Come Back to Me

by Spikesdeb

Chapter 9

“Willow!  What happened?  Where’s he gone?  I must be going crazy.” 

Buffy was frantically searching the room, tears streaming down her face as she began to panic. 

“Buffy, please…just calm down.  You’re not crazy.  Please, sit…Buffy, you’re making me dizzy.  Sit.” 

The agitated Slayer sat, her eyes darting here and there as she continued searching for Spike.  The look on her face twisted a knife in Willow’s gut, so much pain; it took her breath away. 

“Buffy, it is Spike -- but there’s a problem.  In fact, there’s more than one now… No, I’m getting ahead of myself.  You see he just appeared right in the middle of Angel’s office a couple of days ago.  Don’t know how or why yet, …it’ll be okay, Giles is on it and Wesley is helping.  But, Buffy, he didn’t come back the same.” 

“But he is all right, isn’t he?  He’s my Spike?  I saw him, Willow.  Where is he?  Is this some cosmic joke, dangle the Slayer a carrot then whip it away when she wants a nibble?” 

“He’s the real deal, Buffy, but not so much solid...kinda ghostly…  God this is confusing.  He can’t touch anything and he can walk right through you, but that vanishing act was a first, never done that before.  We’re not sure what he is but we’re on it; trust me.” 

Willow grasped Buffy’s restless hands, urging her to have faith.   

“But he’s really here?” Buffy whispered, her voice incredulous and full of longing.  

“Spike’s really really here, Buffy.  Honest injun!”  Willow grinned at her friend, noting the tiny smile playing around her mouth and the sparkle in her eyes.  She looked alive for the first time since the Hellmouth collapsed.   

A blast of air rattled the equipment surrounding Dawn’s bed making Buffy and Willow jump in alarm.   

A voice growled, “Bloody hell!” as a leather-clad figure materialised at the foot of the bed.  Buffy stepped towards him, wanting to be near him even if she couldn’t hold him. 

“Spike,” she whispered, her eyes filled with tears.  “Spike.”  Despite herself she raised a hand to cradle his cheek.  A tingle shot through her as her hand sank into his spectral face.  Buffy jumped back a little in shock.   

Spike lifted his hand to where she’d caressed his cheek. “Luv, you touched me!  I can feel you…” 

“Me too!  Like… electricity….” 

Tears welled in his fathomless blue eyes as he slowly extended his hand, fingers trembling as he neared her skin.  He fixed his eyes on hers, drowning in the love he saw there.  Bloody hell!  She’d really meant it, in the Hellmouth.  He hesitated, overwhelmed by the emotions he was feeling.  He drew in a ragged, needless breath. 

“Buffy….” 

Then he felt it, not quite like a stroke of skin on skin, more a charged frisson buzzing along his fingers, his hand.  But it was there – contact.  Buffy’s gasp told him she felt it too.  Maybe Fred had found something out, started messing with stuff…..  

Willow watched the interplay with interest.  Neither realised it but they were outlined in a pale blue light, their auras intermingling and swirling together as one.  Definitely a question for the coven. 

One thing was certain; the happiness they radiated at just this slight contact was tangible in its intensity.  The Powers That Be must have a purpose for bringing Spike back, it was the only answer that made sense. 

Spike and Buffy were frozen, eyes locked, hands hovering above skin as their auras pulsed around them.  

“Guys?  Can I conduct a little experiment?  Guys?  Hey!  Buffy, Spike…hello?” 

Willow’s attempts to distract the pair were useless.  Neither of them was letting go of the connection.  She shrugged as she barged her way between the two of them.  She had to know one way or the other. 

And then she knew…  She walked right through Spike but felt only a strange and slightly unsettling sensation like moving through gloop.  Not a trace of the electric shock thingy.  That was obviously a Spike and Buffy special.  Hmm.  Major research needed here.   

Willow stepped back, started to speak then gave it up, the ceiling could collapse and they wouldn’t notice.  She wouldn’t be missed. 

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

The mystic was held captive, flat on the desk in Angel’s office, the vampire’s meaty hand clamped round his neck in a crushing grip. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong but I thought I told you to get rid of him.  Now, is there any absence of Spike on that monitor…no?  You see my problem…” The purpled face tried to croak.  

“What was that?”  Realising why the mystic couldn’t speak, Angel released his throat. 

“Mr Angel…sir…take time to erode his influence on this plane…  I need to key into his essence.  I’ll be successful, but it isn’t an instant fix.” 

