Soulmates

By Miranda

Part 3

Shards of glass fell all around her, filled with mocking, laughing reflections. Not hers. Her face was gone. Something of hers was gone. Drusilla woke for the dozenth time with a sharp cry and sat up, brushing her hair from her eyes and whimpering as she hugged herself tightly for what comfort she could find.

At least it was night now. She scrambled from the bed and hastened, naked, to the window, letting cool star- and moonlight wash over her, wash the sharp, cutting thoughts away.

Not as bad as it could have been. She could feel the dreams of…that night…hovering close, waiting until she closed her eyes to pounce and slash and hurt her with the echoes of their screams.

Shouldn’t hurt. I like screams. They’re music, singing up the scales.

But not those, somehow. Never those. And no Spike to ward them away this time. The Slayer had him, even if she didn’t want to.

She looked down at the shape her finger had idly drawn on the dust of the windowsill. Two lines that crossed each other twice and made something like a flower, all curves and twining.

Drusilla watched it for a while as it flowed across the sill, let it draw her in. A path it was, for skipping down. Through mountain and meadow, across brook and river, back to the place where the Slayer kept Spike all locked up in the box of his heart.

Where the Slayer kept her face.

Her eyes widened in realization. She was the one who had it. Took Spike and took her face as well. That was too much. The Slayer had her own face and should give Drusilla’s back.

This is the way it’s supposed to be.

She shook her head, tried to shake the thought away, but it didn’t want to go. Neither did the one that whispered that there was something else in Sunnydale, something very like Angelus, but stronger. Something that could take her face and the Slayer’s too. Even though they were the same.

“No,” she whispered. “Not the same. Not in the least.”

And to prove it, she would go there and take back her face. She flexed her hands, the light catching on the sharp nails. If she changed the Slayer’s face enough, no one could mistake them.

She turned away, not noticing the breeze that blew through the windows, disarranging the pattern drawn on the sill.

________________________________________

Glory stared broodingly into the night, absently ripping small holes in the brocade drapes. Her Key was out there somewhere. She could feel it. She needed it. She was getting bored.

“All right, boys. Let’s see what your little rocks have to say.”

Her hand twisted in Murk’s hair as she passed, but it was perfunctory, barely enough to make him bleed. A caress. He shivered with pleasure, and hastened to cast the rune stones as Glory draped across the couch.

“They will sing of your victory most gloriously malevolent one,” Jinx crooned as he plied his fan. Long practice had made him skilled at finding just the right tempo to cool her flushed cheeks without disarranging her hair. “Wonderously proclaim your triumphant homecoming.”

“Yeah, yeah. It would be nice if they sang a little less and gave a few more hints about finding my KEY.” Her voice rose on the end and both minions trembled. They’d tried every divination they could think of, from rune stones to the entrails of a sacrificed virgin – and it wasn’t that easy to find a virgin these days – but nothing wanted to give information on the Key, and her most Serene Graciousness grew weary of their efforts.

“Perhaps tonight, your Significance,” Murk stammered. But when he bent to read the stones, he saw only his own impending death.

After a few moments, Glory asked in a poisonously sweet voice, “Is there a problem?”

“No, Voluptuousness.” He paused and took a deep, farewell breath. “Not yet.”

Instantly, she was on her feet and standing over him, making him shake with the force of her majesty. “YET? What YET? I don’t want to hear YET!”

It was quiet.

“WELL?”

“You said you didn’t want to hear about yet, Beauteous One.” Murk whined.

Then, he was dangling from her hand, staring into her maddened, yet lovely eyes .

“That. Was. Rhetorical.” she bit off. “You can look up what it means later. Right now, tell me about this soon-to-be problem.”

“The runes indicate that something may happen. Something that could create a very strong power.”

One fair eyebrow lifted. “Strong enough to defeat me?”

“Oh, surely not,” Jinx murmured soothingly. “It would not be possible. You would defeat anything simply by stunning it with your beauty.”

“Shut up,” Glory said without looking at him. “Talk, scab,” she added to Murk. “How powerful?”

“Very,” he choked. “The nature is unclear. Past and present…joining?”

“What does that mean?” she asked irritably and dropped him. Murk slid to his knees, trying to force air through his crushed windpipe.

Jinx shrugged helplessly, spreading his hands. “Do not fear, Glorificus. We will defend you with our lives.”

“Yeah. That helps. About as much as the rune rocks.”

Glory gazed down at her minions. “We’re going to have to accelerate, boys,” she announced. “I don’t feel like waiting for this power to show up. I need that Key, and the Slayer knows where it is.”

