Soulmates

By Miranda

Part 2

He only became aware of his surroundings again when his cigarette burned through the filter and singed his lip.

“Bloody Hell,” Spike muttered as he spat out the tobacco remnants, but the words were automatic. He couldn’t summon up any anger or even annoyance at the minor discomfort: he was too busy being overwhelmed.

The Slayer’s my soul-mate. You learn something new every day.

Spike had gone to the Magic Box as soon as he could leave his crypt safely. The narrow alley between the shop and its neighbor was a prime lurking spot, offering a glimpse of a nicely sweaty Slayer on her way home from training and the opportunity for someone with vampiric hearing to keep track of what the Scoobies were up to.

The alley was warded, of course, Willow and Tara being the clever little witches that they were, but he had met up with an odd demon chap called Doc, who in exchange for several hard-stolen twenties, had obligingly provided him with a counterspell. While this had caused him some slight hardship – being unable to actually attack humans increased the difficulty of obtaining cash - tonight, Spike considered his investment to have paid off in ways he could never have imagined.

He had gotten in position just in time to observe Buffy’s departure and appreciate the clinginess of her shirt and the smooth line of her neck revealed by her pulled-up hair. He had contemplated following her, Slayer-watching always being an acceptable form of entertainment, but when he heard Giles ask about the previous evening, Spike had decided to exchange voyeurism for information-gathering. It turned out to have been one of the best calls he’d ever made.

He had listened to Willow’s account of the previous evening with interest, his mouth curling at her description of his actions.

Suppose I did act like I owned the place, at that. And I enjoyed every minute of it.

His attention had sharpened at Tara’s recounting of her vision, especially the mention of the First Slayer. Spike wasn’t particularly thrilled with the notion of another Slayer turning up in a vision that involved him. One Slayer was quite enough to deal with, thank you very much.

But then had come the payoff, with the ex-demon’s identification of the soulmate mandala and everyone hashing out who it must be. Which brought him back to where he was, standing in the alley and grinning broadly.

Sorry, kiddies. Can’t argue with fate, no matter how much you might want to.

The door of the Magic Box opened, and Spike drew back into the shadows. It wouldn’t do to get caught here while everyone’s emotions were running high. Spike could easily dismiss the Scoobies, but he wasn’t eager to fall into the Watcher’s hands while chipped.

It sounded as if only the younger set were leaving. Giles must be doing some research, probably desperate to find another interpretation for Tara’s vision. Spike listened as they called subdued goodnights and split up.

Xander and Anya headed away from him, but the witches had to pass his hiding place on their way home. As they crossed the mouth of the alley, Tara’s head turned suddenly, and she peered toward the darkness where he stood. “Something wrong?” Willow asked.

“No…no, I guess not.”

“C’mon, sweetie. Let’s go home and get you something for that headache.” She put an arm around her lover, and Tara nestled against her shoulder for a moment before they walked on. Spike tried to sneer but couldn’t quite manage it. He missed the feeling of someone leaning against him, resting content in the curve of his arm.
Missed…

Bollocks. He shook the feelings away and slid out of the alley. He had more important things to think about tonight. Like who Buffy had been the first time he met her.

100 years ago was around the time of the Boxer rebellion, he mused as he began to walk. Could she have been Chen Ma? That would make sense. Slayer then, Slayer now. If that was the case, her soul had definitely gotten mouthier over the last century. The Chinese Slayer had been all business, no quips, no puns, no conversation of any kind really, until she gasped out an unknown phrase as she died in his arms. Nothing like Buffy, who would probably continue to natter on if someone cut her head off.

Spike rather hoped she hadn’t been Chen Ma. It could lead to a certain amount of tension if he’d been responsible for the death of Buffy’s earlier incarnation. He touched the scar that bisected his eyebrow. Not that it that the fight couldn’t have gone the other way easily enough. That had been the thrill of it, one on one, not knowing who was going to win. Angelus’ pleasure came from stalking, plotting, and the ultimate terror of his prey. Spike’s came from the heat of combat, from laying it all on the line. Death and glory and sod all else.

Still, it would be too bad if he’d killed his soul-mate and spent a century kicking his heels until she turned up again.

If not the Chinese Slayer, could she have been Cecily? Spike’s eyes narrowed with remembered insult. Both women were beautiful, haughty, and pretty damn free with the ‘You’re beneath me’ remarks. However, he had to acknowledge that Buffy wouldn’t have said such a thing to William. Even if he didn't attract her, the simpering prat would have called out her maternal instinct, and she would have been off making hot chocolate and explaining why she thought of him as a brother.

And as long as he was being fair, Spike knew that there was a good chance his timing had played a role in Buffy making the remark to him. Immediately after telling a girl you hoped you’d be around for a real good day if she ever got a death wish probably wasn’t the ideal opportunity to try for a cuddle.

