands within a circle of sand, magic sand she supposed, she was ignorant of all things mystical, well, some things mystical. As long as it wasn’t slayer mystical. Damn, she didn’t know about the sand. All the words and incantations were a blur as she took her place on the floor opposite Spike. When Tara joined them in the circle Buffy looked up in surprise, thinking she must have missed an instruction or three somewhere along the way. The room remained quiet except for Spike’s continual grumbling : “I don’t trust magic, always consequences ya know?”, and that just made Buffy’s nerves crash their little party. Tara took a hand in each of hers and Buffy had to commend her for her lack of fear in dealing with the vampire when Xander and Willow still maintained a hesitant distance. Perhaps she was still too new to the concept of supernatural to take it seriously, or perhaps she trusted in her belief in Buffy and Spike’s connection. She drew all of their hands together to form a circle. Before she began Tara turned to both her partners within the protected circle to explain her presence. “Buffy, I explained earlier my concerns about the possibility of you getting caught, so I am going to be your anchor.” She spoke quietly, her tone soothing as well as making sure to not be overheard, and Buffy was grateful. She suddenly saw herself on display as if for a performance, with her closest friends about to be critics. Something heavy suddenly dropped in her gut. She gave Tara a brief nod to show her understanding and turned her fearful gaze to Spike. She swallowed hard on recognising his apprehension and wondered what she had gotten herself into. “I will be here if it looks like things are getting out of control, so I can pull both of you back.” Buffy and Spike both indicated their consent, thinking this was it and they were about to begin. Tara gave them one more shyer look and her earlier confidence took a dive as she approached her final message. Her voice fell to a new hush as she reverted to her stammering speech. “I-I-I w-will be able to s-see what you are s-seeing.” Her shyness wouldn’t allow her to look either in the eye, but her final declaration required a belief in her honesty and she mustered the courage to raise her eyes to them both. “I promise I won’t tell anyone anything I see. Whatever you tell everyone is up to you. Especially you Spike, this is going to be the story of your soul, and that will be very personal.” They both gave her an encouraging smile and bade her to continue, and spell incantation began. Buffy intentionally didn’t pay attention to the words, lost in what Tara had said. The story of Spike’s soul, and her earlier elation was returning in leaps and bounds. With a little luck, she thought, I’ll be able to see what kind of relationship Spike and I have in the future. With her hopes and expectations all settled in her head she ignorantly sat back and waited for it all to begin. It was like the first time they clasped hands and they became alight. Her world shifted like an earthquake and she found herself once again inside that cavern that she presumed was the Hellmouth. It looked different to what she remembered, but the one thing to make her recognise it was all the scary, nasty looking demons that threatened to overtake the place. Realising she had no impact here, this time a non-lethal observer, she turned to concentrate on Spike. She saw him stumble backwards as he seemed to be invisibly restrained against the cave wall, light bearing down on him with a chilling intensity. Even though she knew she could do nothing, Buffy called out in fear and warning and once again witnessed her futile attempts to prise him away from the destruction and run with her. Again she told him of her love and again he withheld belief and sent her packing, walls and debris collapsing all around her. Racing up the stairs she looked back once and saw him combust and felt her heart tear at her chest, desperate to go back to him. She could understand now that something monumental occurred when their hands had ignited in glorious fire; she had departed with part of her own soul, shredded and gone. She belonged to him whole; heart, mind and soul, and instead of protecting her balance for her he had turned to dust before her eyes. Running, running, dying, she jumped to the roof of the bus and decayed a little more each metre it pulled away from him. The grief that arose in her chest and throat was going to kill her and though the bus finally stopped and she climbed off, all she could say when asked was that Spike had done it; he had saved them all, his rejection too raw for her to share. As quickly as that vision had begun, she hurtled into another cave, another time, but just as gruesomely violent. Spike fought, he burned, his skin crawled, but at last he won- just before Buffy was about to relieve herself of everything she thought she had ever eaten in her lifetime. Bugs always made her queasy, and scarab beetles? No way was that fun! But then Spike could be heard, thrashed and beaten down, but still determined. His demon requesting something almost unheard of; his desperation to prove his love and forever keep her safe from himself. He asked 'to be made what I was, so I can give her what she deserves.' And he was, his soul burned into him like a Buffy brand on a cattle rump. He was marked, forever hers to take or discard. He descended into crazy land, his constant memory an attack on a blonde goddess on her bathroom floor. Another flash and she was getting that it was all out of sequence. Huh! Wonder how that works? But still strong, a tower of strength, she could cope even though the images may be harrowing. The time in fast-forward, Scoobies in her house, permanently it seems, and many, many girls, young and potential, training relentless. Strange men with their eyes cut out slashing, and crashing until few were left. The faces of her friends, the harsh and