“Then we shall take her,” Jinx said instantly.

Absently, she seized his ear and wrenched. “Nooooo. Who you’ll take is the kid sister. She either knows something or is enough to make the Slayer deal. Especially after I start sending body parts through the mail.” She smiled. “That should keep the Slayer’s mind off anything like incoming powers. Watch the kid until you get a good chance. I don’t want this screwed up.”

“It shall be done,” Jinx said, bowing and trying to stanch the flow of blood from his ear.

________________________________________

Spike stared after Buffy’s retreating form.

What the hell was that about?

One minute she’d been throwing a punch at him, the next, staring down the alley, white as a ghost. And he should know.

Cautiously, he examined the boxes she’d scattered in her frantic search. There was nothing there. Had been nothing there, so why had she been so… frightened? He’d never seen the Slayer like that before, not even facing Angelus.

And if he had needed any additional evidence of his final transformation into a complete and utter pouf, he had received it when his anger with the Slayer had been swamped by equal desires to comfort her and throw himself against whatever was bringing that look to her face.

Now that she was gone, however, Spike could feel that anger beginning to return as he thought of what had passed between him and Buffy. Not even the knowledge that they were soulmates was enough for her.

“I wouldn’t be with you if the First Slayer and all the Powers That Be wrote that I had to on a big stone tablet.”

Bitch. As if she were what he’d pick given a choice. As if there weren’t prettier, more pleasant girls. Girls who knew when they were being paid a compliment. Girls who’d give a fellow half a chance…

Well, then. He stalked toward the mouth of the alley. He’d just go and find one of them. The Slayer wasn’t the only one who could ignore their soulmate.

He barreled around the corner and almost knocked over Tara standing just outside the entrance to the Bronze.

“Watch where you’re bloody going!” he snapped.

Although she’d been standing quite still, she stepped back obediently. “I’m waiting for Willow. She forgot her jacket inside.”

“Somehow, I didn’t think you were out cruising, Pet,” he sneered as he brushed by her. “And next time you get a vision involving me, keep it to yourself!”

Tara’s eyes widened, but being who she was, she didn’t point out that the only reason she’d had the vision was because of his actions in the fortune-telling tent. But then, she didn’t need to. Spike was quite aware of it, and it did nothing to sweeten his temper as he marched away.

“Did tonight happen the way you wanted it to?”

Her voice brought him to a halt and spinning around. “What?”

Tara’s shoulders were hunched, and her hands jammed deep in her pockets, but her voice was steady as she said, “Patterns are written in sand, not stone.”

He started back towards her, ready to demand an explanation, but at that moment, Willow came out of the club, and at sight of him, hastened to stand beside her lover.

“Is everything all right?” she asked warily, glaring at the vampire.

Tara nodded, also keeping her eyes on Spike.

Exasperated, he looked from one to the other, but not wanting to deal with the both of them, or anyone else for that matter, he threw up his hands, and cursing, headed for the semi-sanctuary of his crypt.

Did tonight happen the way I wanted it to? Yeah, like it would have happened any different if I’d been all sweetness and light. Been there, done that, gave it up for a bad job.

Spike flung himself into his armchair, leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to release the tension flowing through him. He’d turn on the telly in a moment, find a movie, preferably something with lots of guns and violence, absolutely not a romance. Maybe he’d get drunk. Drunk sounded good.

Cool air. A sense of space. The crackling of flames.

Oh, hell.

Cautiously, Spike opened his eyes and wasn’t terribly surprised to see that he was no longer in his crypt. He was seated in front of a large bonfire, and looking around, he saw that he was sitting on a rock under more stars than he had seen since the advent of electricity. Pillars of rock and scrub rose around him, and he could feel sand grit under his boots.

I’m in a desert. Like where that vision happened. Isn’t this just lovely?

Despite the fact that something in him was bypassing apprehension and heading toward panic, Spike made himself stand. He was William the Bloody and wouldn’t be taken in a shivering heap. He put a deliberate swagger into his step as he strolled around the fire.

And almost fell over the kneeling woman, drawing in the sand. She looked up at him, and his demon surged to the fore, knowing her in his blood and bones. Her face was painted like the Aborigines he remembered from a Discovery Channel special he’d flipped past, and her ragged garments did little to conceal the solid muscle of her body. Wild dark hair flowed in the desert breeze and ancient eyes regarded him coolly.

Slayer.

