When Eternity Lies In The BalanceBy Jericho TGF
Chapter Ten
Spike followed after Buffy, watching her as she hopped up onto the back porch and hurried into the house. As miserable as he was feeling, he couldn’t help but smile when he heard her bellow up the stairs to her mom. There she is, ladies and gents. There’s the little spitfire we all know and love. Said it before, I’ll say it again...she’s hell on wheels, that one.
The vampire went into the kitchen and picked up his duster from the chair, slipping it on in one smooth move. He had no idea what would happen now. The Oracles hadn’t mentioned how Buffy was going to get out of heaven, just that once she’d agreed to go, she’d be brought to them before heading back to her body shortly after she’d died. They hadn’t even told him how long it would take.
One thing was certain. He intended to be right there beside her until she was ripped out of his proverbial grasp.
Spike raised a hand to his lips, brushing his fingers gently across the skin there, turning his mind from what was coming and basking in the glow of her affection. She didn’t hate him. In fact, she’d let him know that it was no longer completely inconceivable for her to love him...someday. That he wasn’t going to be around to reach that day was of little consequence, it didn’t lessen the importance of the message.
And she had kissed him again, a sweet and gentle kiss. That brought the grand total up to two. To Spike’s way of thinking, two was nowhere near enough. Not to mention, as amazing as it was feeling the softness and warmth of those lips, what he really ached to do at least once was plunder that mouth until she couldn’t see straight. Drive the heat between them to a fevered pitch, to a point where it was so blatantly obvious even she could no longer deny that it exists. Turn her into a panting mass of quivering sexual longing. Give her some idea of what he felt every time he was near her.
He’d never dared try that before, as the dusting that would have surely followed would tend to put a crimp in a vampire’s plans for the rest of his unlife.
Standing in the kitchen, it hit him that he didn’t need to worry about that anymore. For the first time in a very long time, Spike grinned his notoriously cocky grin.
Come on, mate, what d’you got to lose? She could stake you, sure, but it would be better than sittin’ ‘round here, waitin’ for the master of the house to kick your pale, soulless ass out this bitch of a realm. And then there’s the other...she just might not stake you at all. Least you’d know for sure one way or the other.
He headed down the hallway, a gleam in his eye and confidence adding a swagger to his sauntering gait.
Buffy was standing next to the staircase, talking quietly to Joyce. Spike hung back a bit, waiting in the shadows as mother and daughter embraced tightly and kissed each other good-bye.
She turned to him when she was finished, an innocently happy smile on her face. “Let’s go, Spike. Now’s not the time to be dragging your feet.”
He stepped forward, the light from the living room uncovering his face as he emerged from the darkness. Suddenly Buffy had a hard time drawing a comfortable breath.
Oh God, she thought. Look at him. How does he do that?
Buffy had always known that Spike had an innate sexuality that oozed from every pore of his undead body. She had resented it long enough, she should know. But there were also times, like this one, when he seemed to be able to consciously grab a hold of that part of him and shove it forward for all to tremble at. When the innate sexuality was pushed up several notches and he turned into a pure, walking, talking, testosterone time bomb. She wondered briefly if this was a trait of all vampires or if it was uniquely Spike.
Buffy was betting on the latter and she shivered a little under the intensity of his gaze.
It was odd how she’d never really noticed before just how attractive he was. LIAR! You have too noticed, you fool. Why else would he be able to disturb you on such an elemental level ever since you first crossed paths with him? You’ve noticed, you just chose to ignore the knowing because of what he is.
Her thoughts scared her. There was truth in them. There was also truth in the fact that he was a vampire. Still a vampire, if maybe no longer a monster. It was something she couldn’t avoid, especially seeing him as badly hurt as he was now. No human could have taken the beating she gave him and still be standing, stalking toward her with that predatory sexual intent blazing out from him and sending her nerve endings into overdrive.
