Falling Into You

By Spike Speigel

Born Again

Spike stood at the ready, the goat faced demon with the name of Rachid walking slowly toward him, almost sauntering. The closer he got, the more uncomfortable Spike felt. It was as though the demon’s eyes were accusing him, its semblance of lips almost smiling. Spike resisted the urge to step back, allowing Rachid to stand directly in front of him. After a moment of staring, Spike broke the silence.

“Hullo.” Rachid kept staring. “Um, Giles?” Giles’ anger abated somewhat upon hearing Spike’s voice. He turned around slowly, his back to the monitor. That’s when he saw the Fakkir demon standing in front of Spike’s person. Giles moved to Spike’s side, trying to ease the situation.

“Rachid, say hello to the gentleman.” The creature finally spoke.

“He’s no gentleman.” This got Spike’s attention.

“Sorry. Do I know you, mate?”

“No, William. But I know you.” Before Spike could query the demon, Rachid answered him. “You and your whore, Drusilla.” There was that name again. He remembered that name when Doc had told him where his old crypt was, Spike finding the red shirt in the closet. And, now, in London. Spike shook off the thought, returning to the present.

“Drusilla?” To say Rachid looked perturbed would be an understatement. Were it not for Quentin’s intervention, Rachid would have indeed gotten violent.

“No need for melodrama, Rachid. You’ll get your chance.” As Quentin moved his hand down, Rachid slowly stepped back, allowing Spike and Giles some breathing room. “Drusilla was your sire, William.” And Spike still hated the Watcher for using that name.

“Sire?” Giles filled in the blanks.

“That’s right, Spike. She turned you into a vampire.” Spike stood there, a bit dumbfounded at the news. But, why was it so shocking? Someone had to turn him into a vampire. Right? Spike looked back to Rachid, seeing nothing but hatred in his eyes.

“Why do you hate her?” The question took Rachid by surprise, Spike swearing he could see the demon’s eyes flicker in astonishment. Before Spike could make sure, Rachid composed himself, answering Spike’s question.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Spike shook his head, answering the question truthfully. Rachid moved closer to Spike, wanting to look him in the eyes as he spoke. Spike made no indication of moving. “You and your whore killed my family.” Rachid expected something along the lines of shock or denial to cover Spike’s tone. Unfortunately, Spike surprised him once again.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Giles moved closer to Spike, unsure of the situation that was now developing in the inner sanctum of the Council. It was purely instinct, moving to protect Spike if Rachid decided to lash out. Not once did it register in the Watcher’s mind that he was trying to protect a once master vampire and murderer of two Slayers. However, before Giles could step between the two individuals, Quentin’s voice echoed throughout the chamber.

“Leave them be, Rupert. I promised Rachid the opportunity to speak to his family’s executioner.” The words left Spike cold inside. Executioner. The words didn’t match the way he felt now. He thought he was a respectable fellow. He was living with Giles and having a decent time. He had a job waiting for him back in Sunnydale filing tax returns and going over the books for numerous Sunnydale companies. He had an apartment that was paid up for the year. He had a garden that he tended to every night as soon as he got home from work. And he had a reason to go back to Sunnydale. Buffy.

But the word could fit him. After all, he had tried to kill his reason for this foray into the monster’s den. Buffy. And he had killed Doc without a moment’s hesitation. Spike didn’t want to admit it, but he relished the feeling, his hand pushing through Doc’s chest as he took the life away from the old man. And that wasn’t the feeling of a normal person. That was the emotion of a murderer. A killer. Spike focused his attention once again to his surroundings, repeating the question for Rachid.

“Why did we kill your family?”

Rachid stood there, not comprehending the question. After all, why would something as vicious, as uncaring, and as evil as the man standing in front of him care about the why? The demon moved closer, his claws twitching as though out of exasperation. Finally, he spoke. “Why? Because that’s what monsters like you and your kind do. Kill because you can.” Spike shook his head, feeling the turmoil between his former life and his present life tearing him apart inside. As his eyes focused back on the Fakkir demon, Rachid expounded on his statement. “Does that answer your question?” Spike answered truthfully.

“Guess it does, at that.” Giles could see that Spike was having trouble coming to grips with the news that had just been delivered. But, it was necessary. Spike wanted his memories back. The information parted from the Fakkir demon was a part of Spike’s memory. Pleasant or not. Spike looked over the demon standing in front of him, an awkward air of silence hovering in the room, barring hushed whispers between the Council elders. Finally, Spike disrupted the silence. “Won’t say I’m sorry. ‘Cos you wouldn’t believe me, right?” Spike could swear he saw a slight upturn on the demon’s lips, but since they were pincers, it was probably his mind playing tricks on him. Another short moment of silence before Quentin interrupted it.

“Well, if we’re all squared away here?” Spike turned back to the elder Watcher while Giles stayed by his side, trying to position himself between Rachid and Spike just in case something unseemly was to happen. The look on Spike’s face gave Quentin all the answer he needed. “Very well then. You may proceed, Rachid.”

Spike turned his attention back to the Fakkir demon, his trepidation of the situation returning. As Rachid advanced on Spike, his claws began to resonate against the air, causing an audible hum in the chamber. Before Spike could voice his concern, Giles assuaged his fears.

“He’s just preparing for the scan.” Spike looked at Giles as Rachid stopped in front of them, holding his claws to his side, allowing the two to finish their conversation.

“Scan?” Rachid answered Spike’s query.

“It’s what my kind specialize at. We can tell what something is solely by touch.”

“Well, so can I.” Spike illustrated his point by touching his nose. “Sniffer.” Rachid let out a sound that was an amalgamation of a laugh and a high-pitched shriek. Moments like this, Spike wished he didn’t have such good hearing as he flinched at the sound. After his display of emotion, Rachid expanded on the explanation.

“It’s not that simple, monster. We bond, almost symbiotically; with whatever living organism we come in contact with. So, in that regard, Fakkir demons essentially become what they are touching.” Spike nodded, somewhat understanding what the demon was trying to get at. Giles chimed in upon seeing the hint of confusion on Spike’s face.

“Essentially, Rachid will be able to figure out what you are after he’s done with his scan.” Spike turned to the Watcher, a slight smirk on his face.

“Thanks for the commentary, Rupert.” Giles chuckled softly, members of the Council elders catching the display of emotion. Quentin, in particular, noted it, before Giles continued on.

“Well, it’s part of the job description.” Spike nodded, turning his gaze back to Rachid, who remained motionless in front of him. Spike had to ask before Rachid proceeded.

“Is this gonna hurt?” Rachid looked toward the man standing in front of him, his hatred waning but still evident.

“It won’t hurt.” Before Spike could respond, Rachid’s arms flew from his sides, his claws impaling Spike’s chest. Spike would have screamed if Rachid’s sharp digits weren’t firmly implanted in his lungs. Instead, he stood there, looking at the Fakkir demon, his body contorting in pain. The last thing Spike saw before blacking out was Rachid’s hideous eyes gleaming in delight as the word echoed in the distance. “Much.”

He wasn’t sure how long he was out, but when he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in front of a store window. Spike turned around, looking for something, anything, which seemed familiar. Unfortunately, his eyes did fall upon something familiar. Well, someone.

