Thought was just beginning to take place in the catacombs of Spike’s mind. Feeling as if he had been asleep for eons, the vampire wanted to fully awaken, but found that every rational thought had packed a suitcase full of pain. Fiery chords seemed to hang from every muscle fibre in Spike’s body, the pain within his mind appearing to be almost equally as harsh as that in each of his limbs.

Must have been that blasted fall. Things were serene around Spike though, telling him that he had probably slept through the rest of the battle. A lack of screaming Hell beasts also gave Spike the hint that Buffy had managed to defeat the unbeatable. A vampire Slayer versus one of Hell’s bitchiest goddesses, and Buffy had won.

Invisible ropes tugged at the vampire’s lips as he thought of the blonde beauty that had captivated him for so long now. However, the resulting muscular and mental pain from his partial smile was enough to demolish any further thought, and Spike decided it was time to open his eyes. Perhaps being exposed to actual images would make the pain go away.

Standing up in a wobbly fashion, attempting to ignore the cascades of electric burn that rushed through his legs and arms, Spike rubbed his eyes and finally opened them to a world of… black. Black. More black. Spinning on his heel a second and third time, adding a fourth motion just to be sure, Spike found himself confused rather quickly.

“All right, who turned off the bloody lights?” Spike growled into the void that encased him. Somehow, he got the feeling that he wasn’t in his crypt or in the middle of a graveyard. Tingling on his spine was the notion that this place was miles away from Sunnydale.

Black, ebon, raven, charcoal, whatever he chose to call it, whatever adjective a poet could use to describe the colour of nothing, Spike was drowning in it. Confused? Definitely. Angry? Slightly. Frightened? As if he’d ever admit to that. Still… knowing that other dimensions were rather unpredictable, Spike wasn’t ashamed to admit with a second thought that perhaps he was just a little frightened. That is, of course, if he was in another dimension.  

Only the daftest of any species would not be the least apprehensive about this kind of surrounding. Nobody could go from the top of a rickety tower to a suddenly blank ball of nothing and not have even the slightest suspicion that they were no longer in some earth-bound reality. Spike wondered for only a moment about Buffy, Dawn, and even Glory before deciding that those things were best left until he was back home. In order to do that, he had to figure out where he was, and why everything was so… black.

Strangest of all, however, was that what surrounded Spike didn’t seem to be dark, it was just blank. Looking down at himself, the vampire found that his limbs were plainly visible, as if he were standing in broad daylight. It was as if his form had been cut out of wherever he had been, and pasted onto black paper.

“All right… very funny… ripping good laugh as some English folk might say. Now, make with the lights, people…” Spike called, not sure if he even made any sense. Startled when his voice began to echo, Spike decided that he definitely wasn’t indoors. Hell, of course he wasn’t indoors. Right now, it seemed as if he was nowhere.

Standing in a world of silence, almost deafened by the lack of sound, Spike prayed for something to appear. Another vampire, a demon, even Xander would do the trick. Anything to prove that he was still on earth. As time moved on, however, his theory of standing in an alternate dimension became more and more plausible.

“Spike…?” a voice. Finally, Spike got what he was asking for. Proof that life existed here, wherever ‘here’ might be. Wait… was that Buffy’s voice? And she sounded so close, perhaps right behind him…

Turning as he had done many times already, Spike couldn’t believe the reward he was offered for his movements, the same motions that still caused some pain in his muscles. A smile spread over the vampire’s lips as his predictions proved to be true. What more could he ask for than to be in the middle of nowhere, and rescued by the woman he loved? Who cared how she got there with him, or why she was there… for Spike, it was enough just to have her with him.

Buffy was standing there, and like him, she was washed in a supernatural light, giving an angelic glow to every portion of her body. Draped in a forest green dress that seemed able to hug every curve Spike adored, Buffy was wearing nothing else, her hair allowed to hang loosely at either shoulder.