Spike saw her fear and sighed mentally even as he continued his prowl to her side. She’s afraid of you, mate. But what did you expect? All o’ her sweet little words ‘bout you not being a monster...you’re still a vampire, though. And she’s still the Slayer, no matter what changes this place has brought ‘round. She may treat you like a man, you stupid git, but it’s the fang she sees first. Always that.
And maybe because he knew that he was a vampire, not a man, he didn’t let the fear in her eyes stop him. He wasn’t that noble.
Halting his steps a hand span from her petite frame, he looked down into her large, questioning gaze and smiled pure heat. Damn the bloody consequences, this was his Slayer, his Buffy, and he was going to have her mouth before he was destroyed.
Spike brought his hands up to cradle her face, impressed that she didn’t flinch at his touch despite the fear in her eyes. She deserves so much more than you, you bloody fool.
Speaking slowly, completely absorbed in her gaze to the exclusion of his surroundings, beyond caring that her mother was standing behind her, watching him, he opened his heart to her one last time and told her what was in it.
“I love you, Buffy. I. Love. You.”
His head swooped down to capture her lips before he could see the reaction to his words in her eyes. He didn’t want to know.
For a split second her mouth was unresponsive to his pressure but he felt the smallest of tremors go through her and felt her hands settle at his waist. Not long after that her mouth opened under his and he was lost.
His left hand moved on its own volition to the back of her head, fisting around a handful of her silky hair. His right traced its way down her back and crushed her body to his, fitting her soft curves to his lean frame in a way that was meant to be. Two interlocking puzzle pieces, it was as if they were made to fit together perfectly despite the wrongness of their opposing natures.
She burned him, scorched him with her heat. It was a blissful feeling and he reveled in it. Fire...blazing fire, spread through him, engulfing him as their tongues danced together - fought, parried, and retreated only to be hunted down to fight some more. It was heaven in hell, it was an oasis in the Sahara, it was food for the starved, drink for the parched, music for the deaf, color for the blind. It was a conflagration and it was beautiful.
And Buffy gave as good as she got.
The soft shiver of fear hadn’t withstood his gravelly voice when he told her he loved her. She wanted him to see it, but he had descended from above too quickly and it startled her. Then she felt his cool lips and his desire for her, and all thoughts of explanations had fled on eagle’s wings. Never had surrender felt so right, been so sweet. Reaped so many rewards.
He possessed her without asking, without caring if she was ready to be possessed. She would let that bother her later. For now, all that mattered was that glorious tongue of his and what it was doing to hers.
Her hands squeezed into his sides and she knew, without needing to ask, that he was as aroused as he’d ever been. And it was wonderful, not needing to hold back on her strength. She couldn’t hurt him; she didn’t need to worry about that. She could be herself - all of herself - and not worry that it would be too much for him to take.
This was Spike. He’d seen her at her worst, at her most vicious, at her lowest as well. He had felt her strength and not only survived, but came back for more time and time again. It was a heady release. It was freedom. It was an inferno of lust and she gave into it.
She felt his arm go around her, pressing her so close to him that she knew he could feel her heartbeat - not that he was paying any attention to it. She wanted to be that close, in that instant she wanted to be closer. His arousal was pressing into her, blanketed by his clothes and separated by hers, and in that split second she yearned to strip away those offending layers and feel his cool body against her warmth.
It was honesty and it was raw and it was something she couldn’t hide from or evade. Not while his tongue was in her mouth, while his hand was wrapped in her hair, while his arm was gripping her so hard she almost couldn’t breathe.
Spike growled low in his throat. He was lost. Reality had been stripped away and he was left trembling on a precipice of pure emotion. He had thought to teach her a lesson? What a fool he was. She had taught him, instead.
Buffy had responded to his desire in ways he had been completely unprepared for and it humbled him. And it brought the realization that it wasn’t just the desire he wanted from her, it was everything.
His mouth gentled its assault. Instead of plundering, it became seeking, questing. Passion was tempered by tenderness, lust by love. What was a war of mouths, he now wanted to be a playground.