hard words of a general preparing for battle. She saw some strange black man still in her future lure Spike to an ambush, with Giles’ support, and her held at bay so as not to be able to rescue the one, her only one of support, who had relentless faith. The others had lost it, kicked her out of her own home, his black leather coat not changing who he is but bringing him back, and that speech; 'I love how you try. You’re a hell of a woman, Buffy. You’re the One.' And as she curls into his side, the outcast in her own fight, she finally accepts it, that he is her one, and no other. Flash, too late for Xander but Spike saves him from losing both eyes. Flash, Spike rescues her from that other dimension by killing the demon to return. Flash, feels his gut wrenching pain because she kisses Angel, but she knows he is her champion, Angel brings her the means to prove it, and she does not allow him to stay. All of a sudden the world tips and Buffy finally sees why Tara was concerned her joined soul could alter the spell. Without warning she was catapulted further into her own story, no longer Spikes point of view, but his pain is her pain. She feels like screaming, kicking and clawing away from the relentless images, no happiness, all pain. A swan dive; courage or defeat? A home in heaven and she was awash with that tantalising cover of peace wrapped up in an outer layer of spongy cloud. Then ripped, torn…grief and badly broken. Spike by her side, friend and confidante, though she treated him cruelly. Words, he stayed, words, he protected. Dawn. A chestnut haired teenager; her sister, is it true? A key and Glory, a God. Spike’s torture for her, but no betrayal. She beats him, fucks him into the ground, sees him weeping but turns away in horror. She knows then but can’t give it voice, love, so sorry Spike, too late, too late for love, not real, wrong, came back so wrong. Help me, you make me feel, I need you to hurt me, using you, but God, I love you. Can’t let you see. Screaming, God, stop it, I can’t take anymore, Mom’s gone. Shooting, Tara gone, Willow black, and then the biggest betrayal of all. Willow rush, no magic Willow, too many images, graveyards, burning corpses, on the hill and thank God for Xander. Screaming. TARA. HELP ME. STOP. Please God stop. Sobbing out of control. Her hands tore apart from Spike and Tara’s and she came to with the most disgusted realisation of herself. No other words for horror as her eyes collide with Spike’s and she saw that he saw all that she did. Confusion and shock grip all three, but Buffy was on the move. Disaster was all she can hold onto, such evil and meanness, and not from those you would expect. One sudden memory nearly causes her to whiplash as she sought confirmation from Tara. The girl’s sad eyes, on the brink of true fear, Buffy pulled away even more. She was frantic, unaware of the multitude of eyes alarmed at her inability to absorb. She shook her head violently and gasped for breath as she shifted between looking at the MAN who sacrificed his all for her, whom she abused so relentlessly for her own grubby needs, and the gentle woman who was her friend in the future, but for an unforgivably short time. Panic bubbled up and over and her body started to shut down its defences, the pace of her heart steadily increasing to accommodate her rising hysteria. Enough! Scream all ready, she was shrieked to herself, her inner voice already raw from the effort. Tears poured in a rush down her face. “We’ll stop it,” she nearly shouted at Tara. “We have to. It can’t go like that. So bad.” She choked and began to cry helplessly. “I won’t do that,” she pleads with Spike, searching, hoping, and she thought, receiving. “I won’t be like that.” And at last it was too much and she collapsed in his arms in uncontrollable grief, marvelling that he could bear to touch her, let alone console her. Again, her protector, her champion. Out of them all he was her only true support, and she would never let him go. Not in a pink fit. She would kill anyone who tried to make her. She clung to him and in front of them all she claimed his lips desperately, seeking forgiveness from the only one who could grant it. And through her tears, she really believed he gave it. Chapter Twelve “Mr. G-Giles, I th-think it might be a g-good idea if Buffy, Spike and I could b-be alone to talk a-a-about what we saw.” Tara was the only one of the three able to take control at that point; Buffy curled up in Spike’s arms, sobbing like a child into his shoulder. The complete surrender of her body was enough to show all in the room that their strong warrior had seen something so hideous that she was having trouble reconciling it with the present. Her choked weeping garnered sympathy from all her supporters and they gathered in a huddle together, conversing about any trivial thing they could think of to take a little pressure off the small group. It did not go unnoticed by Angel and Willow that the other two occupants looked as devastated and shell-shocked as the crumpled blonde, but hadn’t yet let go to their grief. “Of course, Tara. I think it might be best if we all head to the Espresso Pump for a coffee or something. We will meet you back here in an hour or so.” By silent consent they all rose to their feet and quietly made steady exit until all was quiet bar Buffy’s hiccuping attempts for control. She reached over and gave Tara a hug, one of thanks but also from a need to express before it was too late. Tears again pooled in her eyes and she raised herself from the floor to walk around the room, hoping for some form of distraction to pull her out of her spiralling depression. Nobody said anything for a while, could say anything, and Buffy felt guilt begin to well inside. Here she was sobbing with abandon when Tara was to soon lose her life, and she was to destroy emotionally the one man who had ever cared enough for her to show true courage and heroism. “I s’pose