“This isn’t the time to be window shopping, lad. We have to move before the Council finds our location.” Spike couldn’t believe his eyes. After all, the man standing in front of him was dead. By his own hand, no less.

“Doc?”

“What’s wrong with you? Still shaken up by our escape?” Spike shook his head, the memory of Doc’s attack on the Watcher’s Council coming back to him. To say that Doc was a meticulous tactician would be lying.

Instead, Doc burst through the doors to the holding area where Spike was situated, killed the guards on duty, spoke an incantation that removed the magical barrier that confined Spike in his cage, then tore the bars from the wall frame. All this while Spike lay barely conscious on the cell floor, trying to recollect where he was and how he had gotten there. Before Spike knew it, the small elderly man had slung his naked body over his shoulder while charging towards the outer wall of the cell. Spike didn’t register what was going on until he felt the masonry of the wall crumble about his back, the view transforming from one of granite to one of open sky and starlight.

Spike’s memory flitted back to the street, his attention turning to Doc once again. “What the hell are you?” Doc simply chuckled. Spike moved away from the store window, memories flitting back into his head. “And why did you help me back there?”

“Simple, really. I help you. You help me. A little quid pro quo, if you get my meaning.” Spike grumped, his demeanor souring.

“Thanks for the help and all, but last I remember, you threw me off a goddamn tower before you started cutting up one of my favorite girls.” Doc smirked, waiting for Spike to finish his tirade. “Now, tell me again. Why should I help you?”

“Because you want the same thing I do.”

“And what’s that, mate?”

“To put the Council in its place.” Spike looked at the old man, wondering how he linked back to the Council. “To put the Slayer in her place.” Buffy. A name from his past. Something familiar. Something inviting. Something that felt right.

“Look, I may be a vampire, but…” Spike’s words trailed off when he realized what he was saying. It wouldn’t have meant much, he being a vampire, were it not for the fact that the sun was out, and he wasn’t exploding into a ball of flame. Out of habit, Spike dove for the nearest cover, pressing his back against the wall of the store. Spike looked up at the sky, closing his eyes and opening them again, hoping that things would be different. However, when his eyes opened again, the sun was still out, but now Doc was chuckling hysterically. “Glad you find this funny.”

“Sorry, William. But it is. If you could only see yourself.” Doc extended his hand out, his palm upward, the rays of sunlight dancing against him. “We’ve been in the sunlight for well over four hours and only now you’re realizing the reality of your situation? I’m sorry, but that is funny. Indeed.” Spike wanted to deck the old man, but he was right. He was acting like an infant, hiding in the shadows.

Spike slowly pushed off against the wall, moving to the edge of the shadows. After contemplating the repercussions of what he was about to do, Spike took a deep breath before stepping out into the once feared sunlight. The wave of fear and uncertainty was replaced by serenity and comfort as he looked up to the heavens, feeling the heat warm his skin. Then Spike did something he hadn’t for a long time. He laughed. Not a condescending, bitter laugh. But one of joy. One of happiness. One of innocence.

“I don’t…I don’t understand. How?” Spike looked back at Doc, seeing a slight smile on his face.

“We’ve been over this, William. First you help me with the Watcher’s Council.” Doc paused to make sure Spike was comprehending what he was trying to say. “Then I give you the answers about your resurrection.”

Resurrection. Why did that seem familiar? Suddenly, the images came back to him. Of that night in the cemetery. That dire, sorrowful night. The night when Willow tried to end the world. The same night that Spike had prevented her from doing something she’d never be able to come back from. Unfortunately, it had cost him his unlife in the process. Spike looked back at Doc, wondering if the madman knew anything at all. He had to test him.

“Resurrection? You make it sound like I was dead. Well, more dead.” Doc smiled as he spoke.

“You were, lad. The witch did you in.” Doc sighed as he continued. “But, I guess that was entirely your fault. After all, when did you start playing the hero?” Spike threw Doc a distasteful frown.

“Hey. I ain’t no bloody hero. Just like this world. That’s all!” A part of Spike believed the words he had just spoken. However, a small part of him also believed that he was lying. Leave it to the Slayer and her meddling Scoobies to alter his life like this. If it wasn’t for that damn chip in his head, he would have killed them the first chance he got. But now? If the chip was no longer an obstacle, he wasn’t sure of the answer to that once simple question.

“Of course. What was I thinking? You, a former master vampire, playing the hero. How utterly ridiculous.” Spike didn’t know why the words had bothered him so, but they did nonetheless. Spike decided to change the topic before his emotions got more confused by the old man’s words.

“Back to the main topic, huh? You won’t spill until I help you with the Council and Buffy?” The chuckle took Spike by surprise.

“Buffy? Since when are you on a first name basis with the Slayer?” Spike was about to respond when it finally hit him. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped calling her Slayer and started calling her by her God given name. Buffy. Spike couldn’t help but find it funny. Funny that such little things go by unnoticed until someone points it out. Because, at that point, it had become second nature.

“Stop avoiding the bloody question. Why do you want me to help you deal with the Council? No, wait. What makes you think I’d even make a difference. I’m just a vampire.” Doc amended Spike’s observation.

“That can stand in direct sunlight. And that’s recently come back from the dead. Literally.”

“Point. So, I’m not exactly all fangy and grrr anymore. So what?” Doc’s voice was sullen, yet to the point, as he spoke.

“So, that makes you something other than a vampire. Something you’d never think of.”

“So, why don’t you tell me then and let’s end all the suspense, eh?” Doc’s face shifted from one of a serious demeanor to a playful one in a matter of seconds.

“Sorry. First you help me. Then I help you.” Spike realized that he wasn’t going to get the help he needed from the old man, so he spoke his mind.

“No deal then.” Spike folded his arms across his chest, watching the people walking on the sidewalk, the cars moving along the street. It’d been so long since he’d seen it this close. Well, in daylight, anyway. It was funny what some people took for granted. Spike turned his attention back to Doc, observing that the demon was now angered by Spike’s decision.

“I don’t understand. You should hate them as much as I do. It’s not like they tried to help you when you got that chip put in your head. In fact, the Slayer’s been nothing but the bane of your existence.” Doc’s voice lowered, but his anger remained. “The only reason she kept you alive for so long was so she could torture you.”

“Oi. That’s enough of that.” Spike moved forward, his hand gripping the old man by the shirt collar. “No need for name calling.” Doc simply chuckled when he realized the truth.

“My God. You’re in love with her.” Doc enunciated each word perfectly so it would sink in for Spike. “How. Utterly. Pitiful.” Spike gripped the old man’s collar tighter, pulling Doc closer to his face.

“Don’t care what you think, old man.”

“And it seems you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with, boy. It was a little over a year ago that I showed you how insignificant you really were when I threw you off that tower.” Spike’s retort left Doc speechless.

“Yeah? Then why’d you go through all that trouble, busting out someone that’s, how’d you put it? Oh yeah. Insignificant.”

Doc’s tongue flew from his mouth, pushing against Spike’s chest. Spike staggered backwards while Doc’s tongue retracted into his mouth, his hands adjusting his shirt collar as though he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror. As Spike regained his balance, Doc spoke.