He drew back slightly, rested his forehead briefly against hers before moving in again to sip from her lips. He traced his cool tongue over her swollen mouth, teased a response from her. She didn’t disappoint. He thought he could feel her soft smile before she repeated his actions to him, he knew he felt her hot tongue lap at his bottom lip before she sucked it into her mouth and caressed it wetly.
Too soon it was over, and Spike raised his head to stare into her eyes. They shared shocked and moved expressions. She was practically wrapped around him, and Buffy felt a twinge of embarrassment at her wanton behavior. It wasn’t like her at all. And yet, on some level, it was. She smiled even as she untangled herself from him, a shy smile that he saw and appreciated.
Right. Okay then. Ruling is you get to be not staked through the heart. And now there’s nothing hell can do to you that can strip the memory of that kiss away from you, mate. You are one lucky, if buggered, bastard.
Spike stepped back, his swirling emotions causing unnecessary panting, and tried to look busy straightening his clothes while in reality he was studying Buffy for her response.
Buffy didn’t know what to say. The kiss had been amazing but it complicated things. When they got back she would need to deal with whatever was going on between them. She’d handle it much better than she did last time, though. He deserved more than, “The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious.” Especially because she didn’t believe that was quite the case any longer.
The problem was he loved her. Loved her so much, in fact, that when he was asked to suffer heaven, he did. Just to get her back. Sure, he hadn’t been real forthcoming with his reasons for agreeing to do it, but Buffy knew. There was only one thing it could be, after all. The Oracles might have had a higher purpose with all that world saving, but that wasn’t exactly Spike’s gig.
She could no longer deny she felt something for him, but love...well, that was a whole different, continent-sized, scary level altogether. Remember your history. Love and Buffy. Big un-mixy things.
Accepting love, not rejecting it, was all well and good. Participating in the sadistic spectator sport was another thing entirely. And something about that kiss told Buffy that Spike wouldn’t settle for less anymore. Okay, time to be denial girl for just a little longer. Let’s get home first, then we’ll deal with the radically sexy vampire.
“So,” Buffy finally said in a shaky voice, “I’m guessing now would be a good time to go home.” She turned to give her mom one more good-bye, only to notice that Joyce wasn’t there. She must have decided it was better to give the two some privacy during that soul-searing lip smack.
“Mom!” she called. “We’re getting ready to go!”
Joyce stepped out of the family room, a magazine in her hand and a knowing smile on her mouth. “I didn’t want to intrude, so I thought I’d hang out in there until you two were...done.”
Spike felt a trickle down his spine at the wording Joyce used. It reinforced his belief that she knew more than what she was telling.
The two Summers women gave each other one more hug, Joyce whispering supportive words and instructions to her daughter about Dawn and what she should do when she got back. The vampire could hear, but tried to ignore the private conversation out of a respect for Joyce.
“Okay, Bleach Boy, time to get home and redefine resurrection.” Buffy’s teasing voice pulled him out of his musings about what Joyce did and didn’t know. She reached over and pulled the front door open.
Suddenly, Spike realized that his time with her was truly over. He didn’t know how he knew; he just did. He knew that as soon as Buffy stepped out of the house she’d be gone. He tried to call out to her, got a hand part way up to hail her, just to have two more minutes with her. Before he got a word past his lips Buffy stepped over the threshold into the lightening day outside.
And disappeared.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Tara was terrified. She’d seen the merge of Willow’s aura with Spike’s and tried to stop it, tried to pull her back. It should have worked. The connection should have been severed quickly and cleanly.
There was too much magickal power, raw and unrefined, coursing through the link between Willow’s physical body and her mental one out in the nether realm. It couldn’t be budged. And what’s worse, Tara could sense the agony that Willow was in and there was nothing Tara could do about it.
She wasn’t strong enough.