No, she wasn’t Cecily. And if she had been Chen Ma, at least he hadn’t succeeded in killing this version, although it wasn’t for lack of trying.

Spike frowned a little as he crossed a street. How hard had he actually tried to kill Buffy? He’d gone for her that time in the school, but he hadn’t actually met her at that point. There had been that Halloween with the Slayer in a noblewoman’s gown that made him rock hard just to think about. Then, he hadn’t been as interested in killing her as he had been in ripping away that dress and…

That’s enough of that. Get back on track, mate.

His last attack had been when he thought he’d shucked the chip. That one had been effective and damned near permanent – his fangs had been grazing her neck when the chip kicked back in - but even that could be put down to blood lust and joy at what he had thought was his new-found freedom.

No, all in all, he hadn’t made that serious an effort. Not that there hadn’t been some inconveniences standing in his way - Dru’s illness, the presence of Angel/Angelus, and his own incarceration in the wheelchair. Still, he hadn’t expended anywhere near his full energies on killing her, when he hadn’t rested until he’d taken out Chen Ma and Nikki.

Could something inside him have recognized Buffy? He’d certainly been obsessed with her from the first moment he observed her fighting. He’d watched her, studied her, thinking at the time it was because she was a worthy enemy, but maybe there had been another reason.

Spike realized that his ramblings had taken him to another favorite lurking spot: the large tree outside Buffy’s home. He leaned against the familiar bark, observing the house. Ever since she found his shrine, Buffy had made sure the shades were down after dark, but he had watched long enough to know their habits. Supper would be over. Joyce would be supervising Dawn’s homework while Buffy worked upstairs, it not being one of her patrol nights.

Could throw a bit of a spanner in their evening if I told them I was destined to be with Eldest.

Spike seriously debated doing just that, walking up to the front door, and informing the Summers women of the results of his eavesdropping. They wouldn’t believe him – Joyce would probably start hunting out another axe - but he would offer to call the Watcher or any of the rest to confirm. That would be interesting, especially if they took him up on it. He smiled, thinking of the havoc he could cause, and his gaze drifted up to the second story to Buffy’s lighted window.

His sharp eyes could see her silhouette plainly enough, since she apparently hadn’t yet figured out backlighting. She was bent over her desk, probably working away at some schoolwork or other as she tried to balance her two lives. As he watched, she stretched out her back, arching against the chair, and then went back to whatever it was, her head leaning on her hand.

Unconsciously, his eyes softened as he took in her weary posture. He would ease that weariness if he could, take some of the weight of patrol, stand jealous guard over her sleep, at the very least, help her with her essays.

But he couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it. He was beneath her.

Spike’s mouth tightened and he pushed off from the tree.

She can get the bad news from Giles. Let him deal with the fallout.

And he would have time to plan their next encounter.

________________________________________

Buffy laid down her pen with a sigh and read over what she’d written. There wasn’t much – the glimpses of her past lives had been brief at best – but it was all she could remember.

Giles will just have to play with the toys I give him.

After stretching, she settled back wearily, resting her cheek against her hand.

She often felt tired these days, tired and sad and pulled in 20 different directions, unable to focus on any of them. Buffy suspected that she’d felt that way for a long time, say the past five years or so, but it seemed to have come to a head recently. Maybe since her mom got sick. Definitely since Riley left.

Speaking of things I didn’t pay enough attention to.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. She dealt well enough from day to day, certainly better than she had managed after Angel’s departure, but when Riley left, something broke inside.

Angel left because of his curse, because of circumstances; Parker was just one of those mistakes you moved on from; but Riley left because of her. Not because of the Slayer but because of Buffy. She had done the best she could with that relationship, no matter what Xander said. It just hadn’t been enough.

“What a surprise,” Buffy muttered, beginning to pace the room. Since when had what she offered, what she was, ever been enough? Student, Daughter, Slayer, or Girlfriend, Buffy Summers just never quite measured up. And so the belief that Buffy Summers was, actually, a person that could love and be loved, had suffered a flaw across its heart.

She stopped, leaning on the back of the chair and breathed steadily, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Self-pity was boring even if you were alone.

Besides, it doesn’t look like my past lives were a party either. Except maybe that last one.

The memory of that vision was soothing. It had been such a pretty day, and that girl had seemed so peaceful, nothing more on her mind than a bad dream. She had probably worn fancy dresses and ridden in carriages and had servants.

Smiling slightly, Buffy opened her closet and rummaged toward the back until she felt the smooth weight of satin against her hand. She hung the rack over the door and stroked the dark red folds admiringly. Buffy wasn’t sure why she still had the dress. She hadn’t put it on since that Halloween when they’d all taken on the personalities provided by their costumes: she never wanted to be that helpless again. But something wouldn’t let her throw it away. Maybe it was simply too beautiful.