“Well, I see that things aren’t going to be the way I thought they would be. Time to resort to the alternative.” Spike began moving toward the demon, every tendon in his body taut at the image of beating the old man into the ground.

“And what’s that?” Before Spike realized what was happening, Doc’s eyes shifted to their dark pools, then the incantation.

“Alieno. Credo.” Then came the flash of light in front of Spike’s face. Then he was standing on the sidewalk looking at an old man questioningly.

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” Doc smiled as he spoke.

“It’s okay, Rocco. I’m a friend. I’m here to help.”

It was weird, seeing things from his body like this. He knew now that Doc had cast some sort of spell on him back in London to make him forget his past, but since he was now remembering the past, Spike maintained the façade as he continued to walk with Doc back to his flat. That much he remembered as he muddled through the memories in his head, observing everything that transpired during his time in London.

“So, you say my name’s Rocco?”

“That’s right, lad.” Doc reached into his pocket, pulling out an envelope, which he then handed to Spike. “Here’s all you’ll need to get into the states.” Spike opened up the envelope, pulling out the small blue book and light green card. He first examined the card. On the top read Resident Alien, followed by a name immediately on the bottom. Spike read it aloud.

“Gaiman comma Rocco.” His eyes moved to the photo accompanying the name. Sure enough, there was a picture of himself in the small square box, the face in profile. Looking to the right of the photo, Spike saw the information pertaining to his date of birth, his new alien number, and where he would be entering the United States. “Los Angeles? I’m going to Los Angeles?”

“Well, it’s just a stopgap between here and your true destination.” Doc spoke softly, almost kindly, as the two men continued down the street. Spike silently cursed the bastard for playing with his mind as he looked on.

“So, where’s that exactly?”

“Sunnydale.”

“Come again, mate?” Spike mused on the question his younger self was asking. For all intents and purposes, the name sounded rather ridiculous. Sunnydale? Nothing particularly sunny about a place that resided on a Hellmouth. Spike looked on as his head turned, looking at Doc, Doc speaking in turn.

“I agree. It is a rather peculiar name for a city, but it’s a rather unique locale.”

“Why’s that?” Doc paused, observing the look on Spike’s face. Apparently, Doc thought he had Spike right where he wanted him. Unbeknownst to the old man, Spike had already lived this portion of his life and was simply going through a recap. Spike felt bitter at the fact that all he could do was look on at his past actions when all he wanted to do was to shove the smug bastard’s nose up into his brain. But, that wasn’t possible now. Because the man standing in front of him was already dead. Doc continued walking, never looking at the man next to him, as he spoke.

“It’s the home of the Slayer.”

“Slayer? That the person you want me to meet, right?”

“Something like that. Yes.” Spike maintained his pace with the old man while wondering how deep this deception went. “For now, I want to make sure you get to the states safe and sound.” Doc reached into his pocket and fished out a key. From the look of it, Spike gathered it was a locker key. Doc tossed the key to Spike, Spike grabbing it out of the air deftly.

“What’s this?”

“You’ll find everything you need at the airport. Look for the locker that key goes to.” With that, Doc started walking away from Spike. To say Spike was confused was an understatement. Spike called back to the old man, questions surrounding his mind.

“Where are you going?” Doc never turned back as he continued walking away.

“I have some loose ends to tie up here. Don’t worry. I’ll meet you in California soon enough.” Spike had to ask.

“How will I find you once I get there?” Doc gently chuckled as his figure disappeared around the corner of the building.

“Don’t worry, Rocco. I’ll find you.” And with that, he was gone. Spike remained in the street, his hand gently gripping the key. Okay, so what did he know now? That Doc was responsible for his exit from the Watcher Council as well as his exodus to America. What else? Spike shrugged his shoulders as he walked in the opposite direction of Doc. Maybe the airport would have some clues.

However, before Spike could think upon that possibility, a bright light surrounded him, Spike shielding his eyes. After the light subsided, Spike slowly opened his eyes. Unfortunately, he was no longer standing on the sidewalk in London. Instead, he was sitting in a chair situated in a room. By the looks of it, he’d gather it was an office building of some kind. As Spike’s eyes fell upon the intricacies of the room, the door behind him opened, Spike turning his head instinctively.

Through the door walked a man dressed in business attire, a smile on his face and a thin mustache over his lip. He walked past Spike around the desk that was situated in front of Spike. After sitting in the more refined chair, the man spoke.

“Hello, Mr. Gaiman. I hear good things about you from Doctor Ribodeaux.” Spike had no idea of the name but decided to play along.

“Um, Doctor…” The man gently laughed as he interrupted Spike.

“I’m sorry. You probably know him as Doc. Sorry about that. Keep on forgetting that he rarely uses that name.” Spike awkwardly laughed as he spoke.

“Yeah, right. Doc.” What did that bastard get him into now? “So, Mr…”

“Mr. Stevens. But you can call me Bob.

“Alright. Bob.” Spike spoke matter of factly. “So, what am I doing here exactly?” Spike wasn’t ready for the hearty chuckle from the man sitting in front of him.

“Doc said you had a sense of humor.” Spike nodded, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Well, I’ll play along, Mr. Gaiman. You are here today to interview for a position in accounting.” Accounting?

“Accounting?”

“That’s right. Doc told me that you were very good with numbers.” Sure. Spike knew the price for a pack of Camels including tax. Other than that, bugger off. It wasn’t like Spike needed to worry about monetary concerns. Whatever he needed, he usually had enough money to pay for it. If he didn’t, he’d just pinch the damn thing and call it a day. As Spike wondered about what Doc had gotten him into, Bob reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a single sheet of paper, holding it out to Spike. Not knowing what else to do, Spike reluctantly took the sheet from Bob. “Show me what you got?”

“Excuse me?” Bob smiled as he spoke.

“What’s wrong with that 1040?” Spike’s eyes moved from Bob to the sheet of paper in his hand. Okay. How hard could this be? After all, it was just adding and subtracting with a pinch of multiplication. Right?

Spike skimmed through the numbers in the right hand column, noticing that the math was correct for each entry. As far as he was concerned, everything was okay with the document. It was at this point that Spike thought that he was being made a fool of, and that Doc was enjoying every moment of it. As Spike was about to admit defeat, his eyes fell upon the name on the document. That’s when it clicked.

“Ms. Diane Allen?” Spike heard Bob make a sound between a sigh and a thoughtful hum. He paid it no mind, however, as he went back to the number of dependents listed. And, sure enough, there it was. Staring at him in all its glory. “Number of dependents. Two.” Bob made that sound again. Apparently, Spike was on the right track. “Is she divorced?”

“Don’t know. She didn’t list it.” Sure enough, when Spike looked at the document once again, she had left the portion that indicated marital status blank.

“So, the numbers match up but you’re not sure if she has children? Is that the gist of it, Mr. Stevens?”

“Bob.” Spike noticed that the man’s smile had grown upon hearing Spike’s query.

“Right. Bob.” After acknowledging the man in front of him as indicated, Spike continued. “So, what do you do in situations like this?”