Tara’s mental eyes watched in stunned disbelief as things grew worse. There was a flash of light, and suddenly a pulsing mass of energy was quickly approaching through the dark dimension. Oh Goddess. That was Willow’s essence, her last link to her own reality. There is nothing Tara knew of that could pull and essence from a witch and drag it into the nether realm. She had read stories about some witches, and how they had initiated such a break out of a desire to escape persecution in their lives. It wasn’t suicide, but it was close. They would continue to exist in energy form in the gaps between dimensions, no longer conscious or aware of what they used to be.
At first Tara feared that Willow’s agony was so great that she had made the conscious choice to join those poor sisters of light as an escape. She should have known better. The last feeling Tara got from Willow was complete surprise at seeing her essence join with the mixed auras. She hadn’t initiated it. It had just happened. But what could possibly have caused it?
She didn’t have time to ponder. As soon as Willow’s essence had incorporated with the auras, Tara felt the backlash of power snap down the length of her connecting link, severing it, cutting her loose from all that was left of Willow.
Tara’s mind screamed out at the pain of it before everything went black.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Xander and Anya had been in the family room, relaxing, watching television, waiting for Willow and Tara to complete their spell when the shrieking howl of wind and Giles’ harsh curse could be heard coming from the living room.
Xander looked at Anya. “I’d be surprised...if this was an alternate reality.”
She smiled wryly at him before leaping up and following him out the door.
Giles was holding Dawn back from charging into the room when Xander showed up at his side.
“What’s going on?” Xander had to yell to be heard over the increasing sound of the wind. When he saw the mini tornado, and made out Willow in its epicenter, his jaw dropped in stunned amazement. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”
“Wow,” said Anya, impressed more than worried. “That’s a powerful spell. Is that an expected result?”
The two men shot her exasperated expressions, not bothering to respond. Giles handed Dawn off to Anya and stepped into the growing destruction of the room. He had to brace himself against the wind.
Giles wanted to get to Tara. She needed to break away from the spell so they could get some answers. He made his way carefully around the room, ducking flying debris and coming dangerously close to being conked over the head with some framed artwork that was lifted off the wall and sent his way.
The room seemed to react to his intrusion, focusing its swirling energy on lifting up anything and everything and sending it hurtling in his direction. He made it to Tara, barely, and was just about to grab her and yank her out of her induced trance when a bolt of electrical energy descended down from the ceiling and slammed into her. She was picked up bodily and thrown hard into Giles.
Xander, Anya, and Dawn watched in horror as the weight of the collision pushed Giles back into the fireplace. They could hear his head hit the stone with a sickly thud even over the roar of the wind. He fell to the ground with Tara sprawled across him. Neither one moved.
“Okay, I guess that means I’m going in,” said Xander, trying to sound confident but looking as scared and confused as he felt.
“Xander, no.” Dawn reached out and grabbed his arm before he headed in. “You saw what happened when Giles went in there, he was attacked purposely. Whatever that is swirling around Willow it doesn’t want us in there. If we go through the dining room, we’ll have a shorter distance to get to them and we might have a better chance of getting them out before we get smooshed.”
Xander studied her for a minute like he’d never seen her before. He couldn’t argue with her logic...not all of it anyway. “Good plan, Dawn, except for the ‘we’ part that includes you. Anya and I will be the we’s that go in, you stay here and warn us if anything looks like it wants to start a personal relationship with our insides, okay?”
Frustrated at being dismissed for being too young to help yet again, Dawn pursed her lips but nodded. Giles was in there, hurt or possibly worse (Dawn didn’t want to think of the worse part) and someone needed to get to him soon. There wasn’t time to argue.
Xander and Anya took off down the hallway to reach the dining room through the kitchen. As soon as they rounded the corner, Dawn turned back to the room. Gnawing on her bottom lip and going with pure gut instinct, she stepped in and headed quickly over to Giles.
She was by his side before the couple had a chance to make it to the other entryway. Feeling quickly for a pulse and being vastly relieved when she felt one, Dawn started in surprise when a very angry and worried Xander called out to her.
“Dawn! Get out of there!”