Angel’s scowl and snarl combined forced the mystic’s heartbeat to race as he felt himself losing control of his bodily functions.  He’d faced death a thousand times, been tortured in untold dimensions; but he’d never been more afraid than he was now facing this monster in human clothing.  

“So, tell me what you need, how it’s gonna be.” 

Cowering, the minion of Wolfram and Hart outlined his plan.  Angel smiled.  He liked it.  A lot. 

************************************ 

Xander was on his way to visit Dawn, part of the daily routine that anchored him to this world when he’d really rather be lying in Anya’s arms in the next.  Willow had insisted he get involved in caring for Dawn.  To be honest, he’d wanted to stay away from the whole sickness gig, his last time in hospital not really being the highlight of his life, but Willow had laid the guilt trip on and he’d thought of Dawn lying alone in her sickbed and he’d caved, as always, to Willow’s demands.  Except Dawn never was alone, Buffy being a permanent fixture at her bedside. 

Time spent with Dawn meant time spent with Buffy, and even though his feelings for her were no longer of a groping nature, he still got an inner happy at being in her presence.  It reminded him of better times, simpler times; times when the three of them had faced monsters and vampires with a smile and a quip, and still managed to turn in their homework the next day.  Well, ok, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration… 

Vampires.  They still gave him the heebies.  He didn’t like them.  Angel would always be the guy who got the girl to him, but more than that he was the first vampire who had forced him to realise that the world wasn’t simple black and white, bad guys versus good guys; it made him grow up.  Angel personified for him, in stark terms, the internal battle everyone fought, to do good when the temptation to do evil was so strong.  And Angel somehow beat back that temptation every time.  It pissed him off. 

Then there was Spike.  Not only did the son of a bitch end up with a soul by enduring immeasurable pain and suffering for the woman he loved – if you believed that one - and saved the goddamn world and every person in it, but he was somehow good enough to start saving people before he got the sodding soul.  And if that wasn’t enough, he was obviously still in with the Powers That Be, because instead of being a big pile of dust he was back here to bugger up the works.  AND GOD!  He was even starting to talk like the British bastard. 

Xander scowled as he walked.  It just wasn’t right.  Why Spike?  Why not Anya?  How come his bright, beautiful girl could get gutted saving a geek like Andrew and stay rotting in the ground, but a vicious killer like Spike got mojoed back from beyond?   

Xander’s conscience kept whispering to him ‘but he has a soul, he died to save the world’.  So what?  Soul or no soul he’d have to go a long way to gain his trust, and he still didn’t get the thing with Spike and Buffy.  What could she possibly see in him that would last beyond the grave, would make her grieve to the extent that she was shutting the world out?  He’d never get it.  He didn’t want to. 

He scuffed his feet as he made his way to the hospital wing, his mood had become sombre and his scowl marred his damaged features.  He wasn’t really in any shape to look at Dawn and deal with his helplessness; he’d just drop in say hello and skedaddle to the comfort of a bottle of scotch. 

‘Make that two,’ he thought as he pushed open the door.  Spike.  Here.  With Buffy!   

Xander snarled as he zeroed in on the two standing oblivious to everything but each other.   Spike’s outline was slightly fuzzy where it touched Buffy’s body -- or not touching, as there was nothing to touch – his presence shimmering slightly.  It was like an optical illusion; if you didn’t see Spike’s form next to the solidity of Buffy’s you wouldn’t be able to notice any difference, but right up against it there was a hazy quality to the vampire.   

Xander was disgusted; he hadn’t reckoned on being so freaked at seeing Buffy and Spike in close proximity.  After Buffy broke down and swore undying love for dead boy, in front of them all, Xander had felt a little guilty at being so anti-Spike when he was around.  He hated to see Buffy so upset, empathised with her, having gone through the same feelings when Anya didn’t make it at the High School.  But he just couldn’t shake off the deep-seated distrust and resentment that vampires brought out in him, and had done ever since his best friend Jesse fell victim to one during Buffy’s early days on the Hellmouth.  His mind replayed the same scene, Jesse’s ridged brow and fangs, voice dripping with disdain as he lunged into Xander – then the dust when the stake pierced his heart. 

Vampires were bad.  There was no grey, no scales of badness…they were simply evil.  Xander clung to this comforting belief, wrapping it around himself like a threadbare familiar sweater and ignoring the holes he found in it.  Angel?  Soul, yeah – but one whiff of happy and he was murdering Angelus again.  Spike?  Soul…again yeah but look why he got it, to get into Buffy’s pants.  And the saving the world? Probably a coincidence and Spike was now trying to cash in on it.  No, Xander Harris was firmly of the opinion that unless you possessed a soul, a beating heart, and were from the genus homo sapiens, you were a black hat. 