She held the dress against her body, waltzed a few steps. It would be nice to dance again, to feel the skirt swish around her ankles while someone held her close. Of course, with her luck, she’d end up with Spike crawling over her again.

Buffy stopped in mid-turn.

Ok, so much for that train of thought. No escaping business.

She carefully returned the dress to the closet, her mind going over the conversation she’d had with Giles that afternoon.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to kill Spike. They had fought several times, neither holding back. She’d even put a stake in him once, when he found the Gem of Amarna.

Buffy’s mouth tightened. He’d been low, that day, even for him.

“What exactly did it take to pry apart the Slayer's dimpled knees?”

Dimpled knees. I’ll give you a dimpled knee. Right in the face.

No, she hadn’t gone soft. There had just been a run of bad luck with that particular vampire. And, no matter how annoying he was, she couldn’t kill him while he was unable to fight. It just wasn’t in her.

Speaking of annoying, anger had banished her sadness, or at least gotten it out of the way. Nothing like a good dose of irritation to get you off the fast train to Patheticville. With a little smile, Buffy headed downstairs to offer moral support to Dawn’s struggles with algebra.

________________________________________

She twirled through the brightly-lit ballroom, almost dizzy from the music and laughter, her white dress – the only suitable color for a young, unmarried girl – floating around her like a cloud. Her partners laughed and bowed and flirted as they moved through the line and circle dances, and on those occasions when she had to sit down, Mama being very firm about the unsuitability of waltzing, she was never alone.

The conversation was unimportant, meaningless nonsense to pass the time between dances, and the men who sat with her weren’t particularly important either. They were pleasant enough, even charming at times, but no one to catch her attention. The one for her would be both strong and kind, like the knights of old.

Such thoughts were fancies, Mama said, of which she had far too many, but that wasn’t true. He was out there, her true love, looking for her, and they would find each other one day. In the meantime, she would enjoy the dancing.

She curtsied to her partner, spun away with a daring flash of ankle, took two steps, turned back…

...And Buffy stumbled over her feet when the outstretched hands she’d been expecting weren’t there.

Dreaming. I was dreaming.

She scrubbed at her eyes, disoriented by the transition from dream to waking, looked around, and swallowed when she realized that she was still in the ballroom, now empty and silent. Glancing down, she saw that she was wearing the dark crimson Halloween dress instead of the white gown.

Still dreaming. No problem. I’ll just close my eyes and open them in my own bed.

Suiting action to thought, Buffy shut her eyes, but when she opened them again, her surroundings hadn’t changed except in one, rather drastic way: starting at the far end of the room, the gas lamps that lined the walls and the candles in the chandelier were going out one at a time, despite the stillness of the air.

Ok, I really want to wake up RIGHT NOW!

She pinched her wrist hard, but that produced no noticeable effect other than a bruise, and Buffy backed away from the encroaching darkness, frantically patting her clothing for weapons. Nothing presented itself, however, and the rapidly darkening ballroom was empty, all the fragile little chairs and tables vanished.

Buffy put her back to the wall, although she wasn’t sure it would do any good. Things could probably crawl through dream world walls easily enough. Still, it made her feel a little more secure, and at the moment, she would take what she could get.
The last lamp blew out and the room plunged into darkness, illuminated only by the moonlight spilling in through the French doors.

After long moments of nothing much happening, Buffy forced herself to calm down. She was the Slayer. If something came for her, it wouldn’t find her panicking, at least not obviously.

Should I go outside? No. In here, I’ll at least be able to see what’s coming…I hope.

Movement caught her eyes, and Buffy slid into a fighting stance as a figure made its way toward her. Moonlight glanced off the white draperies and pale hair as it passed the doors and resolved into Tara, dressed as she had been the night the First Slayer came. Buffy relaxed, but only slightly. That other dream hadn’t exactly gone well.
Tara stopped by the French doors and waited quietly. After a moment, Buffy walked forward until she was a few feet away, both of them standing in the moonlight.

“You’re not dancing,” the witch said in a calm voice, so unlike the stammering tones of her Earth-plane self.

Buffy shrugged. “No partner.”

“Are you sure?”

She turned, examining the empty ballroom, then looked at the other woman questioningly. “I don’t see anybody here but us.”

Tara produced a white scarf from somewhere and stepped toward the Slayer, folding the material into a long strip as she did so. “Maybe you’re not looking the right way.”

“I don’t think so,” Buffy said, backing up as Tara lifted the scarf toward her eyes. “I’m not exactly up for blind-man’s bluff.”

“You don’t like being vulnerable.”

“No. It gets you killed.”