“The usual. Send back a letter stating to fill in the missing portions and refile. If she fills out separated or divorced, then she’s okay. If she sends back single, then we’ve got a very careless individual on our hands.” Spike smirked, getting the point. “I’m impressed, Mr. Gaiman.” Bob rose from his chair, moving around the large marble desk, stopping at the corner to sit on the edge. “Most applicants usually rack their brains over the numbers, trying to figure out why they came out correct. But you.” A small chuckle escaped Bob’s lips as he continued. “Hate using this. But you thought outside the box.” Both men laughed at the description. “Congratulations, Mr. Gaiman. You start Monday.” The news startled Spike to the point of honesty.

“But…but what about my handling with numbers?”

“I trust Doc.” Bob extended his hand to Spike, Spike taking it cautiously. “And you’ll learn as you go.”

“But I don’t have the right credentials.” Another chuckle from Mr. Stevens as he reached back on his desk, pulling out a slip of paper from a manila folder. He began reading as Spike listened on.

“Says here you got your MBA from Oxford. Top ten percent of your class no less. So, I’d say you’ve got the right credentials, Mr. Gaiman.” Spike eyed him quizzically, Bob handing him the sheet of paper to verify what he had already spoken. Sure enough, it was all the truth. Or, as much of the truth as Doc could fabricate. Right now, it seemed like Doc was his best friend in the world. So, why didn’t Spike remember Doc when he met him in Sunnydale? “So, should I be preparing a cubicle for you?” Spike looked up, seeing Bob smiling back at him.

“Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” Spike rose and shook Bob’s hand again. “See you Monday.”

“Good, then. Monday. Welcome to Sunnydale Investments, Mr. Gaiman.” Spike smirked as he opened the door.

“You can call me Rocco.” Another soft chuckle from Bob and Spike stepped through the door. Unfortunately, instead of walking into a hallway or reception area, Spike walked into another flash of bright light.

Spike opened his eyes, but all that entered his vision was blinding white light. That and the sensation of not being entirely there. He tried to move his head to look around, but he found that he couldn’t. He tried his other appendages, but those failed him as well. All he could do is hear the sounds around him. That and smell. The fragrance was oddly familiar. Like the smell of your mother’s pot roast after years of absence. You might not remember the taste. But the smell always took you back to simpler times. To more familiar times. Just like now.

The scent was a mix of chrysanthemums hinted with vanilla. And a familiar sound surrounded him. What was that? Was that leaves blowing in the wind? Before Spike could ponder on the location he was now in, the voices came.

“Tell me why we should do this?” The voice was male, and very perturbed by the inflection. Spike tried to voice his concern, but realized that his voice also failed him. All he could do was listen on, trying to piece together what had happened him after his reappearance in London.

“He can’t kill the Slayer. If he does, there’ll be no chance of stopping him once he gets out.” This voice was female, and more rational by the sound. And very gentle. Almost like Buffy. Almost. But, why would he want to kill Buffy? Oh, that’s right. Because Doc mojoed him into believing his lies about the Council and the Slayer.

“You really think Dante will…” The man didn’t have the chance to finish this question, the woman interrupting him with an immediate answer.

“Yes. If it means going home. He will.” Spike could hear the sorrow in the woman’s voice. As if it pained her to no end.

“How will altering the spell help aid the Slayer? For all intents and purposes, you’ll be sending a madman back there.” Spike wanted to object. After all, he had been amenable to Buffy and the Scoobies when he was a vampire. “It’s not like he has the chip to control his impulses anymore.” No chip? That explained a lot. Somewhere between dying in the cemetery and coming back in London, he had gotten rid of the damn Initiative leash. Not that he noticed. Because he didn’t remember it. Just what Doc and the Eye of Veritas had told him.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you hated William almost as much as Dante.” Wait. They knew him? How? Spike couldn’t help but attempt a sigh as he listened on in frustration.

“No, that’s not it.” After a moment of silence, the man continued. “It’s just. Why him? What did he do to deserve what has been bestowed upon him?” The woman answered frankly.

“He’s saved the world twice. Three times if you count that Adam debacle.”

“I won’t. He tried killing the Slayer for God’s sake.” The woman slightly giggled at the man’s tone.

“Well, we can’t fault him there. It was in his nature. The fact that he went against his nature during the Glorificus incident should be an indication that William is a unique individual.” The man spoke, a hint of anger in his voice.

“But he did that for a woman.” The woman chimed in, correcting her male companion.

“No. He did it for love.”

“You call that love?”

“Yes. Any proof of that should have been evident when he gave his life to close the gates.” Spike waited for the typical counterpoint from the male, but found that none came. Only a deep sigh coupled with a groan. Then the voice.

“You honestly think he won’t go back to his old ways once we send him back?”

“No, I don’t. He’s had his chance in the past to kill her and didn’t. He won’t now. Not with so much on the line.” Another sigh from the man.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Haruna.” Spike heard the sound again. This time it was more audible. It sounded like fluttering. Like a flock of birds flying overhead. Then a tingling sensation surrounded Spike’s body. The pain flooded all of Spike’s senses, drowning out everything around him. The last thing he heard before fainting was the woman’s voice. Haruna’s voice.

“For all our sakes, Gabriel. I hope so too.”

Spike found himself falling down, his arms splaying out to brace himself. For some reason, he thought the fall would have been of a greater distance. But, instead, Spike found himself hitting the ground as soon as he felt the sensation of freefall. Then the voice.

“Spike? Are you okay?” Spike opened his eyes slowly to find Giles standing in his field of view. Spike looked around quickly, noticing that he was still in the Watcher’s Council inner sanctum.

“Rupert?” Giles bent down, grabbing Spike’s arm and helping him up. “What’s going on?”

“Wait. We need someone to look at those wounds.” Wounds? Spike followed Giles’ line of sight to his chest. The sight was one that quickly brought him back to the present. Two deep gash wounds covered Spike’s chest, the anger quickly entering him once again. Spike looked around, expecting Rachid to be smiling smugly at the violence he had inflicted to Spike. Instead, he saw Rachid kneeling on the ground, his claw gently massaging his temple. If Spike was guessing correctly, Rachid looked like he was in more pain than Spike was at the moment. Actually, Spike didn’t feel that weak, gently pushing away from Giles’ grasp.

“S’alright, Rupert. Think I’m okay.”

“You’re bloody well not. Rachid impaled you, for God’s sake.” Spike decided to alleviate the Watcher’s concern.

“But I’m feeling better.” Giles smirked at Spike, allowing him his space. Spike asked the obvious question. “How long was I out?” Quentin’s voice chimed in from the end of the chamber.

“A few seconds.” Quentin looked at his watch, looking for a more accurate answer. “Seven, to be more precise.” Seven seconds? Spike couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The past few months had just flashed through his mind, and all it was worth was seven seconds? And what the hell was that last moment? He tried to remember the incident, but it was quickly fading from his mind, almost like a dream. But the woman’s name remained on the tip of his tongue. Haruna.

Giles inspected Spike’s wounds, seeing that the shirt he had loaned Spike was torn to pieces, what remnants remaining on Spike’s body matted in his blood. It was undeniable. Giles wasn’t getting his favorite shirt back. The Watcher put the thought to the back of his head, moving his mind back to Spike’s well being.