there’s no need to worry about unguarded moments of happiness then.” He meant it as a joke, an attempt to lighten the doom suffocating the human occupants of the room: girls, and ones he was to come to have real, and honourable respect for. Tara just looked at him confused, having not heard the story of Angel and his here one minute, gone the next soul problem. He knew things were dire when Buffy didn’t even crack a smile. She dropped to her knees before him, arms wrapped protectively about herself and face glistening wet with sorrow. “Nothing I ever did for you in the future could explain your devotion to me. I don’t deserve you. Now that you know what happens in the future you have choices. You did all those things out of love, showing devotion to me when I treated you like garbage. You could choose right now to leave us all behind and never come back. It wasn’t getting your soul that caused the apocalypse. You don’t have to hang around and wait for that to happen.” He reached out and took her hand as her voice broke, revealing her great pain, for once inspiring her to resort to words instead of misleading actions. “But if there is any part of you,” she halted, trying to regain control over her voice as she brought the palm of his hand to rest gently against her cheek. “Just a little part of you that might think we could change that, and make it better between us,” the tears now heavy in her voice, “then please stay with me.” And she started crying anew. As a newcomer Tara was unaware of all the little histories bouncing about, but Spike knew what it cost her to make the plea, to ask him to be different to Peaches. “Can you let him go, Slayer? Ever?” Spike cocked a brow almost in disbelief. There was only a beginning here, but even the violence, her apathetic response to his continued pain, her rejections over and over again, weren’t enough to make him want to forget her and get out of town. Already he couldn’t part from her, and the idea that he and she were joined in some elemental way seemed reinforced in his mind. “I don’t know, but please let me try? Please Spike, give me the chance?” She would plead as much as she dared, knowing in her heart that there could never be anyone but him for her, but not yet ready to tell him that he was wrong to disbelieve her in the Hellmouth, that she spoke the truth. And this time she would fight for him. With his answering nod and smirk she realised that she had been holding her breath and she gasped in lungfuls of air in her joy and relief. Their eyes clashed with an intensity of feeling, and a little splash of burgeoning desire, but first came realisation and concern for Tara. As one they turned and gathered her close, recognising the glassiness of her eyes and the shock that was seeping into her posture still tethered to the floor. “Tara,” Buffy whispered, not wanting to startle her. “We know so much, we can change it. We will change it.” The girl slowly returned to her senses and nodded to them with a barely perceptible smile. “I think, after all this, I-I might get W-Willow to do a f-f-forgetting spell on me. I don’t want to know that I die. I don’t want Willow to know.” Buffy snorted, a little of her usual banter reaching to reclaim her spirit. “Really behind you on the keeping Willow in the dark. Well, except for the dark magic, which we so want to steer her away from. Bad witchy Willow. Better remember to keep her away from resurrection spells too, huh! Who’d a thought? Me, heaven!” She gave a little laugh before seeing the bewildered glances of the other two. “Where’d ya think a Child of Light would end up, pet, if not in heaven?” “Huh! Never thought about it, I guess.” And her smile was radiant as she beamed at her vampire. “So.” The huskiness in her voice called forth every goose pimple his skin could summons. “Like you said, no need to be on the look out for too much happiness.” She crawled forward and gently pulled his bottom lip between her own, sucking gently on it before releasing it to a very turned on vampire. “You’re a tease pet, that’s what you are!” She winked before making sure she had the attention of the third member or their trio. “It won’t be the same, just remember that.” She had to impress it again, needed to remain on the lookout. She had back-up, she had warning, no one would be lost on her watch, and with Spike and the Scoobies behind her, she wouldn’t even lose herself “Just remember that returning Spike’s soul to him now, in the past, is a reward. Not just for him, but for all of us. We have a chance to change the future, and I think we can agree that what we saw was definitely a future needing a big save. Are we down for that?” At the two agreeable nods she clapped her hands together in relief, then mischief entered her gaze and she turned once again to Tara. “So, you and Willow are like, gay?” Chapter Thirteen The Scoobies arrived back at Giles's flat with such an alarming respect for punctuality that it made Buffy's head spin. She knew they would. The hour or so that Giles had mentioned would never have surpassed that hour when there was apocalyptic news to be had. Nothing would have delayed the inevitable, not even the appearance of an unhinged Slayer. So it was with increasing dread that she took her place in the informal circle, ready to face the inquisition. With unspoken consent, the three memory travellers stuck like glue to each other, now having formed a bond so close that it caused confusion and jealousy to germinate and spread within the two original Scoobies. Angel merely growled low in his chest when he saw Buffy and Spike’s loosely linked hands, but backed off when he received a pointed glare from Giles. Oz, stoic as ever, merely mentioned that he was playing at the Bronze tonight and he really needed to motor. That left Anya on an invisible outer edge, seemingly alongside Angel who had been unable to work out if he still fit into this motley group. There was silence; no