“Or hurt at least,” Tara said softly. “People we love can hurt us.”

“Tell me about it,” Buffy said dryly. “Hey, I think I know this one. Even with all the pain, you have to make yourself vulnerable in order to love, right?”

The witch smiled suddenly, “Something like that. Did you want a cookie?”

“You’re slipping. That didn’t sound oracle-y at all. Anyway, you might be right, but I can’t be all open and love-seeking now. People depend on me.”

“And there’s no one you can depend on?”

Her anger rose again, Tara’s words a harsh reminder of Riley’s. “Yeah. Me. The others help, but I’m the one that’s got to actually do this stuff. That’s ok with me, it really is. But I have to be able to see what’s coming.”

Tara tucked the scarf away among the folds of her dress. “Many things can blind us. If you are going to see clearly, be sure you haven’t covered your own eyes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Buffy grumbled “You know, the whole mysterious thing gets old.” When the witch only regarded her silently, she gestured angrily at their surroundings.

“Anyhow, I don’t belong here, with or without a partner. I’m not that girl any more than I’m the ship captain, or the woman on the battlefield. I’m the Slayer, and I’ve got a hellgod to kill.”

“In this life, you are the Slayer,” Tara agreed. “But you are also those who came before. Past and present must join to save the future.”

“And that means what?” Buffy asked irritably, but just then a cloud crossed the moon, plunging the room into total darkness. She blinked, trying to see…

And opened her eyes to morning, and the sound of her mother’s voice, and Dawn galloping down the stairs. The dream drifted to the back of her mind, forgotten.

________________________________________

Giles spent the day in his ordinary pursuits of research and shop-tending, with one corner of his mind firmly fixed on not being even slightly nervous about the upcoming meeting with Buffy. It would be ridiculous to be so, after all – he was a Watcher not a mouse – and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d given her bad news.

Although, perhaps, not quite this bad. He was relatively certain that Buffy would prefer news of an impending apocalypse to that which soul-mated her to Spike. And as he straightened the already surgically-precise training room, Giles knew that he would prefer to announce such an apocalypse as well.

Of course, there’s another sort of news I could give her. The news that I killed him.

He sat in the chair considering it. Nothing prevented him from killing Sp ike. He didn’t share Buffy’s scruples over the vampire’s inability to defend himself, or he could at least ignore them if the need was sufficient, as it might well be. He didn’t even have to tell her what he had done. She would simply think the vampire had gone away. The others, even Anya with a little coaching, would be quiet for Buffy’s sake.

The temptation to dispose of the vampire was stro ng. He couldn’t protect the Slayer from the dangers she faced on patrol, but Spike represented danger of a different kind.

“…a father’s love for the child…”

Travers had been right. He did feel a father’s love for Buffy and to a lesser extent, for Dawn. It was those feelings that had been outraged, rather than those of a Watcher, when she told him how Spike had caught her.

Giles had almost gone after him then. Almost.

Why almost? Why all of them, including Buffy, almost? For that matter, why hadn’t Spike come any closer than almost killing any of them? Giles had done a fair amount of research on the former William the Bloody, and while Spike lacked Angelus’ subtle cruelty, he wasn’t stupid. The other Slayers hadn’t been novices when he took them. Nikki had survived for seven years. It was hard to believe Spike had never managed to seriously injure Buffy or one of her friends, or that none of them, despite the provocation, had attacked the vampire.

As if it was meant. As if they were being drawn together.

That was the true basis of his current disquiet. Tara’s description of her vision and their subsequent conversation had made something deep inside Rupert Giles say, ‘Oh, yes. Quite.’ The corner of his soul that he had kept mostly tucked away since his wild youth had recognized and acknowledged the pattern. If he had to, he would wager that Spike and Buffy had not been the only ones to meet in a former life.

Buffy, Xander, and Willow had formed a strange but somehow effective group almost immediately after the Slayer arrived in Sunnydale. Tara had attached to Willow the moment they met. And what were the odds that an ex-vengeance demon would be attracted a construction worker who was almost completely psychically null?

As for himself, he had, against every rule known to Watcher, allowed the group to form. Oh, yes. He had known them. Known them all.

His thoughts were interrupted by Anya’s desperately cheerful voice. “Buffy! How are you? Have you had a pleasant day?”

________________________________________

“I’m fine, Anya,” Buffy said, slightly bemused. “How are you?”

“I’m very well, thank you! Isn’t the weather beautiful? It’s impossible to be in a bad mood on a day like this!”

“Um, yeah,” she agreed, sidling toward the back of the shop.

“Enjoy your session!” Anya called as Buffy escaped through the training room door.

“Anya’s happy today,” she said as she divested herself of purse and backpack.

“Yes, quite. She’s frequently happy.” He shot a glare toward the main body of the store. “What about you?”