“Are you sure you don’t need any medical attention?” Spike shook his head, gliding his hand across the portion of his now exposed chest, indicating that the wound was indeed superficial. But, that couldn’t be true. Giles and all of the elders saw Rachid basically skewer Spike with his claws before he began the scan. Spike nodded at the Watcher, his gaze moving back to the Fakkir demon that was still kneeling on the ground. Spike began to make his way to Rachid, intending to return the favor that the Fakkir demon had seen fit to give to his chest. Sure, he could scan by touch. But impaling one’s person went way beyond professional. However, before Spike got within a few feet of the demon, Rachid howled maniacally, pulling himself along the ground to stay away from Spike.

“Stay away from me!” Okay. That wasn’t the reaction Spike was expecting. Giles moved closer to Rachid, once again placing his body between Spike and Rachid, this time worrying for Rachid more than Spike.

“What’s wrong, Rachid?” Giles noted that Rachid relaxed a bit when Giles moved closer to him. That was a good sign that the demon hadn’t completely lost his mind. “Tell me what’s wrong.” The whispers among the elders intensified upon seeing Rachid’s outburst.

“Too much. Too much.” Giles didn’t understand what Rachid was babbling about.

“Too much what, Rachid?” Rachid began to sound coherent, but his eyes never left Spike.

“Too many sensations. Too many unknowns.” Quentin’s voice echoed through the chamber, no hint of compassion in it.

“Rachid. Is Spike the male Slayer incarnate?” Giles turned back to Quentin, a look of distaste mixed with hatred being shot at the head Watcher. Unfortunately, Quentin didn’t pick up on the look. Or, he didn’t really care what Giles thought about him. All Quentin wanted at the moment was the answer to his question. “Rachid? Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. So, what’s the answer, Rachid?” The Fakkir demon groaned in pain as he spoke.

“Not a Slayer.” Quentin couldn’t believe the demon’s words.

“Are you sure, Rachid?” Quentin got the same response.

“Not a Slayer.” Giles tried to help Rachid to his feet, but he refused the Watcher’s hand, finally getting up of his own recognizance. Once on his feet, Rachid looked at Spike, a hint of anger and fear in his voice. “What the hell are you?!?” Spike’s smirk hid the uncertainty now clouding his mind.

“Not a vampire. That’s for certain.” Spike’s head dropped to the ground, not wanting to look at Rachid. “What did you do to me? I can feel my memories coming back to me.” And they were. Everything. From Drusilla turning him to his first Slayer to his last. Rachid spoke, anger now replaced with only fear.

“Interrupted the spell that hindered your memory.” That sounded right. After all, Spike did see Doc place some type of spell over him right after they made their way from the Council. Spike needed to make sure what Rachid was saying was correct.

“Interrupted?” The anger and anxiety essentially disappeared from Rachid’s voice. But, even though his voice was calm now, Spike could still hear the fear in it.

“My scan disrupted the spell placed by Doc.” Well, that was all the confirmation Spike needed. Now he had to make sure everything was squared away between himself and the Council. Spike turned back to the Council elders, eyeing the gallery of people before fixing his gaze on Quentin.

“I’m not a Slayer. So, I’m going now.” Spike turned his back on the elders, walking toward Giles. However, Quentin’s anger tinted voice stopped him in his tracks.

“You’re not going anywhere, William. We still have young Dawn Summers under our watch. We can take her whenever we want.” Giles looked at Quentin in shock. That wasn’t the deal the two men had agreed upon earlier. If Spike were a Slayer, then he would stay. But Rachid didn’t know what Spike was, so he had no reason to stay for the Council. And now he was being blackmailed with the one thing that would possibly change Spike’s mind.

“That wasn’t the deal, Quentin.” Quentin looked back to Giles, his vexation growing for the Watcher with a conscience.

“It doesn’t matter, Rupert. William may not be a Slayer. But he’s also something that has Rachid trembling in fear.” Quentin motioned to the Fakkir demon to the side of the chamber, which was still maintaining his distance from Spike. Spike knew that it was a gambit, but it was the only thing better than working for these bastards.

“That’s right, mate. I’m something else. I may not know yet.” Spike paused, walking back toward the elders in their seats. “But I will eventually. And I’m sure, based on your mind screwing demon’s reaction over there, I’m something worse than a Slayer.” Spike folded his arms across his chest, now realizing that Giles’ shirt was in tatters. He’d have to rectify that later. It was the least he could do. After all, Giles did treat him right since they arrived in London. Even before, in Sunnydale, Giles had tried to do the best he could for his sake as well as Buffy’s. The least he could do was buy the man a new shirt.

Spike spoke once again, making sure his voice sounded more confident than he felt at the moment. “So, I’m guessing you’re gonna want to be on my good side. Who knows? I might remember this next decision as either a very generous favor.” Spike looked over the elders once again before fixing his gaze on Quentin once again. “Or, the decision that buggered the Watcher’s Council.” Quentin’s adam apple could be seen working in the man’s throat, giving Spike hope that his little act was working. Time to punctuate this little play. “Your move, Quentin.”

Giles moved back to Spike’s side, whispering to him as the elders spoke amongst themselves. “What are you doing, Spike?” Spike never looked at Giles as he spoke.

“Playing chicken. Now, let’s see who flinches first.” Giles nodded his head, both men standing side by side, looking at the elders. Finally, the murmurs quieted, Quentin looking at the two men standing in front of him. “So, what’s the verdict, Quentin?” A quick sigh emanated from the Watcher’s lips before he spoke to the two men.

“You’re free to go, William. But, only on one condition.” The man had big ones. Spike had to give him that.

“Yeah? Well, spit it out.”

“Giles becomes your Watcher.” Spike and Giles looked at one another, an air of confusion consuming both men. Giles was the first to speak.

“But, why? Spike isn’t a Slayer.” Quentin answered the question frankly.

“That may be true. But he’s still an unknown variable. The Council would rather observe and maintain William instead of risking him becoming an even greater danger than when he was a vampire.” Spike finally understood what the elders were getting at.

“Oh. That’s it, eh? I’m not a Slayer, but might as well treat me like one. Innit right?” Quentin nodded acknowledgment. “Okay. Say I play along. You stop monitoring the bit and get your men out of Sunnydale.” Spike didn’t mean it to be a question.

“If that’s what it’ll take, William. Then, yes. We can agree to those terms.” Spike nodded, giving Giles a small smirk. Apparently, Spike’s gambit paid off. But, he had to make sure.

“I mean it, Quentin. Any hint of your men around Dawn, and the deal’s off. And I don’t think the Slayer’s going to be as forgiving as I am once she finds out you reneged on the deal.” This last statement caught Quentin by surprise.

“You’re not going to tell her?”

“Why would I? I’d be a liar if I did. By the time I told her, your men would be long gone, right?” Quentin nodded, a small smile on his face. Spike turned to Giles. “I think we’re done here, Rupert. Feel like dinner?” Giles smiled as the two men turned to walk to the chamber doors.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“I’m thinking Cantonese. What do you think?” Giles smirked at Spike as he spoke.

“I can do Cantonese.” As the two men reached the doors to the chamber, Quentin called after them.

“William.” Spike and Giles turned around slowly, wondering what the elder could possibly want now. “Since we’re in such an amiable relationship now, I think you’d like to know how and where we found you when you came back.” Honestly, the thought hadn’t even crossed Spike’s mind. He just assumed that he was placed back in London by Dawn’s whims and just left it at that. But there was a specific location. Spike decided to listen to what Quentin had to say.