She came smoothly to her feet, producing a stake from somewhere in response to his ridged forehead and bared fangs. His weight shifted automatically into a fighting crouch. This would be good. Technically, she wasn’t human, so the chip shouldn’t fire.

“Stop.”

Tara suddenly stood between them, a hand on each combatant’s shoulder, pushing them apart with a cool strength she didn’t normally possess. “This isn’t your time,” she said to the Slayer, “Nor your fight.” She turned to Spike. “And is this what you want?”

He shook off the demon features and the witch's hand as the Slayer relaxed slightly and backed around to the opposite side of her drawing.

“You ask that a lot,” he said. "And it's not like I've got a lot to do with things."

“What you want will help shape what will happen,” Tara said, gesturing to the drawing. “Look.”

Spike knelt over the intricate pattern, tracing the lines with his finger. “Doesn’t look like the one you talked about. There are three lines, not two.”

“The other pattern has occurred. You’ve met them both. This is a later possibility.”

Two lines flowed together, became one, and then twined with the second.

“That looks promising. I’m always up for a threesome.”

The Slayer kicked her bare foot across the pattern, obliterating the lines, then knelt again to swiftly sketch another. This pattern also involved three lines, but this time two stopped abruptly, and the third continued on, winding in on itself until it reached a single point.

“Drawn in sand, not carved in stone,” Tara said softly. “Forces within and without shape the pattern that will form.”

“Think you might be a bit clearer?” Spike growled. “Or would that break the code of the Oracle’s union?”

“Long ago, a pattern existed that had Drusilla as the Slayer, with Angelus and Darla meeting their final deaths at her hand. Patterns are ever-changing.” She nodded toward something behind him and Spike turned, trying to get his mind around the concept of Drusilla the Vampire Slayer.

A pair of French doors hung in the darkness without benefit of a supporting building, and Spike moved forward to gaze through the opening. The doors led into a large, dark room, floored with marble and surrounded by columns, a ballroom perhaps, although empty. Then it wasn’t empty, and his eyes widened at the appearance of the occupants.

Buffy and Drusilla stood silently, facing each other, Dru in the white dress she’d worn the night he killed Chen Ma, Buffy in the crimson Halloween gown.

Spike started forward and slammed into a barrier similar to the one that barred vampires from human dwellings. “Oy!” he called urgently. “You two! Over here!”

Neither took any notice of him. Buffy held out her hand to Drusilla. The vampire looked at it a moment, then reached to twine her fingers with the Slayer’s. Blue light began to shine around the two figures as they moved toward each other. Frantically, Spike looked at Tara. “What’s happening?”

“A possibility.” She nodded back toward the room.

The women stood again as they had before, not touching, the same distance apart. Abruptly, darkness swept around them, and when it lifted, both lay crumpled on the floor. Buffy wasn’t breathing, and as he watched, Drusilla’s body fell into dust.

“Another possibility.”

“NO!”

His shout brought him bolt upright in his armchair.

________________________________________

As the day passed, a sequence emerged. Buffy would become busy with classes or talking with someone and start to forget what had happened the night before. Then, from nowhere, she would feel eyes roaming over her body with a mixture of lust and cruelty that made her sick. After the first couple of times, she stopped jumping, but the nausea and heart-clenching terror didn’t lessen, and try as she might, Buffy couldn’t stop remembering that those emotions were caused by someone she had loved with all her heart.

Angel hadn’t told her much about Drusilla, only that he had sired her and that she had turned mad in the process. The conversation had obviously made him uncomfortable, and Buffy had been able to dismiss it as unimportant. At that time, she had only met Angel and only known Drusilla’s Vampire self. Even after Angelus made his appearance, Buffy hadn’t really considered what Drusilla must have gone through. It was hard, as Giles had said, to remember that vampires came from people if you hadn’t known the people version. They were just evil creatures who needed to be staked ASAP.

But now, Buffy was only too aware of what Drusilla had been like as a human, and what she had been like was innocent. Compared to Drusilla the night she was taken, Dawn had the mind-set of a prostitute. She hadn’t even been kissed, and all her ideas about love and romance were taken from fairy tales and legends about King Arthur. Until Angelus and Darla came. She had known they meant her harm but hadn’t understood what the images in her mind foretold. Unlike Buffy, who knew what all too well what had happened and what was probably going to happen that night in her dreams.

I can’t. I really can’t face that. Not from Angel.

And so she raised a shaking hand to knock on the door of Willow and Tara’s dorm room.

“Buffy!” Willow said in surprise. “Come in. Is everything ok?”