Buffy put her hands on her hips. “Why is everyone asking me how I am?”

Alarms started going off in her head as Giles smiled at her and she noticed a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. “No reason. Just friendly interest.”

“Uh-huh.”

Before she could describe just how little she believed him, Giles continued. “I thought we could explore your past lives in more detail today.”

She frowned slightly. “You want me to put on the ring again? After all that you-did-an-incredibly-dangerous-thing talk yesterday?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I thought I would hypnotize you, guide you back to see if you could gain any additional impressions.”

“Ok,” Buffy shrugged and settled on the training mat. “But you do realize that I know you’re trying to distract me from whatever’s bothering you and Anya?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Giles huffed. “It’s really rather a pity when someone can’t show common consideration without arousing suspicion.” He sat on the mat, facing her. “Close your eyes and focus on my voice.”

After her eyes were closed, he began to speak of general things, the research he was doing, the progress of the shop, and she let his soft tones wrap around her like a blanket.

“Now, you’re at the top of a flight of steps. Can you see them?”

“Yes,” she said sleepily. A broad, carpeted staircase filled her inner vision, the bottom plunged in darkness.

“When I tell you, begin to descend. At each step, you will go back in time, a little and then a little more until at the bottom of the staircase, you will have gone back 100
years. Take a step.”

Her fist ripped out Adam’s heart.

“Another.”

The sword plunged through Angel’s chest, sending him to hell with her name on his lips.

…Whirling to see Spike creeping towards her down the locker-lined hallway.

…Looking up from her seat on the steps into Merrick’s anxious face.

…Her father’s leaving; ice-skating; the first day of school; her mother’s face bent over her crib. Sometimes, Dawn’s ghostly image was painted into the memories.

It was dark at the bottom of the stairs. Endless and quiet.

“Where are you, Buffy?” Giles’ voice echoed oddly.

“I’m at the bottom,” she said dreamily. “There’s nothing.”

“That’s all right,” he said calmly, although his voice sounded a little puzzled and almost…relieved. “Our timing’s a bit off. You’re going to walk down a hallway that is lined with doors. Do you see it?”

“Yes.” The hall stretched away before her.

“The first door you open will lead into your most recent past life. You will be both that person and yourself, able to observe and tell me what you see. Do you understand?”

“Yes…”

She approached an elaborately carved door. The knob turned under her hand, and Buffy stepped into a large drawing room.

She curtsied politely to the ladies who sat there. Mama’s friends, come for tea. Normally she would have been there as well, to receive schooling in such formalities, but Papa had decided she was looking pale and had taken her for a carriage ride. She knew he worried about the bad dreams that woke her so frequently in the night and had tried to smile for him. But it was hard when she kept seeing him lying on the floor of the hallway with his throat ripped out.

“Go to a mirror, Buffy. Who do you see?”

She slowly crossed the room, part of her curious at the ornate furniture, part finding it familiar. The mirror was over a mantle full of china ornaments that were at once strange to her and things she remembered using for forbidden toys.

“Look in the mirror.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she raised her head.

Huge dark eyes looked back at her. Widened as they took in the black hair drawn back into a soft knot, the pointed jaw and wide mouth.

Buffy found herself seated on the tumbling mat with Giles gripping her arms and shaking her and Anya, white-faced at the door of the Training Room.

She stared at her Watcher in complete and utter horror.

“Drusilla.”

________________________________________

She sat up abruptly and was only a little reassured by the darkness wrapped close around her.

All alone. No grandmother, no father, no lover to hold her and make her safe. Tell her that her face was still hers.

Her hands fluttered up, long fingers tracing over her cheeks and forehead. Mirrors. Shards and shimmers of glass, each one carrying a face, but not hers. She knew her face even after all this time. She couldn’t see the reflection clearly but it wasn’t hers.

Someone had her face, and she didn’t know who. Yet.

She came angrily to her feet. “Mine,” she said sharply in the darkness. “It’s mine and I’ll have it back.”

One of her captives, who had been in the house when she arrived, whimpered as she swept past, and she stopped and looked at him with interest.

“Is my face still on?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

He stared at her wide-eyed. “Yes?” he croaked. “Is that the right answer?”

“Shhh.”

Tears began to fall from his eyes as she bent toward him, but she only picked up her doll and began to rock.

“Was Miss Edith a good girl?”

________________________________________

“That makes sense,” Anya said thoughtfully. “Especially…”

“Go back to the store,” Giles said, and something in his voice swung the ex-demon around and sent her trotting away.

He watched Buffy worriedly, wishing she’d go ahead and lose her temper. Yelling or breaking something would be preferable to sitting there white-faced and silent after that one shriek that had woken her from her trance.