So…. seeing the evil undead tenderly hover his hand above Buffy’s cheek and hearing her sigh in rapture, he was beyond pissed. 

‘This can’t be happening.  But if it is, I’m having nothing to do with it.’  Xander turned on his heel and stormed out of the sickroom, the reunited lovers blissfully unaware of his visit. 

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Buffy whispered, eyes raking his face, his body.   

“I’m here…with you…not going anywhere, pet.  Well…maybe I can’t promise that, what with the Will o’ the Wisp effect going on.  But I’ll always find my way back to you, Buffy.  Trust me.” 

Buffy cried softly, the turmoil inside her spilling out in salty tears.  She’d bound grief around her shattered heart for so long.  Every breath she took eased its hold on her.  Another breath, another loosening.  She felt like an addict, but instead of being addicted to something that had made her feel good, she’d fed on the misery of her heartache to make sure she never forgot him.  And now he was here, standing in front of her, his eyes glittering with unshed tears as he drank in every detail. 

“You’ve lost weight, luv,” he murmured softly.  “And you look exhausted.  Let Red see to the Niblet for a while.  You need some rest.”  He stroked her cheek gently as he spoke, the contact fizzing along her skin and back up his hand.  Buffy closed her eyes and leant her face into his palm.   

“No, I want to stay with you.  I catch a few hours here and there, I’ll be fine.” 

“I watched you.” 

Buffy’s eyes sprung open.  “You watched me?  When? Why didn’t you let me see you?” 

“Bit difficult, kitten.  Didn’t want to give you any more worries, reckon you’ve got enough on your plate.  It’s only been a short while anyway, and now I’m here.  When I saw you…didn’t think I’d ever see you again after the hole in the ground fiasco.  Bloody hell – I nearly passed out when I spotted you through that window.”  He indicated with a nod of his head to the far side of the room. 

“I knew it!  I bloody knew it!  I told Willow I could feel you.  Nobody ever raised the hairs on the back of my neck like you do, whether you were wanting to kill me or kiss me.” 

“Speaking of…c’mere, Buffy.”  The air in the room seemed to thicken, all sound faded except for Buffy’s racing heartbeat as the distance between them melted away.

It was a soft touch, a feather-light whisper of sensation.  Buffy closed her eyes as tingles traced across her lips; tentatively she brought her hands up to caress the back of his head, her fingers drifting along the outline she felt fizzing beneath them.  Spike’s arms wrapped her against him until they were touching, head to toe, a slight resistance as Buffy tried to get closer to him marking the limits of his presence.   

She couldn’t help the moans of ecstasy that escaped her mouth at the flickers of energy that rippled through her.  Spike gently teased her with the effervescent presence of his tongue.  Her body felt limp, a combination of lack of sleep, the torpor after elation and the swoon that wicked tongue always wrought..   

“Erm…Buffy?  Spike?  Wow!  You guys are setting off some fireworks in the stratosphere; your auras are sparking off each other.  It’s pretty…” Willow finished lamely. 

Reluctantly the two stepped apart, yet stayed close enough to keep the current flowing.   

“Find anything out, Red?” 

“Not yet, but I will!  I’ve got Fred on the case and she’s way smarter than I am. Well, maybe not way…but she’s got some moves I hadn’t thought of with the whole dimensional shift stuff.  We’ll crack it.  Just have patience.”  She finished her little announcement with a shy Willow smile. 

“I know you will.  And in the meantime I have myself a regular dynamo to keep me tingling.”  Buffy gifted the power pack in question with a dazzling smile that finished in a hastily stifled yawn. 

“That’s it; you need some rest.  You’ll be no good for the ‘Bit if you’re knackered, now.  Let Red here take a turn sitting, just go and snatch a few hours’ kip.  I’ll come with you…for as long as I’m sparking.  Never know what the bloody hell’s gonna happen next.” 

Buffy looked at her sister, surrounded by tubes and machines.  She was torn.  She was tired, beyond tired.  She’d barely closed her eyes the last few days since Dawn had succumbed to whatever had her in its grip.  Her entire body ached from days hunched on the chair from hell.  She knew he was right, but she was reluctant to leave. 

“Go on, Buffy.  I’ll be here.  You may have slayer strength but you’re not invincible.  What could you do now feeling as you do?  I’ll wake you in a couple of hours, I promise.” 

Willow’s soft smile lit up her features; Buffy looked from her best friend’s eager face to the much-memorised visage of her lover.  He nodded slowly.   