“Okay. How and where exactly, then?” The answer was the last thing Spike expected.

Buffy was glad to leave the bank for her lunch break. Unfortunately, her lunch break wasn’t at noon. If it were, she would have gone to the hospital with Tara to pick up Willow. But her lunch break was at two in the afternoon. So, all she could do was wait until later to meet up with Willow and the rest of the gang. Hopefully, Tara was more than enough company for Willow right about now. However, Buffy didn’t want to think about that right now. The only thing on Buffy’s mind was getting some food into her stomach. Sure, she might be the Slayer, but this work thing had a way to take it out of her.

She rounded the corner, wondering what she wanted for lunch when she walked past Georgio’s. The restaurant brought back memories of that fateful night. The same night that Spike came back into her life. And now, he was half a world away, trying to get his memories back. Hopefully, once he got the answers he needed, he’d come home. Back to Sunnydale. Back to her. But, before she could ponder the possibility, a familiar voice stirred her from the memory.

“Hey, Buff. Whatcha up to?” Buffy looked across the patio area to see Xander and Anya sitting under at one of the tables, a large umbrella akin to a beach umbrella shading them from the sun. Buffy walked over to her friends, pulling a chair out to sit down. Once situated, Buffy answered Xander’s question.

“Just on break. Looking for some sustenance.” Buffy eyed her friends curiously. Georgio’s was on the other side of town from Xander’s latest site and Anya never left the shop for lunch. Something was definitely up. “So, what’s up with you guys? Spontaneous lunch?” Anya looked at Xander, trying to contain her smile. Unbeknownst to Buffy, Anya had finally managed to convince Xander to take a sick day. Anya was initially shocked that Xander took so much convincing, but once she did, Xander was all hers.

“Actually, we didn’t go to our perspective works today.” Buffy began to smile, realizing what was going on. She noticed they were more happy than usual. Now she knew why.

“Oh. But what about the shop, Anya?”

“It can get by without money for one day.” Buffy’s jaw would have hit the table if it weren’t for the fact that it was connected to her skull. She turned to Xander to verify the truth in Anya’s words.

“Yeah, Buff. We’re playing hooky.” Buffy gently chuckled as she spoke.

“Wow. Maybe I should take a lesson from you guys. But, I’ve already taken the Friday off so we can make the final preparations for the big day.” Buffy couldn’t believe how fast the time had gone. It felt like almost yesterday when Anya joined the group, becoming Xander’s girlfriend. Now, they were about to become husband and wife in a few days. It was a fact. They had all grown up, their childhood far behind them now. Buffy decided to change the topic before she got too contemplative about her life. “So, what did you guys do with your day off?” Anya answered immediately.

“We had lots of sex.” Xander sheepishly grinned as Buffy envied her friends. They were happy while she was miserable. Well, not miserable. She was happy. Happy that things were going well with Dawn and herself. That she was able to maintain a steady job and support the household. That Willow was awake and healthy. That her friends were getting married. But, as always, her mind went back to Spike. It was frustrating, waiting for him. But she had promised him that morning in front of her house that she’d wait for him. Till the end of the world.

Xander chimed in, interrupting Buffy’s train of thought as well as Anya’s tirade. “We also stopped by the hospital to see Willow. She looks good.” Anya turned to Xander, a hint of jealousy evident in her look. “Um, healthy.” Anya moved her gaze back to her drink, Xander continuing. “Tara took off the rest of the day from classes. She and Willow are gonna get reacquainted, I guess. They were making those puppy dog eyes at each other at the hospital.” Buffy sighed. She was happy for Tara and Willow, but it felt like Buffy was the only one that had relationship issues. Sure, my boyfriend’s back, but he doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t love me. Buffy spoke before she ended up depressing herself.

“So, are we still on for tonight? It’s Willow’s big day, after all.” Xander answered while Anya motioned the waiter over.

“Definitely. It’ll be like old times. All of us, a happy group of Scoobies.” All but one, Buffy instinctively thought to herself. But, then again, Spike was never really a part of the group. Buffy decided to stop thinking about the future and focus on the present. The present was a more joyous moment in time than what the future might hold. The waiter finally moved over to the table, taking each person’s lunch order. Once the waiter moved back into the building, Buffy spoke.

“So, I’m thinking the Bronze. What do you guys think?” Anya responded.

“That sounds nice. Give me a chance to practice my dance moves for the wedding.” Buffy smiled at the comment.

“Practice?” Xander chimed in.

“That’s right. Anya may be the encyclopedia when it comes to all things demonic, but she’s got two left feet.” Anya gently smacked Xander on the shoulder, Xander feinting injury. Buffy smiled, enjoying the moment. These were a rarity in her life. She was going to enjoy each and every one, God help her.

Willow sat on the bed, looking at the surroundings. Tara hadn’t changed much. There was a new stuffed kitty on the bed, but other than that, things had remained the same. But that wasn’t true. Things were different now. She knew that she’d have to earn the trust of her friends after what she had done. She had almost killed Dawn. She was responsible for Spike’s current situation, although she was still unsure of what had transpired on that front. She would have to talk to Buffy about that, later. But Willow was sure of one thing. Amy was dead because of her. And there was nothing she could do to bring her back.

Well, she could use the magicks she had acquired and attempt to bring Amy back to the living, but she risked the danger of unleashing the dark energy that had once consumed her. Making her irrational. Making her dangerous. Willow wouldn’t risk it. Not now. Not when things were so fragile between her and her friends. As the thoughts swirled through Willow’s mind, the bedroom door swung open, Tara entering the room. Willow looked up, gently smiled, Tara returning it in kind.

“So, how are you feeling, Willow?”

“I’m good. Just a little tired. But good.” Tara sat next to Willow on the bed, handing the cup of tea to Willow. Willow graciously accepted the beverage, taking a small sip, holding the cup in both hands. Tara spoke as Willow brought the cup to rest on her lap.

“Is there anything you need? Something to eat, maybe?” Willow nodded, her eyes focused on the cup in her hands. “Okay. I’m home for the rest of the day, so if you need anything, just let me know. Okay?” Tara could see Willow’s lips curve upward slightly even though her eyes still remained tired. A moment of silence hovered in the room until Willow spoke.

“What happened to Amy?”

Tara fumbled for words, the question taking her by surprise. “You mean, where was she buried?” Willow finally looked up from the cup, her gaze locking with Tara’s.

“No. I mean, what happened that night? I don’t remember.”

“Willow…”

“No, Tara. I need to know.” Willow could feel herself on the verge of tears. “Please.” Tara nodded, understanding the pain behind Willow’s eyes. Tara told her the truth.

“Drusilla was holding Dawn hostage, so Spike grabbed Amy and tried to make a trade. But, it didn’t work. I guess Spike’s yells were disrupting your concentration on the spell to open the hellgate, because you released some magic at Spike. Spike moved out of the way in time. Amy didn’t.”