one coughed, no one cleared their throat, no one started sentences with useless 'well's', or 'Right then's'. No, all just looked with unwavering curiosity- bordering on voyeuristic glee- to Buffy to start them all off and she felt like she had swallowed her tongue. She had no doubt what some of their reactions would be and was also confused about how much she should let on about what was to happen to their little group in the future. "Well, on the up side, I think I have a short cut to the info on those rascally commando's." She started off trying to be upbeat, but was fully aware that almost all of her future was so unwaveringly bad and screwed up—not so far from the realities of her friends—that she was fearful to even begin to recount their many dysfunctions. Still, no one spoke; thus Buffy stayed stubbornly silent. Giles released a pent up sigh, revealing his frustration, but his eagerness was betrayed by his Watcher—like enthusiasm over his first question. ‘Unlike in the future, he seems very taken with learning about the anomaly that is Spike,’ Buffy thought almost waspishly. She knew it was unfair to judge, that many things had led to their collective disintegration; many nights filled with jealousy, feelings of incompetence, self-righteousness, inadequacy, and yet, love. Funny. Love is supposed to make all things better, not warp all their minds with possessiveness. Buffy, feeling the thoughts flying through her head nevertheless winced when the voice finally broke through the quiet, and the one question she resented having to answer was asked. In the end, Giles and Angel asked it together, betraying how alike they really were in their concern. "How did Spike get his soul?" Buffy cringed at the combined tones of Giles’s academic interest, and Angel’s almost jealous anguish. They clashed in a way that was emotionally unpleasant, and though their expected answer was far from the truth, she felt almost shame that she was the cause of such an event. She almost felt like it was her punishment, forever a reminder that her own evil actions caused a demon to prove his goodness. What had she ever done to prove the same? She had never fought for her soul; it was always just there. That she could take it so much for granted was confronting. Angel jumped to his feet, wild and angry thoughts flying through his head like a buzzing swarm of bees trying to warn him of danger, but panic had him bypassing reason. “Who’d he kill to make Willow curse him?” She turned to look at the vamp beside her. Only a week ago, she wanted to spread his dust in her mother’s garden. Well, at least she had thought about it, maybe even threatened it. Now, all she could see was the pain he went through at the end of her fists, the whippings from her verbal and physical assaults, and one image was burned into memory just like a giant cross was burned across his chest. His rambling incoherence because he thought to get her the most wondrous, beautiful gift of all. Tears pooled in her eyes as she looked at her first love, the one she had been positive was her soul mate, and shuddered. Angel never fought for her; had never loved her so deeply and truly that he sought ways to anchor his soul forever to be with her. Spike could have easily opted for the curse, but never the easy way for him, he had something to prove, he had to earn it like he believed he had to re-earn her trust. Then when he finally did that last, he sacrificed himself for her, for the Scoobies, and for the world, so that there was a world and that they all could be happy and secure. In doing so he had taken a great chunk of her own soul with him. Her future self could never be happy without him; would be forever torn and fragmented. Now she understood why his soul was sent back in time, not only to save him and reward him with the possibility of her love, but to save her from a dark and shattered existence as well. The tears slowly slid down her cheeks as she finally released her ties with Angel. She smiled sadly as she turned to the group. "He got his soul for me." The awed hush lasted but seconds. "Yes, Buffy, but was it a curse?" Giles was taking notes; eager for this unique story like he never had been before. "No curse, he went to Africa," she quirked a brow to Spike in question and he nodded his head to her reassuringly; she was on the right track. "He saw a demon there who granted wishes after proving their worthiness by undergoing trials. Horrible, dangerous trials." And she gave a revolted shudder, recalling once again the multitude of horrible beetles crawling under his battle-marred skin. "What was the impetus behind the search, Spike? What happened to make you go and do that?" Giles's curiosity took no prisoners. He ignored the flinch of the peroxided vampire, but Buffy felt it pierce her heart. "You don't need to know the actual event, Giles." "Why, Buff? Did he try to kill you in the future? Or rape you? Eat your mother? Snack on the Scoobies? Which one, Buffster? Cause that’s what demons do. Evil things." Xander's jealous venom set Buffy's insides to boil and she felt her anger build toward one cracking big eruption. Beside her Spike had stiffened, waiting for her to expose his crime and thus receive the pointed wooden implement of destruction from any one of those surrounding him. Instead she held his hand tighter; she would never again side with them over him. The simple act of his love should always have been enough, but God she was selfish. She had something so miraculous handed to her on a silver platter and she had abused it every chance that she had. She had accepted his support, his help like he owed it to her. Which of course he didn’t. He was evil, like she reminded him daily, he didn’t have to do anything for her. What closed her so irrevocably that she was blinded to the truth? Did Angel leaving destroy her so totally that she couldn’t risk again, or was it just the fear of trusting another