“Hello Buffy…” Spike remained formal, knowing that Buffy was immune to any form of affection he sent her way. The girl simply stood there, hands loosely clasped behind her back as if she were some timid student. Spike couldn’t help it as his eyes roamed her form, though he attempted to remain subtle about it. Her simple presence seemed able to wash away every worry he had about being stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Curves began to flex, however, as Buffy took confident yet somewhat solemn steps toward Spike. The light-hearted tone she had worn a moment ago seemed to turn more serious with every step she took. Lost in the Slayer’s emerald eyes, Spike couldn’t help the nervousness that began to crawl up his spine. Buffy looked serious, but in an almost terrified and strangely sympathetic manner. Was she feeling sorry for him…? Afraid, perhaps…? And… Why…?

“Spike…” Buffy didn’t sound confident anymore. Instead, her voice was rather concerned. Again, the vampire posed mental questions as to why the Slayer would sound worried when speaking his name.

Suddenly realising how close Buffy had become, Spike was about to step back, assuming that he had moved closer without even noticing it. The movement was easier to think of than to actually accomplish, however. Intoxicated by the scent of raspberries, a designer perfume, and the natural beauty that every Slayer owned, his primal urges sent a steamroller over Spike’s initial wishes to be polite. This was perhaps the closest he might even be to the Slayer without fists and kicks being part of the equation.

Lips. Suddenly, lips. Buffy’s lips. All he could feel was the warm, tingling sensation of velvet brushing against his mouth. Buffy… was kissing him. Not because she was under a spell, not because Spike was dreaming, and not because she was posing as a robot. Buffy’s lips were actually pressed against Spike’s, and at that moment he had to fight the urge to simply faint.

Buffy then opened her mouth to his, her tongue brushing against the still sealed entrance to the frigid crypt of Spike’s mouth. The vampire responded rather quickly however, immediately granting access to the young woman. The movements of his mouth began to match hers as his jaw worked against her upper and lower lips for a moment, able to feel her tongue as it brushed along either of his lips.

The very instant that Buffy’s tongue finally touched base with Spike’s was the same time that the vampire finally realised why he allowed himself to be tortured by the Slayer’s venom. Sweeter than any candy, more delectable than Swiss chocolate… God, did words even express what it felt like to own Buffy’s mouth, to have her tongue playing Battleship with his for dominance over each other?

A hand, Spike’s hand, worked up the courage to land beside one of her porcelain cheeks, resting in mid-air for a moment. Ever so gently, it floated closer, until finally waves of electricity exploded from the point at which his fingers touched the Slayer’s skin. Unable to get enough of it, Spike moved a second palm to hold Buffy’s other vacant cheek, soaring even higher the moment his skin made contact with hers.

The spell lasted a few minutes longer. Buffy, occasionally allowing a groan to slip past her lips, allowed Spike’s hands to roam her freely, not protesting when they dipped into regions she would never usually allow. Her own arms were clasped behind Spike’s neck, her fingers gently stroking the cool skin she found there, even tugging at the collar of his duster once or twice.

Buffy was the one to finally break the kiss, not surprised when Spike leaned closer to her, craving more of the ambrosia he had tasted for what seemed only an instant. Pressing her hands against the vampire’s chest, Buffy stepped back so that the whole of her form was exposed to Spike, making his hunger for her all the more powerful. Deciding that she owed the vampire even the smallest taste of his favourite treat, Buffy held out both hands to him, allowing the vampire to grasp them tightly, but protesting when he requested more.

Spike was dazed, the thoughts that had once caused him so much pain not even occurring anymore. All he could taste was the strawberry lip-gloss Buffy had applied, its sugary sensation almost as sweet as her natural flavour. Every pore on Spike’s flesh was absorbing her living heat, unable to believe that she had been so close to him only a moment ago. They had been wrapped in a lover’s embrace, and God, he wanted more. Instead, he was offered a consolation prize, allowed to hold Buffy’s hands, understanding on some primitive level that she was about to say something, thus conjuring her need for physical distance from him.