Willow’s hands began to tremble, the cup clashing against the saucer. Before any liquid could spill out of the cup, Willow placed the cup on the floor, her hands now clenched about each other. Tara tried to offer solace by soothing Willow’s back, but Willow simply jerked away from her friend’s touch. Tara eased back, allowing Willow enough room to gather her thoughts, but stayed close enough so she’d be able to comfort Willow if she needed it. After an awkward silence, Willow spoke.

“Where is she?” Tara didn’t understand the question until Willow clarified. “Amy. Where is she buried?” Tara didn’t know if Willow was ready for such an emotional burden.

“Honey…” Willow interrupted Tara’s sympathetic segue.

“No, Tara. I need to see her.” Willow turned to Tara so she could see her eyes. The seriousness of the situation. “I need to see her.” Tara nodded, understanding the pain that hovered in Willow’s eyes. So, she said the only thing she could, given the situation.

“Grab your coat.”

Willow didn’t know how long it took to get to the cemetery, but the surroundings looked familiar. Almost to the point of déjà vu. Tara stayed close to Willow’s side, allowing her space. However, this wasn’t how Tara envisioned Willow’s first day back. She thought that the day would be spent talking about what had happened since Willow fell into her coma. Then the gang would get together to celebrate her return. But things were far from pleasant right now. Instead, they were tense and awkward. But Tara understood. Willow needed this. She needed to face her past. To face her demons.

After a few moments of silence between the two friends, Tara’s pace began to slow, Willow’s eyes falling upon the headstone. Tara stopped walking, Willow still advancing toward the grave.

“Honey?” Willow ignored Tara’s concern, her eyes still not registering what she was looking at. Willow tried to read the words aloud, as though they would change if she said them, but found her voice failing her. Instead, Willow dropped to her knees, her fingers digging into the dirt. As the tears slowly trickled down her face, Willow felt a hand gently squeezing her shoulder. “Willow?”

“I did this.” Tara didn’t understand the statement. “Amy’s…Amy’s dead. Because of me.” Willow’s sobs came stronger now once the realization of the situation hit her. She was kneeling in front of Amy’s tomb, and she was the reason Amy was there in the first place. Willow knew that she didn’t deserve to live while Amy lay in the ground. She should have died that night as well. That’s when it hit her. “Is this…”

Tara answered Willow’s unfinished question. “This is where it happened. This is where the gate was opened.”

“Why here?” Tara kneeled down next to Willow, looking forward toward the tombstone.

“We all thought it’d be a constant reminder of how close we came to losing everything.” Tara turned to Willow, Willow already looking at her questioningly, tears still flowing freely. “And everything we lost.” Willow bowed her head, as if in shame, as she spoke.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Tara wrapped her arms around Willow’s shoulders, gently pulling Willow closer to her. Tara thought that Willow would pull away again. Instead, Willow brought herself closer to Tara, her sobs stifled against Tara’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Amy. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” Tara gently smoothed her hand against Willow’s hair, trying to soothe Willow’s sorrow. “Please forgive me. Please.”

Tara gently rocked Willow in her arms, not knowing what to say at the moment. So, she did the only thing she could. She held on to Willow as tightly as she could. And she never let go.

The car pulled up to the Summers’ house, Anya getting out of the passenger side. Xander followed close behind, holding two paper bags in his arms. It was evident that the couple had enjoyed their day together by the amount of shopping bags in the back seat. While Xander was at first adamant about spending too much money at the eve of the wedding, Anya had enticed Xander by picking out numerous sheer negligees from one of those classy women’s wear stores. However, those weren’t in the bags that Xander currently held in his arms. Instead, Xander brought a variety of snacks and beverages for the big get together. While it was still a bit early, the couple had decided on having some quality time with Willow, Tara and Dawn before Buffy got home.

Anya knocked on the door, Xander standing next to his fiancée, the bags beginning to feel their weight. No answer. Another knock followed by another moment of silence. Both gave each other a worried look, but before they could contemplate the ramifications of an empty house, the door opened.

“Hey guys.” Dawn stepped away from the doorframe, allowing Anya and Xander to come inside. “Have you seen Willow or Tara?” The moment of relief quickly subsided when they realized what Dawn was asking them. Anya was the first one to speak.

“They’re not home, Dawn?”

“Nuh uh. When I came home from school, the house was empty. I thought they might have gone out with you guys.” Xander put the bags down on the side table, his brow furrowed.

“You’re sure they’re not home, Dawnster?” Dawn could feel the restlessness in both Xander and Anya now.

“Yeah. The only thing I found was a cup of tea in Tara’s room. That’s all.” Xander didn’t want to voice his concern, but given the fact of what had transpired between Willow and the rest of the group in the cemetery, he felt he had no other choice but to accept the likelihood.

“We should call Buffy.” Anya spoke, trying to reason with her fiancé.

“She’ll be home soon. Let’s just wait before we start accusing Willow.” Dawn didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“Accuse her of what?” Xander sighed, looking at Dawn as he spoke.

“Dawn. We have to consider the chance that Willow might have done something to Tara.”

“No. I can’t believe that, Xander. She’d never hurt Tara.” Dawn honestly couldn’t believe what Xander was proposing. Willow was one of them. She wouldn’t do anything bad. Not now. Would she?

“Dawn. We have to at least consider the possibility.” Anya moved closer to Dawn, gently squeezing Dawn’s arm.

“He’s right, Dawn. As much as I hate to admit it, Willow might not entirely be herself right now.” Before Dawn could respond with a counterpoint, the door opened behind them. The group instinctively turned to the opening door to see Tara stepping into the house, a solemn look on her face. Dawn moved to Tara, wrapping her arms around her friend. Tara stepped back with the momentum, a little surprised at the welcome.

“Hey, Dawnie. What’s wrong?” Dawn gently laughed at the question.

“Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.” Xander moved to the door, closing it behind Tara as he spoke.

“Yeah. Are you okay, Tara? And where’s Willow?”

Tara slowly moved away from Dawn, facing Xander and Anya. “She’s with Amy right now.” The meaning of her words left the group almost speechless. Anya was the first one to break the silence.

“Was that a good idea? Leaving her alone?” Tara answered frankly.

“She asked me to. She wanted to spend some time with Amy.” Xander spoke, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“So, is she coming home soon? I thought this was supposed to be her big night back with the gang.” Tara shook her head, unsure if Willow would be home anytime soon. But, she knew it was right. Willow needed time to heal. The best way to do that was to face her past mistakes head on.

While it was only three hours since she left Xander and Anya at Georgio’s to go back to the bank, it felt like an eternity for those three hours to tick by so she could get off work and go home. Home. That word meant so much now during the last few months. It was her only solace after that grim night in the cemetery. If it weren’t for her home and her family, she most likely wouldn’t have survived the initial weeks without him. Without Spike.

Buffy walked down the sidewalk, taking her new path home. Well, it wasn’t really a path home. It was to Spike’s apartment. She had made a promise to Spike when he went to London. To take care of his flowers. And, so far, she hadn’t reneged on it. Every night after work, she went to his place to tend to his flowers. That’s how she reasoned it to herself. She only went there to take care of his flowers. But that was a lie. She enjoyed being there. Being surrounded by Spike’s things made her feel comfortable. Safe. Like he wasn’t really gone.