vampire with not only her heart, but also the lives of all her friends? Yes, that was probably it, but Spike had proven himself over and over again far longer than Angel had. He was unencumbered of a soul like Angelus, yet so far from the bloodthirsty psychopath of his Sire that it withstood reason or understanding. Spike was his own vampire, as she should have known all along. With something near to pity in her eyes she turned to Xander. "What happened is between Spike and me, and is none of your business. But I will tell you this. Spike changed, not to get points or money- well not all the time. " She shared an indulgent smile with Spike and Tara before turning flinty, determined eyes back on Xander. "We never acknowledged it. We gave Anya carte blanche with the soulless thing, allowed her past to go unremarked, allowed her to date you with no protest; but we had double standards. Spike tried so hard, he helped us, he saved our lives many times, and we, I, never thanked him, or gave him the encouragement and support we would have given anyone else trying to make themselves better. And trust me Xander, your future isn't of the rosiness either, so back the hell off." The room was back to that eerie quietness that tilted her equilibrium off centre. Buffy still hadn't righted herself from the spell but the attack from Xander had her feeling like her sanity was swinging in the breeze. Her eyes found Willow and she searched for Tara's hand, the other girl giving her an encouraging squeeze. Willow had noticed that Buffy's attention had switched to her and suddenly she felt anxiousness curl in her gut, regretting that Oz had to leave her to face whatever was coming alone. Buffy seemed to hesitate, collecting her thoughts, then in an upbeat voice, began. "Hey Will, if you ever feel a need to look at resurrection spells? Don't." Willow turned cold inside at the haunted look she saw in her friend’s eyes, and shuddered. Why would I ever do dark magic like that? she wondered, and within seconds her eyes widened like pancake batter in the pan. "Oh my God. Buffy, do you die?" She asked in such a strained, little voice. Buffy smiled at her sadly. "Seems to be a little habit I've picked up that I so have to break," she told them, her voice weary and tired. Xander and Willow reached for each other’s hand, horror at the thought of their friend, their mighty warrior succumbing to the fall of battle too awful to contemplate. "You die and I bring you back? And that's a bad thing?" Willow was crying into her hands now, Xander beside her with a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I'll say it's a bad thing when you rip the girl from heaven and kill her again on the inside." Spike huffed, deciding to wade into the revelations now that his own story had been bypassed. "Not just you either Red, the other three are with you. But it's you that gets a taste of the dark power and can't control it." All eyes had settled on Spike and he wondered if perhaps he should have kept his yap shut. “Huh, Like Darth Vader!” Xander said, cringing on the inside for his inappropriate rush to speak into the void. "Spike is right. Mr. Giles, I think Willow should undergo some proper training to learn control. She will become extremely powerful, and invaluable to her friends and the world, it wouldn't be fair to let her discover it on her own. Power is too tempting without learning control." Everyone sat dazed at Tara's unstuttered speech, having become used to her shyness and willingness to stay in the background. "Another thing, Watcher." Spike figured he might as well be in for the pound if the penny was already tossed to the floor. "Don' leave her. You may think she needs to grow up and learn to be independent. You're her bloody Watcher and she'll always need watchin'. She's 'ad enough of people leavin'." Giles sat stunned, abstractly aware of the dig at Angel, but wondering what on earth would possess him to leave his Slayer to cope with the Hellmouth by herself, or rather with this unruly bunch of children. "And the apocalypse that Spike perished in? Was it brought about by his altering the balance by getting his soul?" Giles had resorted to polishing his glasses in his agitation. "No," Buffy all but whispered. "It was Buffy, wasn't it?" Anya spoke up for the first time that night, her thousand years of knowledge coming into play. All eyes swivelled to stare at her but she didn't know how to be intimidated by their hostility. "How dare you!" Giles fumed. "Buffy doesn't start apocalypses, she ends them." His lip was curled in fury, eyes flashing hard iciness as Ripper tried to tear himself to the surface. "Not what I meant," she clarified. "It was us, bringing her back from the dead. Were you really in heaven, Buffy?" And Buffy looked at the girl with a new respect, seeing instead an intelligent woman instead of the ditzy one they had all assumed she was. She had brought the fact into the open that everyone had seemingly ignored when Spike spoke it, too eager to imagine it to be an untruth on the part of the vampire. Buffy was sick of it already. "Yes," Buffy answered in her tiny voice, and Willow gasped and began to cry, much like Buffy had seen her do in the future when she finally found out the truth. "Look," Buffy gained courage, wanting to prevent having everyone in tears or resentful. "There is lots of bad just around our corner, but at least now we have a hope of turning it all around. I know why I die, and we can stop it. I know we can. Just like I know how to stop the Initiative." "The Initiative?" Willow questioned through her sniffles. "Yeah." Buffy brightened. “That’s why Spike first started hanging around us. The Initiative are those commando guys that kidnapped him. They put a chip in his head to stop him hurting humans." "Got the soul for that now, 'aven't I. Could ‘av bloody done without the added 'ardware in my noggin." "Geez, do you speak ze Inglesse?" Xander still