“Spike…” the third time Buffy had spoken, and still she had formed only one word. “I need you to listen to me”. Noticing that the Slayer had actually formed a sentence, Spike glanced up, his eyes locking with hers. The serious gaze she gave him snapped the vampire out of his blissful state, though her hands helped to keep him comfortably numb.

“Bad things… terrible things are going to happen to you here, Spike…” if it was his attention she required, Buffy now had it in truckloads. Spike didn’t understand why she’d use those words to get his attention, but they seemed to work.

The vampire chuckled slightly, his thumbs idly stroking Buffy’s hands as he held them. “Tell me something I don’t know, love. Of course bad things are going to happen. They always do” speaking what he thought to be simple facts of life, Spike remained ready to listen when Buffy’s attitude didn’t seem to change or lighten.

“You don’t understand, Spike…” it appeared as though Buffy had heard him without listening. She didn’t know what he had said; she only knew that he hadn’t taken her seriously. “You can’t stop them. I can’t stop them either. They’re going to get you, they’re going to torture you until there’s nothing left of you but a broken slab of vampire meat” Spike wanted to cut in, perhaps toss around a not-so-Apocalyptical comment, but now didn’t seem like the time. Listen now, ask questions later.

“After a while you won’t know who I am. It won’t take long for them to break you, it never does. You’ll be able to see me for a little while each day, but the rest of the time, you belong to them, and him” Spike was confused. Most of what Buffy said didn’t make much sense to him, but he remembered every word of her mini-speech, guessing that he would figure it out soon enough.

Breaking the tie at their hands, Buffy moved closer to Spike again, leaning up to plant a single kiss on his lips, one that was almost identical to what she had given him after Glory’s torture. “Hold on to me, Spike, hold on to the things you love… You won’t be able to do it forever, but please… hold… on”

Letting their embrace disintegrate and turning away from the vampire, Buffy left Spike in a cloud of puzzlement. All he could manage was a low yelp for her to come back, having so many questions about the riddle she had just laid out for him. Deep green silk stretched over Buffy’s curves as she continued to walk away, appearing unable to hear Spike’s calls.

Falling to the ground when her presence was replaced by the same stereotypical nothingness, Spike was lost in his sea of confusion. What was Buffy talking about? Why had she kissed him like that? Where was he, and what did Buffy’s instructions have to do with it? Couldn’t he have just one clear clue?

Screaming metal became apparent suddenly, the deafening cries of steel telling Spike that his explanation was probably on its way. Rotating on his bottom, the vampire turned to face a sight that wasn’t nearly as pleasant as his first visitor had been.

Buffy wasn’t standing there, but Spike was hardly surprised. Somehow he doubted the fact that an appearance by the Slayer would be accompanied by the sounds of metal scraping against itself. Instead of a blonde beauty, Spike suddenly faced the sight of two massive metal gates opening before him, perfectly fitting into every horror movie cliché that existed.

Waves of heat hammered into Spike as roaring flames unfolded before him. Chains rattled from far off, and the stench of rotting corpses was something incredibly repulsive to Spike’s heightened senses. In gradual stages, everything Buffy had said became clearer. First of all, it appeared as if he was dead… oh yeah, Doc, scaffolding, portal, death. Damn. Now it seemed that Spike was about to take a trip into Hell…

Taking a deep breath, Spike stood up, not making any move to run. There was really no point in trying to hide from the inevitable. Being a vampire and all, it had always been obvious that this day would come; it was just a matter of time.

Hooking his fingers into the front loops of his jeans, Spike took a step back, fully encompassing the scene only yards away from him. Hell appeared to be waiting on the other side of the gate, an eternity of torture consumed by the never-ending inferno just begging to have a taste of his vampire hide.

Unable to lose his classic cool, even before the domain of Satan himself, Spike transferred all of his weight onto one leg. Shifting his facial features into a rather smug appearance, the vampire simply stared into the dimension before him, knowing that someone, or something was no doubt monitoring his every gesture. Making sure his feet were firmly planted, Spike took another breath as he stared defiantly into the gates, smirking at the last minute.