Dawn looked up and saw he was ready to come charging in after her. “No, Xander. Stay back! Look!” Dawn nodded her head to the room; the energy seemed to have taken no notice of the girl. Or it was purposely, mysteriously leaving her alone. “It’s fine. It doesn’t want to hurt me, but I don’t know - ”
She didn’t get a chance to finish, Xander saw that Dawn wasn’t being targeted and figured it was safe for him to go in. Two steps later he realized his mistake. The large picture window behind the couch imploded with a blast of tinkling glass, and sharp shards were tossed around the room like deadly clear projectiles. Several headed directly toward where the young man stood.
“Xander! NO!!” The call came from both Dawn and Anya, both of them screaming out a warning when they realized what was going to happen.
Xander froze; he couldn’t get himself to move. Next thing he knew he was tackled from behind. He fell hard, Anya yelling at him over the din in the room as he lay spread-eagle underneath her.
“That was not a good idea!” she practically screamed at him. “Last time I checked you were not impervious to lacerations, you know!”
He didn’t have time to defend his actions, the room had decided to empty the bookcase against the wall and they were both suffering the torment of thick, hardback books raining down on them.
“An, now’s not the time,” he managed to grunt out after taking a hard hit on the head. “Let’s get out of here, then you can yell at me all you want.”
“Fine, mister.” She crawled off him, keeping low, and waited for him to get to his hands and knees. “And don’t think I won’t take you up on that as soon as we’re no longer fleeing for our lives!”
Xander rolled his eyes, but followed her out of the room.
As soon as they got out the room quieted again - though quiet may be a bit of a misnomer. The energy in the room was still ignoring Dawn, who had turned her attention back to trying to get Giles to wake up. It took a couple of tense minutes, but she finally saw a telltale flutter of his eyelids when he started to come around. She didn’t want to upset the room again, and she had seen what it did to him before, so she leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“Giles. Can you hear me? I need you to wake up, Giles. Please wake up. We need you!”
She waited for a response but when he didn’t seem ready to give one she tried again. And again. Finally, on her fourth attempt he managed to moan a little.
“That’s it. Come on, Giles. You need to get up. Lying there is doing no one any good, but I guess I can understand, what with you being an old guy and all how you may not recover as fast as the rest of us.”
That got his attention and his eyes shot open, affronted at the implication he was old. “I will have you know, thank you very much, that I am not OLD!”
He turned his head, wincing at the pain from the wallop he took on the back of his skull, and saw the amusement glittering in her eyes, masking only slightly the very real worry she felt at him being hurt. He realized she was teasing him, goading him into a response, and he managed a weak, self-depreciating smile. “Remind me, won’t you, to give you the lecture on respecting your elders when this is all through.”
Dawn giggled, but rolled her eyes at him for effect. “Right, cuz that always worked so well on Buffy.” Then she got serious. “We need to get you and Tara out of here, but we need to be careful. The energy doesn’t seem to be interested in me, but Xander and Anya can’t come in and I’m afraid if it notices you it’ll go for you again.”
There seemed to be several things wrong with that statement, but Giles couldn’t quite make his mind connect to what they were. In truth, he was still addled by the knock on the head. It was somewhat humiliating, relying on a soon-to-be fifteen year old to get him to safety, but Giles was left with little choice.
“Could you do me a favor, Dawn, and help me move Tara off of my chest. It’s a bit hard to breathe.”
They managed to get Tara shifted, and Dawn told Giles what she thought they could do to get them all out safely.
“If you can pull Tara out, I’ll stand guard, make sure nothing comes at you while you go. Try to stay low, though. Crawling is best.”
It was Giles’ turn to roll his eyes and he pursed his lips in the bargain. “Stay low, she says. Right. We’ll just have to do that.”
Dawn stood and turned her attention to the room, looking for any signs that might indicate another attack. She heard Giles moving behind her and finally caught Tara’s prone body moving out of her line of vision as Giles pulled her to safety. The energy in the room did respond, but every time it tried to toss something Giles’ way Dawn would step into the line of fire (squeezing her eyes shut each time just in case she’d been wrong) and the objects would drop harmlessly to the ground.
