Snapshots of Eternity
by Slinkyspychokit


Chapter Seven: "Restless Again"
beta'd by Oracleholly


Despite Willow's belief that Buffy had tra-la-la'd off to her very own happyland of DeNial, just as she'd done that night not so long ago when Glory the hellbitch had snatched Dawnie for a little slice-dice-and-Pop!-goes-the-portal-- the Goddess was only partially right. Buffy had retreated to somewhere less painful than the world in which the rest of them trod and tread. More disturbing was that, somehow, a similar condition had befallen Spike as well.

However, what Willow didn't know was that the couple had actually had assistance falling into their trance-like state. To the outside world, their bodies lay entwined amongst the rumpled sheets of Buffy's large, four-poster bed. In their dream states, each found themselves very much separated, alone and unaware of the forces guiding them.

Unlike the last time, Buffy's current situation in no way resembled a replay of happier childhood memories. Quite the opposite was true as she found herself wandering through a cemetery so familiar she could have traversed it backwards and blindfolded. Under the light of a full moon, the well-tended lawns of Restfield Cemetery shimmered with early morning dew while row upon row of granite headstones, crypts and statuary fairly glowed with an eerie, blue-gray light.

Unconsciously, her feet carried her to one grave out of them all. The only difference between this monument and all the others was that it held no markings to indicate the soul laid to rest within the earth beneath her feet. The sight of it was painful and brought tears to Buffy's eyes as a heavy sadness settled on her heart. She slowly shook her head and forced back her tears.

"It should say something," she whispered into the cool, night air.

"What should it say?" came the reply from the woman beside her.

Buffy looked up from the blank stone and peered at the door to Spike's old crypt thirty yards away. The door was slightly ajar, and her feet itched to run to it for sanctuary. But, she needed answers first. Instead of running away, Buffy considered the unmarked monument in front of her and turned over the question of what it should say of the person, the friend who they had buried here after a bullet meant for the Slayer had gone astray and claimed the life of another.

Half afraid to look into luminous blue eyes she was certain would be filled with accusation and too afraid that if she didn't do it now, she'd never get another chance, Buffy met Tara's eyes. "Your name," she answered sadly. "The world should know you're here. It should know you lived and were loved."

Tara smiled softly, patiently, at the beautiful young woman at her side. "I did live, Buffy. And I was loved," her voice was whisper soft, and her eyes held only quiet serenity. "Don't be sad, Guardian. What lies beneath the earth is but a borrowed vessel. As we are born from the earth, so must me return to it. The part that is truly us continues on in everything. We are the wind in the trees. Rains from the sky. Sunlight shining upon children at play.

"It was merely my time. The method doesn't matter. I could have easily been killed by a demon or by stepping out in rush hour traffic. Death is just the changing of rooms." The blonde smirked with a bit of her old self. "When you bow, you leave the crowd," she sang quietly and earned a tiny smile from the Guardian Slayer.

Tara's eyes took on a faraway look, and she cocked her head to the side as she listened to something only she could hear. She nodded once, her azure gaze fixed on the heartsick young woman. Again she nodded and turned her eyes towards the moon. "Is there no other way?" her voice was full of sadness and pity, eye lowering to the ground and closing for a moment. "I understand."

Throughout Tara's speech and her seeming one-sided conversation, Buffy had remained silent. The presence of Tara-- and it really was Tara, of that she was certain-- and the sound of her voice were such a precious gift she wouldn't dare risk making her go away.

Then, as the whole of Tara's focus settled on her once more, Buffy became fearful and felt her nerves straining to their very limits. Needing something to hold, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked back toward the crypt with a deep longing to run and never look back. "What's wrong with me, Tara?"

Tara felt like throwing her head back and screaming her displeasure at the Powers That Be responsible for making her afterlife so difficult at the moment. When she'd left the earthly realm behind, the Powers had offered her a reward of her choosing. Anything her soul desired.

Her answer had been easy and without hesitation. She'd requested a condition, as well. Her soul's desire had been to continue the fight of the people whom had become her family. Her request had been that, no matter what task the PTBs chose for her, she would be allowed to remain close to that family.