“Come and get me”

Spike had died that very day. Despite the heroic fashion in which Buffy and the others had carried him home, even though she had covered him with her mother’s finest sheets, the vampire wasn’t able to pull though. Offerings of warm pig’s blood and gentle shakes from the Summers’ women hadn’t been enough to prevent Spike from disintegrating into shards of dust.

Six months ago, William the Bloody had met his match. A hundred and twenty-seven years of existence were snuffed out in a matter of moments. All of it had been for the sake of the Slayer’s kid sister, not to mention the rest of the world.

Since then, things around Sunnydale had all but gotten quieter. For one thing, the vamp population was steadily growing without Hostile 17 around to do away with many of them. A new group of intelligent and powerful demons had rolled into town as well, motivating the Scoobies to reluctantly reactivate the Buffybot.

After six months of struggling against new and relentless odds, Buffy had finally come to a decision. Whether she got help from her friends or not, the Slayer planned on making an attempt at resurrecting their leather-clad hero. No one in the group had protested much, apparently seeing where she was coming from.

“Are you sure you want him back again? You know, with his whole ‘we belong together’ routine?” Xander had asked, indifferent as to whether they got him back or not, but unable to deny the strong points Buffy had brought up in Spike’s favour.

“Are you prepared to work through the consequences of bringing him back from what is surely a Hell dimension? Angel was gone only a few months, and he was quite… insane upon return” Giles had offered his educated opinion, wanting to support the needs of his Slayer, able to admit to himself that Spike’s help was needed in more ways than one.

“Well, I’m not even sure it would work, Buffy. Six months is a long time; Spike’s life energy might be out of reach by now” Tara and Willow had contributed truthfully, speaking on their area of expertise.

“I miss him” was all Dawn had said. Curled up, head in her knees, auburn strands of hair had cascaded against her back and around her arms. The vampire they spoke of had been almost like a brother to her, and had been willing to sacrifice himself for her sake in spite of a Hell God’s form of torture. Bruised and broken, he had remained silent through the ordeal, never admitting to Glory where the true Key could be found.

In the end, no one had been able to argue with Buffy’s resolve. Not surprisingly, she had even been able to convince Willow and Tara into helping her with contacting the Powers That Be… surely the only ones who could help her with such an ordeal. Getting there was half the battle though; Buffy didn’t doubt that the Powers wouldn’t just give her Spike back. This was surely going to be one of those things that was easier said than done.

“Ready?” Willow said, taking a deep breath.

“Ready” came the answer from Buffy, quickly followed by an affirmative answer from Tara. Sitting in a circle on the floor of Buffy’s room around an assortment of conjuring herbs and candles of various colours, the three women took each other’s hands. Willow had been the one to suggest they perform the ritual in Buffy’s room; being in a place that was personal to the Slayer might help as a needed anchor to earth’s dimension. Each woman took a deep breath, hoping to clear their minds of any infectious thoughts. Willow began chanting, Tara silently prayed, and Buffy sat quietly, allowing her thoughts to focus only on contacting the Powers That Be, and occasionally on Spike. Both subjects of thought, Tara had said, would be helpful in getting the Powers’ attention.

Hell. The word itself was a curse. In such a dimension, fire was like air; it consumed everything and was something that could never be escaped. Agonized screams erupted from the damned souls, so raw and desperate that they were able to pierce the consuming flames. Pain was inflicted on a daily basis for hours at a time, the physical sensation so terrible that it could never be described using the simplistic vocabulary of a human.

And Spike was condemned to such an environment for eternity.

Hanging by a pair of shackles suspended above his head, feet unable to touch any surface, Spike’s naked form was at the disposal of whatever Hell beast was assigned to torture him. There were no limits to the damage that could be done to him… charring his skin, amputating a limb in the most horrid ways possible, slicing into his flesh with white-hot blades, or playing mental games with the vampire were all reasonable forms of torture.