There was no longer any doubt in the matter, the energy was consciously avoiding causing any injury to Dawn.
Giles had been watching as he moved on his knees, shuffling backwards and pulling Tara along while he went. It didn’t make any kind of rational sense. Why would the energy target everyone but Dawn? No answer was forthcoming, but he did manage to get Tara and himself to safety.
Dawn backed out of the room and shut the sliding wooden doors behind her, closing out some of the noise. When she turned around, there were three very confused adults staring at her in trepidation and curiosity.
“What?”
~*~*~*~*~*~
She was naught but a speck of gravel at the bottom of Niagara Falls, tossed and flipped and rolled by the torrent of emotions so immense that any attempt to separate them out, dissect them, would be as futile as turning the waters of the falls back and making it flow upwards.
She was a pawn, an actor in his play, and the smallest shred of Willow’s individuality - the only shred left - wailed for the creature that could not do it himself. She was carried along on the eddy of his aura trail, her senses - his senses - screaming out shrieks of diamond hard facts. It was almost like watching a movie while feeling everything the actors feel - if the movie was about nothing more than pain, death, and agony.
Loss, she’d been able to pick up on the loss. Probably because it permeated every other emotion and was by far the strongest. Heartbreaking, heart wrenching loss. The loss of a love, the loss of a life, the loss of responsibilities, the loss of self. Every imaginable type of loss was crippling him - her - along the way. And it was so dark, what was left of Willow’s mind couldn’t understand why it was so dark.
And then it wasn’t, and the hatred and rage - a vicious, feral rage - sliced into her. She wanted to kill, to tear apart flesh with her fangs. And the red demon in front of her...no, wait...blue demon in front of her was the target of all of that rage. And still there was loss, choking and suffocating loss. It fueled the fury, volcanic in its ferocity.
But the trail continued. Confusion, snippets of human looking creatures with really bad skin - no, painted? - And what was that...hope? Stripped away before it could take hold. Clarity - there was a moment of clarity - she felt that. Bitter despair swallowed that and hopelessness soon followed. She wished she could hear...wished she could really see more than snippets through the haze his emotions cast. It was all so blurry.
Oh God. No! Anguish, gaping, bleeding anguish and again rage. Something they said - those colored creatures - sent a dagger of pure horror and disgust through her heart and she wanted to shove their words, whatever they had been, back down their throats. And rip out their lungs while she did it so they could never do it again.
Still the loss was there, and it haunted her - a lonely wolf’s howl on a moonlit night, a banshee wail across the Scottish moor, the baying of hellhounds out for blood.
Boredom for a brief second, confusion too, disbelief, crazed hysteria tinged with resignation and sorrow so remarkably poignant it would make the gods weep. But no tears were shed, he had at some point accepted his loss - only to have that acceptance torn from him - her - and swallowed whole by a gapping maw of reality. She saw what it was, it was the only clear picture she’d seen so far, and it was hellish. She didn’t understand but felt that he did, fury fell away to misery borne out of a new type of responsibility.
Willow didn’t understand, she just felt, she was nothing but his feelings. Terror - oh, God the terror - and vile contempt for these creatures of destruction and desolation.
She sunk deeper into the pit, lost a little more self as the journey continued. Rage, hatred, anger, fear, loss, disillusionment, sorrow, anguish, torment, responsibility. Gasping, grasping for any escape from the swell.
And then she arrived. Where it should have begun. A lifted veil, a hidey-hole of cursed treasure, a maze and a Minataur. The realm. Seen through his eyes and felt through his feelings it was finally clear. Those creatures were punishing him, had to be. Why he was so accepting of it was only for his mind to know, his emotions shed little light on reason. A barren wasteland of toxic spewage, noxious nastiness, and craggy, unforgiving landscape. Knowing fear and torture lay beyond and willing to step in.
Willow’s mind, what was left of it, saw what Spike had seen just before the walls closed and the trail ended and was horrified in her own right.
It was more than hellish. It was hell.