The whole session had almost broken his heart. She had gone under so easily, proving her trust in him more than any words could do. Now, he felt as if he had abused that trust. He should have told her immediately about Spike, but had hoped to make it more acceptable somehow by finding out about the relevant past life or even that they were all mistaken. He had been hopeful when she hadn’t seen anything at the hundred-year mark, but Anya’s measurement hadn’t been exact.

“Especially what?” Buffy said tonelessly.

“Nothing important,” he said hurriedly. “We can discuss it some other time. I feel we should….”

“Especially WHAT, Giles?”

He sighed, but could tell they weren’t going to get any farther until he told her. “The pattern Tara saw in her vision was a mandala that shows when someone’s met their soulmate. Unlike most, Spike has apparently met his soulmate twice. Once around 100 years ago, once recently.”

Buffy raised her head and looked at him with dry, shadowed eyes. Her mouth twisted in a slight smile. “That would be Drusilla and me, I guess.”

“Apparently so.”

“Well, that’s that.” She stood slowly. “I’d better get ready for patrol. See you later, Giles.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He sprang up and caught her by the shoulders, ignoring her narrowing eyes. “You’re not leaving here like this.”

“Let go of me.”

His grip tightened as she tried to shrug free. “Buffy, the only way you’re getting out of this room is if you injure me. I know you can do it, and you’re going to have to.”

She jerked away but turned further back into the room instead of trying to leave.

“What do you want me to say? That I’m upset? Ok, fine. I am officially upset! Now what?”

“We can try to sort this out…”

“Sort what out? What is there to sort? What’s going to change? We can talk all night, but in the morning, I’ll still be the reincarnation of one vampire, and the soul-mate of another. Why doesn’t anybody understand that all this talking doesn’t solve anything?”

Something twitched in the back of the Watcher’s mind as he observed his Slayer. Something was going on other than what had just happened. She wasn’t upset as much as she was…fatalistic. As if she hadn’t been entirely surprised by the discovery.

“It doesn’t have to solve anything,” he said gently. “It’s enough if it helps you feel better, feel less alone.”

Her laugh sent a chill down his spine. “Hey, I’m not alone. I’ve got a soulmate. Lucky me.” Her teeth sank hard into her lower lip for an instant. “Like Anya said, it makes sense. No wonder…”

“No wonder what?” They were at the core of it, he knew, if he could get the last words out of her.

She shook her head.

“No wonder what?” His voice left no room for disobedience.

“Any of it,” she whispered. “That the Council wants to dump me, that I can’t please my Mom, that Riley left, that the only people I seriously attract are monsters. I am a monster.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He hated to speak to her so coldly, but it was the only way he could think to penetrate the shell of misery. And besides, he had to do something to keep himself from crying.

What in the name of God do we do to these girls? Is it so much better than letting monsters roam free?

“I expect you to think more clearly than that, Buffy,” he said severely. “Admittedly, it’s difficult to remember that those we’ve met only as vampires were human once, but it is true, you know. You are the reincarnation of Drusilla’s soul. Before her turning, she was simply a young woman. Anyone can be turned. If Willow was turned, would that mean she was always evil?”

“No,” Buffy said reluctantly.

“Quite. So I think we can negate your being a monster.”

He counted off a second point on his fingers, hoping against hope he was getting through. It looked as if she were listening instead of turning inward on herself, but he knew he had to keep talking.

“Spike was turned as well. What remained of Drusilla’s soul probably recognized him as his has recognized you. The soul, Buffy, not the monster.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” she asked softly, the rigidity at last gone out of her spine.

“Nothing. By the theory of reincarnation, we all cross and recross each other’s paths, to learn from each other and to grow. Just because your soul’s the mate to what remains of Spike’s, doesn’t mean you’re obligated to be with him or even that you’re meant to be with him in this lifetime. You have free will, in this as in all things.”

“But all this started from Tara’s vision,” she protested. “It must mean something. The First Slayer…”

“Bugger the First Slayer!” Giles exploded, and barely kept from collapsing with relief when Buffy let out a snort of laughter. “The vision may well mean something,” he went on more calmly. “I think it very likely that all of us were together before in past lives, and our finding each other this time will turn out to have significance. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it. If it involves Spike, we’ll manage that too. But you don’t owe him anything.”

“Thanks, Giles,” she said fondly. “You’re right. That talking stuff can really work.”

She headed toward the door, but he shook his head. “I’m glad you’re enjoying talking because I’m not done yet. What’s all this about the Council, your mother, and Riley? Because I know for a fact, that your mother loves you more than anything along with Dawn. And as for the Council, well,” he cracked a grin. “They hate me too. So, they get the same treatment as the First Slayer.”

“You just like that new word, don’t you?” she said. “You know, I know what it means and everything.”