Tara, seated cross-legged on the bed in the middle of a pile of books, smiled a greeting, but her eyes remained serious.

“Yeah, everything’s f…” Buffy shook her head. “Actually, things are kind of sucky. I need a favor.”

Startled and somewhat worried, Willow sank down beside the other witch. Buffy didn’t often ask for personal favors. It must be something big. “Sure. What kind?”

Buffy swallowed. “A spell. A forgetting spell. There’s something I really need to forget.”

"Is this about Spike and the soulmate thing?” Tara asked.

“Spike…? Oh,” She had almost forgotten, she realized, and laughed a little shakily.

“No, that’s not the problem. I can deal with Spike.” She walked to the sink, ran her fingers over the spigot, careful not to look in the mirror. “I’m the one I’m having trouble with. Turns out, I used to be Drusilla.”

“Oh,” Willow said awkwardly after a long silence. “That’s…well…that’s kind of strange, but…not so bad if you think about it, I guess. Not something you’d need to forget.”

“She was a person,” Buffy said softly. “A really, really, sheltered person. Until Angel and Darla drove her crazy and turned her into a vampire.” She turned to them, eyes bright with tears. “I’m starting to dream about what happened to her the night they came. I’m starting to feel what she felt. And I can’t…I can’t go through that. Not with it being Angel.”

“Oh, Buffy.” Willow sprang from the bed and ran to put her arms around her friend.
“Buffy, shh. It’ll be ok.”

“Please, Will,” Buffy whispered against the witch’s shoulder. “Please help me forget.”

She heard steps, felt another hand touch her hair.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Tara said quietly. “Because I think this might be important. Your lives are coming closer, joining up. Maybe that’s supposed to happen.”

The dream of the ballroom from two nights ago was suddenly in the forefront of Buffy’s mind. She stared at Tara.

“Past and present must join to save the future,” she said slowly. “You said that to me in a dream. What does it mean?”

The blonde witch blinked. “I d-don’t know what it means. I was in your dream?” she added in an alarmed voice.

“Yeah. I think we were talking about this and something about being blinded.”

Tara shook her head and spread her hands. “I don’t know, Buffy, I swear. I’d t-t-tell you if I d-did.”

“I know,” Buffy soothed as Willow put one of her arms around her stuttering lover. “I know you would.”

She gently freed herself from her friend’s embrace and walked to sit on the bed.

“You’re probably right and is important, but just thinking about it’s making me sick.”

Buffy hid her face in her hands, but she could still feel the concerned and loving gazes of her friends. They would do what she wanted, whatever it was, even if she was wrong.

Would it be so horrible if she set this one aside? Found another way to save the future, whatever future it was? Because it was too much to ask, wasn’t it, that she go through this? Too heavy a burden to bear. Except…

“She went through it, didn’t she?” Buffy asked in a tired, dull voice. “Drusilla went through it for real. And she wasn’t the Slayer. She was a human girl who had visions.”

She dropped her hands and looked at the other two. “I guess if she can go through it for real, I can remember it.”

Tara crossed to Buffy and knelt, stroking the Slayer’s hair. “You don’t have to go through it alone.”

________________________________________

“I know we determined our course of action this afternoon,” Giles asked, in a voice he tried very hard to keep calm and free of any hurt. “And Willow will do the hypnosis. However, I still feel I should be in the room. I’m your Watcher.”

Buffy swallowed. “I know. But Giles, you’re a guy, and I don’t really think I can deal with a man being there for this.”

The Magic Box had been closed for the night, and the lights at the front of the store turned out. Xander and Anya sat at the research table watching Buffy with worried expressions, and Xander winced at Buffy’s last comment.

“It’s not you,” Buffy said gently. She knelt by her friend and included both him and her Watcher in her words. “You’re my family. I trust you with my life. But this is going to be all about sex and hurting. I think the only way I can do it is if I just have women around.”

“’Sokay,” Xander said, trying to smile. “We’re out here if you need us.”

“I know.”

“Good luck,” Anya said in a subdued voice, unlike her usual brisk tones. She patted Buffy carefully on the shoulder.

“It’s not you,” Giles said, clearing his throat as she passed. “Remember, that anything you see tonight happened in a past life. To Drusilla, not to you. Keep yourself separate from it.”

“I will.” With a final deep breath, Buffy entered the Training Room.

The witches were already there, Willow seated on one of the mats, eyes closed and deep in meditation while Tara paced the room, drawing her fingers along the walls and whispering. She reached the door as Buffy closed it, and drew her fingers along it as well.