Deal done and here she was - designated spirit guide to one Buffy Anne Summers, Guardian Slayer and one William Nathaniel Wordsworth, a.k.a. Spike or William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers turned Protector of the Slayer line.

Tara had been watching the couple almost since the moment of her death. In one moment, she was smiling at Willow, and the next she was standing in a room comprised mainly of blue and gray marble The ghostly figures had appeared in togas to complete Tara's picture of an ancient Grecian temple. The ghosts had spoken in a chorus of voices free of all emotion as they explained what had happened to her and gave her the freedom to choose her own path.

Minutes later, Tara was witness to the deal struck between Spike and the powerful demon, Shakhalamahn. That deal would seal Spike's fate for all eternity as there had never-- in the history of this world-- been another soulless demon who actively sought the return of their soul for love. The platinum blonde's words, filled with so much pain, loneliness and desolation still made Tara's heart hurt. "Make me what I was so Buffy can get what she deserves.”

Despite the initial heartache Tara had felt upon hearing Spike's request, she felt overwhelming pride at the Master Vampire's fierce determination as he fought his way through the demon’s trials. It had lasted for weeks, and Spike had not only endured all manner of torture, pain and suffering. He'd come out the victor in every test. And Tara found herself sobbing outright as Shakhalamahn had rewarded the battered mass of vampire-shaped cuts and bruises with the return of his soul.

In the days following his newly acquired soul, Tara hovered protectively and possessively, using every bit of influence she held to aid and guide the broken warrior back to the young woman who had cried herself to sleep nearly every night since his departure from the hellmouth.

She'd fought against the First's influence as much as possible until her new bosses had let her know that the vampire's destiny had been decided long ago. Just as Buffy's had been equally decided. The couple had, quite literally, been made for one another. Two halves of the same whole.

Something, somewhere had gone slightly off track though. One of the halves was too much, and the other too little. Now, the Powers had determined a way to balance the halves and make them whole once more.

"Tara?"

The sound of her name brought Tara from her thoughts, and she once again looked at the frightened young woman. "Sorry, must've drifted out for a minute," she replied with a sheepish smile. A brief flash of pain flickered in Buffy's eyes before she again looked toward Spike's old crypt.

"I asked what was wrong with me."

What, indeed, Tara thought as she tried her best to find the right words and sent a mental glare at the Powers That Be.

This was not going to be pretty.

**********************************************

Spike was disoriented at first. One moment, a storm of emotions had come through the claim and hit him with all the subtlety of an out of control freight train. He'd sensed more than processed the various faces of others during his haste to reach his mate and ease her suffering. Vaguely, he recalled Red's shouted warning right as he pulled Buffy's thrashing body into his arms.

Then everything seemed to flash across his mind at once; the images he'd first been subjected to upon the moment of his re-corporealization. Like a movie on fast forward, he'd seen his girls as they'd truly been, instead of what the monks had conditioned their memories to explain. He saw a room, very much like that of an ancient temple in some one or other gladiator movie he'd seen. Here stood a man and a woman whose bodies looked as though they'd been dipped in metallic body paints. Both were dressed in simple togas with corded belts tied loosely at their waists and some type of headbands designed to look like leaves adorned the crown of each head.

The man and woman--siblings?-- both spoke as one to an audience of several monks, dressed in brown robes with the cowls thrown back to reveal concerned faces. The scene flashed just as the words "her chosen mate" and "destined to bring this child" reached his ears. He heard those words as another scene took the place of the first.

This time, he was again forced into the role of reluctant observer as he witnessed a frantic coupling in the Watcher's lavatory, the result of just one of many spells Willow had gotten wrong. Spike's memories of that day differed than what was being shown to him. He did not remember this coupling that had occurred in the wake of Red's Thy Will Be Done incantation.

He felt like a voyeur as his eyes seemed glued to the incredibly erotic display before him. He was helpless to turn away, as the bespelled Spike and Buffy moaned and writhed on the cold tile floor in mindless desperation, while a blinded Giles was left alone in the living room of his own flat with only a bottle of finely aged scotch to keep him company. As the lovers reached fulfillment, Spike watched himself lower his fangs to Buffy's throat, slicing through the tender skin to obliterate those marks left behind by Angel before he'd hared off to play the soddin' Dick Tracy to Los Angeles' world of the supernatural.