couldn't see how he was supposed to just start liking the vamp on Buffy’s say so. "Sure I bloody do whelp, but I'm stumped with what language you just foisted upon us." Giles chuckled to himself, distracted at last from his inner musings. "Right then Buffy, I suppose you should tell us as much about the battles that you can. And anything else you think is important. If we are going to change things then we should hear it all." Buffy nodded her consent, but before she began she thought it was only right to tell Xander something else. "Xan, don't ever think that you will be like your father. Your insecurity about that could make you lose something precious and make you the most miserable man on earth." Xander looked at her in alarm, not expecting the further chewing out after his first, highly unexpected bitch-slap. Looking into her eyes he saw nothing but sincerity and smiled. "Forewarned is forearmed, hey Buff?" His skin crinkled at his eyes. "Hey Giles,” Buffy swung her head to the older man but had her finger outstretched and pointing at Xander. "Xander knows stuff. How come he knows stuff?" And it was just the relief needed to dry up tears, settle nerves and get onto the business of battle plans and saving lives. Chapter Fourteen It was late when the group finally dispersed. Mostly stunned expressions coloured each face, while others, like Anya and Angel, merely looked interested in and perplexed at the events that had unravelled. Spike had kept the desolation he felt from the images conjured in the spell to himself. He felt torn in two, not sure anymore which Spike he was or could be. He couldn’t help harking back on the fact that it had only been a week ago that he stood in the sun, wondering if he would freckle, and focused entirely on killing the Slayer. He wondered now if there were signs even then that he hadn’t paid attention to, reasons he ignored any attraction, because he couldn’t deny that Dru had warned and rejected him for none other than the Slayer. He knew that after over one hundred and twenty years with his Princess he would not have been thrown away just for his obsession to kill the girl. She had seen more. He nearly choked on his cigarette when her words came back to him, haunting in their truth, making him feel hollow with dread. ‘You taste like ashes,’ she had warned him. Could she really have been predicting his death? Did she cut him off to save herself the pain of losing him, or had he really lost her to Angelus and she no longer cared about who he held in his heart? He found it difficult to accept that he had prior warning of what he would come to feel for the Slayer. Buffy. Her name felt weird in his mind, let alone on his tongue, but he was oddly elated at the honour of calling her now by name. Hope of love had always sustained him throughout his life and unlife, but in his elongated past, he had never experienced a requited love. Not one that could fulfill every romantic bone in his body. But at last it seemed obtainable, and he was simply mesmerised by the possibility of holding such a beautiful flame of gold in his arms, and hearing words that would bolster his heart into beating. Beating for her. His soul, sought and set to glow for her. He knew that the Watcher saw him as a puzzle yet to crack, and he had the horrifying thought that he would become not only a footnote and a few pages of historical significance to future Watchers, but a redemptive bedside story for all future slayers. Well, if they didn’t all come to at the same time thanks to Red’s spell and the Watcher’s Council being bombed cinders blowing on the perpetual London wind. He hadn’t let on to anyone in the room that he felt again the wash of ruin and anguish, even the insanity, that he had experienced the first time round with regaining his soul. He had hoped that it would be easier on him this time, having paid his penance and dealt with the issues of death, murder and destruction that his demon and lack of soul had inflicted on the world for those one hundred and twenty years. The rising tide of gurgling red and the subtle shaking of his body proved to him that it was not going to be an easy merge this time round, either. So far, he was relieved that Buffy was overcome with guilt for her own future actions, and had thrown herself wholeheartedly into relaying the battle information that could help them in the future. Her preoccupation saved him from central attention, and now that the majority of them had left he felt panic start to bubble again and his body succumbed to bone-jolting shakes. Closing the door behind him, he bypassed the bed he had slept in earlier to crumble into a corner of the room and covered his head with his hands. His mental acuity dimmed as he unwittingly surrendered to the ghosts of his past and his body began to rock back and forth in an attempted soothing gesture. Not successful. Images slammed into him in a violently driven slide show and he clenched his jaw in an effort to control the onslaught and the screaming guilt and pain he wanted to let go of. The rumble in his chest built and built until he could hold it no longer and the tones of his growls bounced around the room, summoning more to arrive and bay his repentive sorrow. He opened his eyes and saw them: the victims, the enemies. The fun he had had, the torture he had witnessed and revelled in, if only for show to his elders, trying to gain parental approval. The bodies he had fed from appeared in the study, throats torn and gushing with blood pouring freely to the carpet and he jumped forward to try and stop the flow- to remove the stains before they became as embedded in Rupert’s flooring as they were in his own soul. He grabbed sheets from the makeshift bed and started rubbing frantically, sobbing hysterically and shouting for them to stop, to get out. He was unaware when the door slammed open and the three remaining from their momentous night looked at his agitation