Buffy gently laughed at herself. Not even a year ago she was telling Spike how much she hated him. How much she wanted him to leave. And now, he finally took her up on the offer. He was half a world away, and she missed him so much that it hurt to think about him.

Their last words to one another remained with her. It was almost a death knell, remembering that moment. Buffy had told Spike that she missed him. And how did Spike respond? With an equal statement? No. Instead, he just said good night. But Buffy couldn’t blame him for his current dilemma. His memory loss coupled with Doc’s segments of the truth had caused Spike to second guess his feelings for those around him. Especially Buffy.

She pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the surroundings. When she had first become the Slayer, she had feared and loathed the cemetery. But, now, after everything she had been through in her years of fighting the undead, the cemetery had become more of a refuge than anything else. It may sound odd to someone not familiar with her life, but it made complete sense to her. It was her battleground. It was the one place where she could truly be herself without restraint. Be a warrior.

But the cemetery had eventually become another safe haven for her. It also allowed her to be a woman. Spike allowed her to be a woman. Buffy gently smiled at the moments of passion she had shared with Spike in his crypt those many months ago. But those weren’t the only moments she held precious. She never admitted it to Spike. In fact, she didn’t admit it to herself until he was gone. But the moments she enjoyed the most with Spike was post coitus. When all their bravado and false pretenses fell to the wayside, each acting as they truly felt.

Her mind automatically shifted to their conversation about redecorating each other’s room. Buffy couldn’t help but smile at the thought, Spike acting like a boyfriend, nuzzling against her after their lovemaking. It felt right, calling it that. Because Buffy finally realized that even though each other’s intentions were somewhat selfish, they were both there for the same reason. Because they both felt something only the other could give. As Buffy’s mind continued to replay that moment from the past, a voice stirred her.

“Buffy?” Buffy quickly came to her senses, her eyes surveying the area. When they came across the source of the voice, Buffy couldn’t believe where it had come from.

“Willow?” Buffy walked over to Willow, who was standing in front of a tombstone. It took only a moment before Buffy realized where she was. “So, I see you found her.” Willow nodded, looking back at Amy’s grave.

“Tara didn’t want me to come here, but I needed to see her.” Buffy nodded, understanding what her friend was going through. She had done the same thing when she thought Spike had died. While he was gone, it brought Buffy comfort speaking to him in the cemetery. She could only imagine that was what Willow was experiencing at this moment in time.

“So, did it help?” Willow turned to Buffy, a questioning look on her face. “Seeing her, I mean.”

“Oh.” Willow sighed before continuing. “Kind of. It’s almost cathartic, standing here. Realizing what I did.” Buffy interrupted her friend before she went on another guilt trip.

“It wasn’t your fault, Will. It was the magic.”

“Yeah, but I chose to use it. It’s not like the magic said, ‘Oooh, use me. I’m good for you.’” Buffy frowned upon hearing her friend’s words. A moment of silence existed until Buffy finally spoke.

“You see that tombstone over there?” Willow followed Buffy’s finger, seeing the shattered remnants of a headstone lying on the ground.

“Yeah.”

“That was Spike’s headstone. When he died.” Willow hung her head in shame. Hearing the pain in Buffy’s voice as she recollected that moment was all the proof Willow needed to convince herself that her friend had genuine feelings for the vampire. Or, whatever he was now. Tara hadn’t been clear on Spike’s resurrection. The only thing Willow knew was that Spike was in London looking for answers. Willow asked the obvious question.

“What happened to it?” Buffy’s voice was a mix of sorrow and forgiveness.

“Spike threw me through it while he was trying to kill me.” Willow’s countenance went from one of curiosity to one of shock almost instantaneously.

“What?” Buffy gently chuckled before speaking.

“It’s…it’s a long story. But, the main thing is, even though he wanted to kill me, he didn’t mean it.”

“How can you say that, Buffy?” Buffy answered truthfully.

“Because I love him.” Her eyes met Willow’s, the truth evident in her eyes. “Just like I love you, Will. No matter what happens, I’m always going to love you. Never doubt that.” Willow looked down at the ground, a small smile playing on her lips.

“You’re such a sap. You know that, Buffy?” Buffy gently chuckled.

“Yeah, I know. But I meant every word.”

“I know, Buffy.” Willow wrapped her arms about her chest, feeling the cold permeating the night air. “Buffy?”

“Yeah, Will?”

“I love you too.” Buffy gently smiled as she spoke.

“I know.” Both women looked at one another, sharing a gentle smile. After a moment, Buffy spoke. “Hey, what’s say we get out of here?”

“I’m all for that.”

“Good. But I got to make a quick stop. Promised Spike that’d I’d water his flowers until he got back.” Willow was sure she didn’t understand the words that Buffy had just spoken.

“Spike has flowers in his crypt?” Buffy gently chuckled, trying to explain the situation.

“Yes, Spike has flowers. And, no. Not in the crypt. Believe it or not, but Spike has an apartment.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Buffy smiled at her friend as they continued through the cemetery. “I’ll fill you in on what you’ve missed.” As an afterthought, Buffy had to ask her friend. “Hey, Will? You ever tried a Squishie?” Willow awkwardly smiled, not entirely understanding her friend’s question.

The door slowly opened, the early morning rays bathing the room in sunlight. Spike stepped through the door, Giles following right behind him. While it had been a long night at the Council, both had agreed that the sooner Spike saw this place, the sooner Spike would regain a piece of himself. As Spike moved into the abandoned living room, Giles spoke.

“So, this is it?” Spike nodded, not looking back at Giles.

“Yep. This is it.” Giles nodded, closing the door behind him as he moved further into the dilapidated house. Giles looked around, wondering what secrets the house held. And what memories would be regained from Spike’s being here. Spike turned around, facing the Watcher. “This was my home. This was where I was born.”

“Kind of fitting.” Spike shot Giles a quizzical look. “Dawn bringing you back here, that is.” Spike nodded, agreeing with the Watcher.

“I guess. Almost like I was given a second chance.” Giles went for the obvious.

“Like you were born again.” Spike chuckled at the reference.

“That’s one way to look at it.” Spike’s gaze fell upon the remnants of his past life. It wasn’t a bad life. He was sure if things had gone differently that night in the parlor, Spike would have lived out his life during his time. But, if that had happened, he would have never experienced all the things he had experienced with Drusilla. Never seen the different aspects of the world. Never met Buffy. Giles’ voice interrupted Spike’s current train of thought.

“So, Doc’s translation said that you’d show up here. It’s a shame we don’t know why here. Why Dawn.” Spike nodded.

“Yeah. Only bastard that possibly had those answers, I had to shove my hand through his chest.” Both men chuckled at the memory. Giles couldn’t resist.

“Yes. But it couldn’t have happened to a nicer fellow.” Spike’s chucked turned into a deep bellow. After the laughter subsided, Giles asked the obvious question. “So, what now?”

“What’s that?”

“Where do we go from here?” Spike smirked at the Watcher, taking comfort in the fact that Giles was sticking with him even though he really didn’t have a reason to. It made Spike feel somewhat better, knowing that there was someone watching out for him. After a moment of contemplation, Spike realized what had to be done. He turned to Giles, a slight smirk on his face as he spoke.

“We’ve gotten all we’re gonna get here. I guess it’s time to go home.”

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