The air was rife with a heady combination of Buffy's highly potent Slayer blood, the pungent scent of their combined fluids and the sounds spilling from his mate's gorgeous mouth, sending all of the observing Spike's borrowed blood shooting straight down to what was fast becoming painful. Each second he was forced to watch the scene play out had his aching, turgid member jumping and rubbing agonizingly against the metal zipper of his jeans. Fuck it, he growled inwardly and reached down to take himself in hand for whatever relief he could get. Then, just as his fingers grasped the metal tab, two things happened at once. Buffy's teeth viciously tore into Spike's neck and the observing Spike found himself somewhere else, yet again.

As his world stopped spinning, Spike found himself chained to a cavern wall he recalled seeing during his trip to Africa. The only difference was, last time he hadn't been chained to the wall and at the mercy of a two beautiful women who made no attempt at hiding their amusement at his current state.

"See?" Anya asked her companion. "What'd I tell ya? He has a large penis and is very capable at giving many orgasms." Demon girl leered at him, and Spike found it incredibly disturbing.

"Oi, now! You bints can just lemme go," Spike demanded as he pulled at the chains and found them sturdy enough to hold him. He didn't have the first clue what the hell he was doing here, but he needed to find Buffy so they could get home.

"Relax, Blondie," Anya's companion said, and Spike narrowed his eyes at the familiar face. It'd been a while since he'd laid eyes on her, and she'd filled out. Now she presented to the world lush curves and heavy breasts --a far cry from the weight obsessed girl he remembered from his first year in Sunnydale and that one time he'd come to L.A. after the Gem of Amara.

A slow, thoroughly male smile slid across Spike's face as he ran his eyes over those delicious curves. "Well, well, well. Cordelial! You look divine, pet. Seems spending the last eight months on your back's done wonders for you."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, sending a completely unimpressed look his way. "And gettin' toasted and ghosted still hasn't taught you how to dress," came her weak attempt at a comeback. "The chains were specifically designed to hold you, so there's no point fighting," the Seer added as Spike continued to jerk at the chains keeping him in place. All it was doing was chafing the hell out of his wrists.

The vampire turned his focus back to Harris' ex-bird and pleaded with his eyes for her to understand his need to find his mate and get out of this place. Anya looked like she was on the verge of relenting when footsteps were heard coming closer. The sweet sounds of his love's voice eased a bit of the tension in his shoulders. Cordy gave him an inscrutable look and sighed, "What part of the word Relax did you not understand?"

"The part where I did it," Spike shot back. "Mind you, demon girl's bread and butter, for more than a thousand years was makin' blokes suffer. And I had your boss tortured for hours with hot pokers to get my hands on an ugly little bauble that I let get stolen out from under my nose. The two of you together don't exactly inspire a fellow to let his guard down."

At that moment, Buffy stepped into the cavernous room, and Spike felt himself lose all ability to form coherent thought. His jaw hung open as she came to him and smiled beautifully; one tiny hand with five tiny fingers stroked his face lovingly. Her eyes held him mesmerized in their green depths, and all he could think was how it was the first time since his return that no hint of madness was present in her gaze.

"There's a ritual," Cordelia informed him. "To make her whole again. It's dan-"

"Do it," Spike interrupted as Buffy continued to stroke his face.

"Don't you," Anya tried only to be interrupted as well.

"I said, do it," Spike snapped at the women. "Whatever it takes, whatever the consequences. If it makes her well, again…"

Buffy looked deep into the loving eyes of her mate and knew she'd made the right decision. No matter what came after, they would still have each other. Leaning up, she gently brushed her lips across his in an all too brief kiss before giving him a watery smile. "I love you," she whispered for his ears only.

A lump rose in his throat as Spike saw the reflection of her love in her eyes. "Love you, too, kitten," his voice was raspy, and it felt as though watching her take those steps away from him was worst moment of his entire existence. There was a reason he was trussed up in chains meant specifically to hold him. Spike was willing to bet his soul that it wasn't for a rousing game Checkers.


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