“Wards,” she whispered. “In case anything tries to get in. I thought we could use a little extra help.”

“Good idea,” Buffy whispered back, scrubbing her hands along her jeans.

I’m so scared. I don’t want to do this. Oh, Angel….

Steeling herself, she sat down on the mat facing Willow. The red-haired witch opened her eyes and reached to squeeze Buffy’s hand.

“Let’s do it,” Buffy said.

“Lie back,” Tara instructed as she sat on the other side of Buffy, also facing Willow.

“You need to be as relaxed as possible.”

That wasn’t going to be very relaxed, but she obeyed and stretched out on the mat, closing her eyes.

“Think of the place you feel safest in all the world,” Willow’s voice came softly. “A place where nothing can hurt you.”

Here’s about where I feel the safest, but there’s no such place, really. Not for me….

“Know that you are outside whatever you see tonight. It cannot affect you for good or for ill. You will hold that in your mind and whenever you feel threatened, you will be in your safe place…”

It took a few tries. Every time Buffy was on the brink of slipping into the trance, something in her would panic and send her jerking back to wakefulness. At last, she focused on the core of her Slayer power, letting the cool strength fill her mind.
She found herself standing at the top of the staircase. It was dark at the bottom like it had been before, but this time the darkness seemed alive, boiling and raging and eager to hurt. Buffy clenched her teeth and started down.

A movement to her side made her head swivel to see Tara, dressed in the white draperies she wore in these dreams, descending the stairs beside her. The other woman caught her eye and smiled, touching Buffy’s cheek gently. When she looked back down, the First Slayer stood on a stair below her, and as Buffy passed, she bowed to the current Slayer slightly.

Then she was at the bottom…

________________________________________

Spike barely slept that day, fragments of his vision playing through his mind every time he closed his eyes.

Possibilities. Buffy and Dru working together? Not a bloody likely possibility. Buffy and Dru both dead? Not an acceptable possibility.

And if what he wanted was supposed to shape what happened, then he wanted very much to have never come back to Sunnydale two years ago.

He was at a loss as to what to do. Neither Buffy nor the Scoobies would listen to anything he had to say, and he didn’t have a clue where Drusilla was. She might have gone back to Los Angeles, but then again, she might not. Who knew with his mad princess? Hell, half the time she didn’t know where she was. It was part of her charm.

Even if they could be persuaded to listen, what, exactly, would he tell them? All he could grasp was that, given that darkness he’d seen in his vision before the women collapsed, something was apparently going to threaten them both.

Past and present must join to save the future.

His vision seemed to say that if Buffy and Dru worked together, they might be able to defeat…something. Yeah, good chance of that. The last time they’d been in the same room, each had been bent on killing the other. And, of course, he hadn’t been entirely blameless in that little scenario, had he?

When night fell at last, Spike emerged from his crypt to seek what information he could at Willie’s. There were plenty of the usual petty schemes, but the only big thing going on was the madness that was affecting random humans around the city.
Spike already knew what was behind that particular issue, and the talk sent a chill down his spine. He’d had a go at trying to restrain Glory and been tossed across the room like a rag doll without her even trying. If that was the source of the threat, they were all in trouble.

He left the bar no wiser and moved aimlessly through the darkened streets, until turning a corner, he saw the First Slayer standing before him.

Lovely, another vision. Those are always so helpful.

Spike looked around, and determined that he was, indeed, still in Sunnydale and not in the desert. The First Slayer was about a block away, leaning against a lamppost which looked strange next to the tattered draperies she wore. As he started toward her, she pushed smoothly away from the post and vanished out of sight around the corner.

“Hey! Wait just a bloody minute!” Spike began to run. He was, by the gods, going to get to the bottom of this once and for all, or he was going to convince her that haunting him was a bad idea.

He whipped around the corner and saw a flutter of fabric as she crossed the darkened
street, still about a block away from him.

What does she do, run marathons out there with the scorpions?

They continued this way over several more streets with the First Slayer remaining effortlessly ahead of him, although he never actually saw her increase her speed.

Finally, Spike ground to an angry halt.

Bugger this. I’m not chasing the bint all over town.

As if she heard the thought, the First Slayer grinned at him over her shoulder and faded into nothingness.

Tired from the fruitless pursuit, Spike leaned back against a wall and dug for tobacco.

“They’ve been in there a long time. Do you think she’s ok?”

The voice from inside was Xander’s, and turning to read the sign, Spike realized he was propped against the Magic Box.