“Yes, well, I’ll try not to use it too often. And stop changing the subject.”

She looked away from him and drew a deep breath. “I don’t feel like I’m what anyone wants. Not the Council, or Mom, or Riley. And I don’t know how to change it.”

“There’s nothing to change,” he said firmly. “We settled the fate of the Council, I believe. True, your mother would probably prefer you to not be the Slayer, but she that’s because she loves you. She wants you to be safe. It’s what mothers do. And as for Riley Finn…”

“Giles, you can’t do that to Riley. I won’t let you.”

“I was going to say, he’s an ass.”

“Giles!”

“Really, Buffy,” he sighed, wondering if other Watchers had spent vast amounts of time discussing boyfriends with Slayers and their assorted relatives. “So you didn’t react to your mother’s highly serious illness and your sister’s pursuit by a hellgod in the way he thought you should. Was going to vampire whores an answer? Could his role not have been to help?”

“I wouldn’t let him help. That was the problem.”

“No, it wasn’t. You wouldn’t let me help either, but that didn’t stop me did it? That’s how you handle things. You go inside yourself. We pry you back out. Riley needs to exist in a structured environment. That’s not a problem, in and of itself, but it isn’t who you are. It wasn’t your fault, or even his, really. You were too different.”

Her eyes had softened as he spoke, and when he finished, she hugged him tightly.

“Thanks,” she said in a voice muffled by his sweater. “I knew I did a smart thing when I wanted you to be my Watcher again.”

He didn’t delude himself that she was fine, but he thought that she was better
.
“You’re welcome,” he said in a voice that startled him by its hoarseness. “Now, you had better go and patrol.”

She left with a smile, and a few moments later, Anya stuck her head around the door to survey the training room. “Good job!” she said, giving Giles an enthusiastic thumbs up. “She didn’t even break anything!”

________________________________________

As she patrolled the alley behind the Bronze, Buffy felt better than she would have thought possible that afternoon.

Giles was right. Drusilla was once a person just like anybody, except for her visions, so being the reincarnation of her soul didn’t really mean anything. And while being the mate to even leftover parts of Spike’s soul was icky on a cosmic scale, it was almost made up for by the idea that she and her friends had been together before.

Giles, Willow, Xander, and the others, the idea that they were a unit was…good. They had been together before, and if something happened, they would be together again.

She would try to hold on to that realization and ignore the rest. Nothing had to change in her relationship with Spike, and nothing was going to. After all, he didn’t even…

“Well, Slayer. I understand we’ve got even more in common than I ever imagined.”

…know about this.

She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then turned.

He was leaning on one arm against the wall of the alley, watching her with a satisfied grin. When she faced him, he pushed off and strolled forward, eyes searching her face.

“I must say, you’re taking it better than I thought. I pictured weeping and wailing. Didn’t you get the bad news from your Watcher? Or did you find yourself intrigued by the concept? A bit of a girlish flutter in the heart?”

“I know about the soulmate thing,” Buffy said coolly. “And I know it doesn’t matter.”

Looking at him, it was hard to believe he had even the remnants of a soul. She might have done so once, after he sat with her on her porch, after he had been kind to Dawn. But now, she could see only arrogance and coldness, nothing gentle or kind. Like the night he chained her. Her hands flexed unconsciously, but she wasn’t bound. She wouldn’t be bound again.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t matter? Linked together by the fates, and it doesn’t matter? Oh, no, Slayer, it matters a great deal. I knew there was something between us, always did. Now, you know it too.” He cocked his head to the side, eyes sweeping over her. “I gather we met before, Pet, so who were you? I couldn’t quite work it out.”

At least there’s something he doesn’t know. I was beginning to think he’d made some CIA person his minion.

“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated loudly. “Anything that happened before doesn’t apply here. In this life, I’m Buffy, and I don’t want anything to do with you. I have free will, and…”

“In this life you don’t want anything to do with me,” he mused, and she cursed herself silently as his face became thoughtful. “Which means you wanted something to do with me in the past. Somewhere ‘round 100 years ago…”

Ok. Just get out of here before he works it out.

Even as she thought it, his eyes widened, and he breathed in sharply. Buffy started determinedly past him, but he grabbed her arm, and didn’t seem to notice when she twisted free with a glare.

“Dru?” he asked in disbelief. “You’ve got Drusilla’s soul?”

Her stiff silence seemed answer enough, and he collapsed against the wall shaking with laughter.

I’m starting to get past that whole not-staking-people-who-can’t-fight thing.

If she left, he’d just follow her, and she’d rather not have an audience for this. Buffy folded her arms and regarded him with cold eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “But you must admit, it’s too funny. Buffy, the terribly upright Vampire Slayer being part Drusilla. I was right, you did want something to do with me in the past.” He stepped forward again, lazily, and bent murmuring close to her ear, “All kinds of things, Love. You couldn’t begin to guess. Or perhaps you could, after all, if there’s a bit of her in there.”