in horror. Buffy was the first to move, collapsing beside him and trying to embrace his violently arcing body into the security of her arms. At first he pushed her away, his mind fractured and lost, until something far back reminded him that this smell, this softness, was his home. He could be quiet there, safe; she could hold the ghosts away for a short time, enough time for him to rest before they came to visit once more. His body went limp in her arms, not attempting to hold her back but accepting the charity that she offered, his wet face rubbing on her neck like a fearful and repentant puppy. Buffy raised guilt glistened eyes to Angel and Giles, who remained shocked in the doorway. “What’s wrong with him? He seemed so, Spike, before. What’s happened to him?” Her voice broke with her confusion and emotion. She looked to them for answers, but inside she knew, and hated herself for not expecting it. So buried in her own memories of the future and the tremendous pain she inflicted on the ones that loved her, she had intentionally distanced herself from Spike, stupidly thinking that the Powers intended on giving him an easier ride this time out. Perhaps that had been the intention but their own trip into his soul’s past released memories and reactions that should have remained covered. Too late now- the damage was done. She should have expected some reaction to his receiving the soul. This was a different Spike to the one she was yet to fall for, not yet tempered or controlled by the love he felt for her, but the events and memories of present and future Spike had become jumbled and she had trouble working out who and what was which. She held him tighter to her as she felt his arm hesitantly snake around her waist and she kissed his platinum hair as she vainly sought for solutions. Her mind clicked back on something Giles had said about Angel’s appearance. Wasn’t Cordelia’s message something about how he was to help with Spike? Buffy had never felt so stupid in all her life. She had two souled vampires in the same room and she was wondering how she alone planned on making it better. Why did she always think that she was the answer to everything? The guilt sunk a little further into her psyche. As if he could suddenly read minds, Giles tapped into her and rushed to reassure. “Cordelia said that Angel was to help you with Spike. Buffy, he needs both of you.” She nodded in sudden understanding and turned wet, pleading eyes to her first love. He was already at her side and looking at Spike with his own anguish mirrored in his features. Buffy looked on first in fascination then jealousy as Angel tilted his head to Spike’s neck and started a series of growls and licks that calmed his troubled Childe even more. His understanding of Spike’s torment was paramount and Buffy acknowledged that he was probably the one who could offer the most help in Spike’s adjustment, but it did little to lower her rising jealousy of seeing him touch and taste what she so much wanted to herself. Between the two, Spike had become so relaxed that he barely sniffled before falling asleep against Buffy’s shoulder. They managed to relocate him onto the bed and were about to move out of the room when his whimpers renewed. He thrashed around as if searching for someone and mumbled ‘home, home, Buffy is home. Where, where is she’ he called in such a desperate voice with tears falling down his face, cracking her heart as he called for her. Gently she glided back onto the bed beside him, tucking her smaller frame firm against his chest, her arm holding him tight, her legs tangling possessively with his, and at last he settled. Not even turning to see if Giles and Angel remained, she asked them to take care of patrol. She sighed on hearing the quiet click of the door closing behind them as they left. They were alone, and she began to cry for all the pain that was felt in the room right then, as well as the pain she feared they could not stop in the future. Useless tears, they needed action, but she was too emotionally exhausted to worry more about it now; just concerned about the vampire her arms lovingly embraced. And on they fell into troubled slumber. Chapter Fifteen For a Slayer, passage into sleep is risky business. Not only do they lay prisoner to the Powers That Be for prophetic dreams, but also their lives of violence and fury can come back for replay over and over again. There were several events that Buffy had experienced as recurring nightmares, but they were things she kept to herself. No one knew that she still dreamt of being bitten by the Master, or spearing an ensouled Angel through with a mystical sword. A giant snake had even received airplay, along with the renegade Slayer that she had once called friend; her sister in arms. These, however, were destined to take a back seat once she had opened Pandora’s Box and let the future come out to play. Lying in the arms of a vampire would normally have felt too wrong for her to remain. Being in Spike’s arms, however, allowed her a euphoric indifference to sleep and she gave no thought to closing her eyes and wrapping herself around him and succumbing to the bliss of rest. Her confidence had steadily built as she held his trembling form within the circle of her arms, whispering fond, or perhaps loving reassurances in his ear, as he continued to sleep soundly. Without fear, she drifted off alongside him. Her focus on him allowed her to forget, but in the land of nod, she no longer could. Smothered by relentless and dank darkness, she came to with a gasp, desperate to draw breath into her lungs, and quickly realised that there was limited oxygen to sustain her. She felt around and touched soft fabric all around her, above and to the sides of what felt like a long narrow box, and came to the startling conclusion that she was to relive her resurrection. She wasn’t immediately frightened- knowing on some level that this was a dream, but