“You could have just said come here,” he snarled under his breath at the vanished First Slayer. “We didn’t have to play Follow-my-leader all over Sunnydale.”

He extended his hearing in time to catch Giles’ response. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

Spike frowned, listened harder and then he heard it, muffled as if it came from the sound-proffed training room. Someone crying, hard and bitterly, as if their heart would break.

Buffy.

He didn’t even remember moving. One second, he was on the sidewalk, the next, he was striding through the shop, headed for the back, not even hearing the yelps that emanated from around the research table. Then Giles was in his path with a stake in his hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Spike?”

Too quickly to track, he knocked the stake from the Watcher’s hand, ignoring the chip’s warning tingle, and strode forward. “Stopping whatever’s going on back there,” Spike growled. “She’s crying, can’t you hear?”

“No, actually, I can’t,” Giles said. He grabbed the vampire’s shoulder with all his strength and was immediately shaken off. “Even if she is, you’ll cause more harm if you interrupt!”

The last words stopped him with his hand raised to tear down the Training Room door. Spike could still hear her crying, and it was killing him, but the Watcher might be right.

“Why?” he gritted. “What’s she doing?”

“What she always does.” Xander was standing now, glaring at him. “What she has to. What things like you make her do.”

“I’m not making her do this, mate. This is down to you lot.”

“She’s starting to remember what Angelus did to Drusilla,” Anya said calmly.

“Willow and Tara are taking her through it in a controlled environment.” Xander and Giles whirled on her angrily, but she didn’t flinch. “Spike is Buffy’s soulmate. He’s involved, like it or not. It’s right that he know this.”

The crying had cut off as they spoke, and the Training Room door swung open, silencing them all.

Buffy emerged, red-eyed and shaking, bracketed by the witches. She was walking on her own, but Willow had an arm around her and Tara’s hand was on her shoulder.

“Buffy….” Giles said softly.

“I’m ok,” she said hoarsely, not looking at her Watcher. “I just…I just want to go home, all right? We can talk tomorrow.”

Spike wanted nothing more than to pick her up in his arms and carry her someplace where nothing would ever trouble her again, but he forced himself to stay back. She didn’t want him. Any move he made would only increase her pain.

Buffy took another step, and her red-rimmed eyes locked on him as if she had suddenly become aware of his presence. She pulled free of Willow and Tara and moved to stand immediately in front of him. He clenched his hands to keep them from smoothing back her hair, brushing over her cheeks.

“Did you know what he did to her?” she demanded in a shaking voice. “Did you know what happened the night Angel and Darla attacked Drusilla?”

“Some of it,” he said quietly.

“She didn’t understand,” Buffy whispered, staring at some dark, inward horror. “She didn’t know what was going on, and they said it was all her fault, that they were only there because of her…”

“It was 20 years after it happened that I met her," he explained, "I only knew Dru as a vampire. The part of her that suffered that night was already gone.”

Buffy nodded, vaguely, still turned inward. "She did suffer. She suffered a lot."

Spike could hear the others shuffling about, could feel the exchange of glances as they tried to decide if they should interfere, but at the moment, nothing existed in their circle but the two of them.

“I know," he said with difficulty. "She had nightmares. Bad ones, once or twice a year. I could never get her to tell me what they were about, but she didn’t want anything to do with Angelus or Darla those times.”

She nodded, swallowing. “I can understand that. What…what did you do when those happened?”

“Stayed with her. Held her. Told her bits of stories and such until she quieted.” Normally, he would have been embarrassed to admit such poufy behavior, but her eyes were searching his as if she needed to know.

To his utter amazement, Buffy laid her hand on his arm for an instant. “That's…good. I'm glad she had someone to help her.” She pulled back and bit hard on her lower lip. “Although I don’t know how anything could help what Angel did…”

“Well, it wasn't Angel, was it?” Her eyes focused back on him. “Angelus,” Spike amplified. “Not Angel. So, nothing's changed. You already knew Angelus was evil.” He tried to smile. “Angel wouldn’t have done it.”

She watched him for a long moment, looking confused. The others seemed to be staring at him too. It was making him horribly nervous, and he wasn’t sure why, but he could almost see the thought processes start up again in her head, and that was what counted.

“Thanks, Spike,” Buffy said finally and even summoned a faint smile for him before she left the Magic Box.

________________________________________

“Is it just me,” Xander asked after Spike left a few moments after Buffy and the witches. “Or was Spike just unselfishly helpful?”

Giles shook it head thoughtfully. “It wasn’t just you.”

 

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