“The part of Drusilla that’s in me,” Buffy said in a deadly voice, inwardly thanking the powers for Giles’ pep talk - she didn’t know what she would have done if she had to confront Spike feeling weak and despairing - “Is the part that died when Angelus turned her. The part before she became a vampire. That’s the part that picked you, along with the part that was insane. Besides, she picked William, not you.”

The smirk was gone from Spike’s face, but he shrugged, and said lightly. “I might believe that, except Dru's a seer. She knew what my human self would become, and that was what she wanted. Besides, it was my vision, not his. What I am, now, not then, is what’s shaping the pattern. What I am, now, not then, brought up your First Slayer.” Before she could dodge, one finger trailed down her cheek. “You’re meant to be with me, Buffy. Spike, not William. Deny it how you like.”

She struck his hand away. “I’m not going to deny it. It's not worth denying. Because I don’t care who shows up in visions. 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. I choose what I want in this life, and I want you GONE!”

He was angry now, the blue eyes icy in his hard face. “All right. Fine. I’ll give you what you want. On one condition.”

She refused to back away although he was too close, almost looming over her despite the nearness of their heights.

I’m free. I can fight if I need to.

“And that would be?”

He bent even closer to her and snarled, “Kiss me. One time. On the mouth and like you mean it. And if you tell me to leave after that, I will. I’ll be gone before sunrise and never sully your thoughts again.”

Every ounce of saliva in her mouth vanished and chills shot up and down her spine, but Buffy still refused to back away.

“That’s quite an ego, you’ve got there, Spike,” she managed with a hard swallow, hating the faint tremor in her voice. “You think I’ll faint in your manly arms? No deal. So what if you don’t leave? I can ignore you. Or stake you like I should have a long time ago.”

“What’s the problem, Slayer? We both know I can’t hurt you. Hell, I won’t even touch you.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve got nothing to be afraid of. Unless you’re afraid you might have to admit to liking it.”

“I don’t want to kiss you. Why is that so hard to understand?”

“Maybe I’m not used to you being so picky.” The smirk was back, twisting his lips bitterly. “Is it the honesty you don't like? That I told you straight out what I want? I should have asked Parker what sort of lines worked on you.”

He grabbed her wrist before she could land the blow and laughed. “What, did I pinch a nerve? For someone who’s so indifferent, you seem to take my words to heart.”

The sense of danger was overwhelming, sickening, and not coming from Spike. Buffy spun around, tearing her arm from his grasp.

The alley was quiet behind her, nothing moving as her eyes traveled over every inch. Something had been there, watching her. The gaze crawling over her skin like spiders, laden with anticipation of the pain that she would feel, pain that she couldn’t stop.

“What is it?” Spike’s voice was hushed as he moved to stand beside her, scanning the alley in turn. “What do you see?”

Every instinct screamed at her to run, but Buffy made herself go forward and start shoving aside boxes, looking for whatever had been there or for how it had escaped.

“Stop, would you? There’s nothing here,” Spike said at last, catching a trash can as she tossed it aside.

He was right. The sense of the other was gone. She backed toward the mouth of the alley, still watching the fence.

“Buffy…”

She paid no attention. Compared to what she had just felt, Spike was no threat. She reached the main sidewalk, turned and fled toward home, leaving him behind her.

________________________________________

The play had been most enjoyable, Gilbert and Sullivan’s newest. It had felt so elegant, sitting in the box Papa had rented, the ladies and gentlemen in the audience almost as entertaining as the action on the stage.

Drusilla was feeling quite lighthearted as they crossed the street to where their carriage awaited, the crush of the crowd not allowing it to come any closer. As her parents had hoped, it had quite taken her mind off the bad dreams and headaches that had plagued her the past week. They would go to the country house soon, Mama had promised. She would be better there.

Then, she felt it. Eyes like spiders, crawling over her back. She could almost hear the laughter in her mind, anticipating what was going to happen. Scenes flashed behind her eyes, things, horrible things, she couldn’t even understand.

She wanted to run, but her sister took her hand, looking up curiously at her gasp.

Drusilla put an arm around Anne’s shoulders and made herself look back.

They didn’t look evil, which was strange. Surely, such darkness must announce itself in the physical shape. They were quite beautiful in fact, the woman’s golden curls spilling over the shoulder of her gown, the man’s shoulders of a breadth that strained his coat. He saw her looking and smiled at her, a smile of such pure cruelty that she had to stifle a scream…

…And Buffy sat up in bed, sweat pouring off of her. “Angel,” she whimpered. “Oh, God, no. Angel.”

 

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