as she began to gasp for much needed air, desperation kicked in. Frantically clawing and tearing to reach wood she used her fists to smash and punch the lid of the box and sobbed in relief as it splintered and gave way. Like reliving a horror movie over again she pulled herself above ground and collapsed on the shredded grass in front of her tombstone. Her sobbing had stopped but her blood ran cold when she saw the engraved epitaph, She Saved The World A Lot! With a little jolt she fell back and hit another tombstone. At first her eyes were too blurred to comprehend what she read, and as they cleared and she understood her body shook with an unwillingness to accept. A fist came forcefully through the grass and she fell back and screamed, but immediately again reached forward to take the hand to help pull out her fellow traveller. They looked at each other, taking in the bleeding knuckles, the dirty matted hair, and the dirty, mud streaked burial clothes. Spike perched beside her, himself gasping for breath, and with realisation she raised startled eyes to his as she placed a shaking hand to his breast. “Your heart is beating,” she told him in a broken, distant voice. “We need to die to live, Slayer.” “Slayer?” Her voice shook on the single word. She looked back to the tombstone marking the desecrated grave he had left and covered her mouth with shock. William Summers, Loving Husband And Father. He Helped Her Save The World A Lot! And then she laughed. “Did I kill you? Do you hate me? Is that why you call me Slayer?” “No sweetheart, you saved me. You will always be Slayer to me, just like I will always be Spike to you. I love you.” And he pulled her into his arms and rained beautiful sweet kisses onto her face. Her lips collided with his forcefully, desperate in her need to reassure herself that he was there, that he was hers, and as her grip tightened he became less firm. She pulled away, her eyes widening in disbelief as he began to shatter into dust. “No!” she screamed at him. “Don’t leave me! I love you.” He smiled sadly at her and shook his head. “No you don’t, but thanks for saying it.” And he was gone, a billowing cloud of dust lifted in the breeze and spread to all ends of the world. Left behind a weeping, hysterical girl trying to cling to particles of air as they drifted away. “I do mean it,” her raspy voice declared what felt like hours later. “I do mean it. I love you so much. Come back, come back, don’t leave me here alone.” Her broken sobbing continued until light began to filter through the trees and she dragged herself off the ground to her knees, and then to her ridiculously clad feet. She wandered aimlessly, not caring where she stumbled, having forever lost her light and knowing she would never find her way out of the darkness. Cloistered forever in her own existence. “I don’t know what I need to survive this,” she whispered to the lightening sky. “I don’t think I can. I don’t think I want to.” Stumbling she hit the steps of a building in a rush to her hands and knees. Looking up she discovered a chapel and looked again at the sky in confusion. “Um, thanks?” she offered in her daze, and then found her way inside. Stained glass and a gothic looking crucifix took up all her remaining attention. Realisation hit her like a blow and she frantically searched the shadows for him. “Spike?” Her voice was raw with continually shed tears and her eyes had trouble seeking him in the dark as the sky that had been reaching dawn now hit night with a daunting perceptibility. He could only exist in the night. His heart did not beat. He came forward slowly, hesitating on the brink of discovery. His chest bare and glowing in the moonlight and she cringed, knowing that every blight on that skin, every scar and torn piece of flesh, was her reward. This time he needn’t tell her, she was with it that he had a soul burning bright for her, dragging him kicking blindly at the ghosts of the past, clinging to hold him in the dark. “I wanted to give you what you deserve, and I got it. Now all it does is burn.” And for the second time she saw him burn from the inside, ashy edges creeping out until he was dust at her feet. “No.” She could muster no more screams though the tears continued to flow in great rivers down her cheeks. “No Spike, I don’t deserve this. I loved you without a soul, I will always love you. You are mine, and I am yours. I’m sorry, so sorry I made you do this, made you prove to me what I already knew, believed. I lacked courage, Spike. Courage to love you. To acknowledge you. To be with you. God, please bring him back. I need him so much. He is my soul, my light, but I was too stupid to know.” She crawled forward to the cross that she knew in reality he would burn on his chest for relief. For rest. Touching it softly with her fingertips, she was jolted with a charge so strong that her fingers reflexively curled around the wooden surface of the crucifix, unable to let go. His memories flooded her, the blood, the death, the horror and the screams, his fear, his hate, his sex, his glee, and his love. Too much, again too much, and as she relived his past, and felt his pain from regaining his soul, she encompassed the insanity that was him and understood the man behind the monster with a finality of passage. She took it all into herself, sharing the load, and wailing all the way. Suddenly she was dragged back from the cross and engulfed in the warmth of acceptance and love. “She shall look on him in forgiveness, and everybody will forgive and love. He will be loved.” Spike smoothed her sodden hair away from her glistening cheeks and pressed a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. Opening her eyes, she beamed her intentions to him. “I will forgive and love,” she whispered and they kissed slowly, the barest brush of lip to lip. And in the doorway stood, with one heart racing in shock, a stunned Watcher and a furious vampire. To be continued |