“Come on, luv.  Come with me.” 

Buffy started to walk away from the bed, throwing a haunted look back to the still, pale form under the glaring overhead light.  Willow sat down on the chair and retrieving Buffy’s book from the floor, skimmed the pages.  Quietly, she started reading to the sleeping girl, scooting the chair closer to the bed and waving Buffy off with one hand.   

With a resigned sigh, she reached for Spike’s hand, thrilling in the sparks she felt as her body neared his.  Making up her mind, she moved out before she changed it.   At the door she turned again.  “Two hours, Willow.  Promise me you’ll call me if there’s any change.  Anything at all.  You promise?” 

“I promise.  Now go.  Rest.  I’ll be here.” 

With a grateful smile and another yawn, Buffy headed to her room – or rather Angel’s room that she’d commandeered on her first night in LA.   

*********************************** 

“Bastard.  Cold blooded, dead, evil, bastard.” Xander punctuated his vitriolic mutters with shots of bourbon.  “Don’t know how she can stand to touch him.” 

Another shot.  A pause.  “Touch him? How the hell did she touch him?” 

“Xan-man – your depth perception is way off base.  She can’t touch him, he’s not really here.  I wish!”  A mirthless chuckle. 

Xander was two-thirds of the way through the first bottle he’d liberated from the drinks cabinet in the boardroom, his feet resting on the polished surface of the desk.  The double doors swung open.  Xander barely moved to acknowledge Lorne as he edged into the room. 

Another bloody demon.  He didn’t know this Lorne, didn’t need to either.  No, once he was sure that Dawn was on the mend he was heading out of here to go rot in some god-awful backwater that had never heard of vampires or demons or Hellmouths.  He’d had his fill of supernatural; give him natural any day.   

“This a private wake or can anybody join in?” 

Xander shrugged.  “It’s a free country.” 

Lorne sat a little way down from the glowering thundercloud, not wanting to get cozy.  The waves of anger and loathing were just rolling off him!  Didn’t need a ditty to read this one.  A green hand reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels from in front of the human.  “May I?”  

“It’s not mine.” 

Hmm, monosyllabic was not Lorne’s choice of communication but he’d work with what he had.   

“So, what’s the sitch on the littlest Summers?” 

“Don’t ask me…ask Spike!” 

Ahhhh.  There was the cause of the iceman cometh.  Spike.  Well, from what he’d heard he did have the gift of bursting people’s freakometers.  Time to test the waters of Lake Not So Placid. 

“Spike, yeah.  Perky little poltergeist, isn’t he?   Bet little Miss Goldilocks is just bursting now he’s back.  Well, kinda back.  Is he with her now?” 

Xander didn’t answer, just nodded. 

“Well, here’s to them.  I’d say the lady deserved some happiness, wouldn’t you?” 

“Happiness yes, but not with that.  Never.”  Xander grabbed the bottle and upended a huge measure into his glass before glugging it down in one. 

Lorne settled back into his chair. This may be a long night. 

*********************************** 

Buffy closed the door behind her with a soft click, leaning back against it as she fought the overwhelming urge to sleep.  Another yawn made her eyes water. 

“Come on, luv, let’s get you into bed.”  Spike spoke softly as he hovered around her to lead her to the comfort of the soft mattress.  He cursed his inability to touch again as he couldn’t even turn back the covers for her.   

She stumbled forwards, on autopilot as she dragged her heavy limbs across the plush carpet.  Reaching the bed she sat down heavily, head drooping as she fought to stay awake. 

“Rest back, luv.  Don’t mind the sheets – bet there’s plenty more where they came from.  Just swing your feet up, boots and all.  I’d help you get them off but…” He shrugged, waving useless hands. 

Succumbing to the pull of sleep she lay down, fully dressed, and let her eyes drift closed.  Spike watched her as her breathing evened out, marvelling at how her face softened in sleep.  He could watch her like this forever; it reminded him of the night in the abandoned house, when he’d found her after the Faith debacle.  How he ached to hold her close against him.  Bugger it. 

He nearly missed her whisper.  “What was that, Buffy?” 

“Lie with me…for a little while.” 

He didn’t know if he could do it, but he sure as hell was going to try.  He slid onto the surface of the bed; so far so good, it hadn’t swallowed him.  Gingerly he moved so that he was behind her, then slowly inched closer until he felt the tingle of her touch.  Tentatively he draped his arm around her, feeling the resistance of her body against him.  Buffy’s breathing deepened as she finally let go, her lips curved in a smile. 

When she woke, she was alone.

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