Animalistic screams roared out of Spike’s throat as the demons began peeling off a fifth layer of skin. From the demon’s point of view, William the Bloody was yet another work of mutilated art. The arms hanging above his head were charred, having been slowly cooked, blistered, and burned until the flesh was black. Knives had sliced and sawed their way into Spike’s legs, shards of glass pushed into the wounds, causing waterfalls of crimson to cascade down his limbs. The flesh on his back had been treated this way as well, only the lesions were stuffed with white-hot rods of metal rather than fragments of glass. Finally, of course, was the vampire’s chest, each layer of skin hanging from his stomach like sheets of paper. Such injuries occurred on a daily basis for Spike, their damage sometimes able to make his current condition appear laughable.

Having peeled off the final layer of flesh from Spike’s mangled body, the demon was now exposed to his muscular interior. Taking a firm hold on the muscle lining the left portion of Spike’s chest, the monster began to pull at the sinewy fabric, soliciting blood-curdling screams from the vampire yet again. Shredding the blonde creature’s muscle with its clawed hand, it wasn’t long until the creature was staring at a seemingly dead and quite vulnerable heart.

A wide grin painted itself across the fiend’s yellow-fleshed face as it conjured a wooden stake, the weapon appearing where there had been only flames a moment before. “You want it, don’t you, vampire?” the creature seethed, speaking in its incomprehensible native tongue. Then again, it didn’t matter what language the thing used… Spike wouldn’t have understood anyway. After what already felt like an eternity in Hell, the vampire had been unable to hold on to his sense of self, losing every shard of humanity that he once possessed. Only screams and growls could be formed by his permanently scarred vocal chords, his thoughts consisting of instinctive impulses rather than words and emotion. According to himself, Spike didn’t even have a name.

Chuckling slightly as the only response he was given was a hating look from a pair of cerulean orbs, the demon nodded, raising his oversized splinter to the crater in Spike’s chest. “Then you may have it, vampire filth,” he said, pressing his stake against the ruby jewel that was once a purely human heart. Wood and organ flesh became one as Satan’s henchman drove the needle through Spike’s heart, watching as his mutilated form disintegrated into nothing more than a pile of ashes.

Every day, the same dusty ending came to a torture that would last forever.

Only moments after dissolving into ashen remains, Spike was jolted to consciousness by the shock of having a cool, moist liquid dribbled over his mangled chest. Staring straight up, the vampire appeared to be lying face up, his back resting on a rather cushioned surface, surrounded by the same black void he had once started out in. Suffering in the midst of a firestorm only moments earlier, the cool liquid had been an unwelcome shock.

Tensing suddenly, gasps escaping from his lungs at a hurried pace as he was swathed in the fluid once again, Spike didn’t understand what was going on. Eyes flickering frantically to his right, the vampire was stunned when he came face to face with the most radiant object his azure orbs had ever grazed.

Female of course, lengths of blonde hair tickled her porcelain visage, ending in a cascade that surrounded petite shoulders. Emerald eyes that not even the stars could compete with pierced Spike’s raging crystals, a tenderness in them that was otherwise alien to the vampire. Those features were only the beginning of what made Spike’s heart shift from its usually crazed state to a calmed ocean of peace. Now he remembered this creature. It was his angel… the one who came to him after his daily execution… the one who could tame the raging catacombs of his visceral mind and heart.

Buffy was sitting there, surrounded by a blackness that only made the glow of her skin more apparent. Ivory lengths of fabric wrapped around her curves in a modest fashion, their hue almost matching the creamy sheets of the bed she was currently sharing with Spike. Kneeling close to the vampire, Buffy was accompanied by a glass bowl filled almost to the brim with water.

Muscles clenching furiously as another waterfall cascaded out of his angel’s yellow sponge, the vampire couldn’t tell if he was supposed to be feeling pain or pleasure. The nerve endings on his stomach and chest were sending him mixed signals. One moment, they cried out in bliss, having never experienced such a wonderful sensation. Only seconds later though, the pain was almost unbearable.

“Shhh…” came Buffy’s honey-coated voice as she saw the vampire tighten. That alone was enough to calm Spike, his eyes fluttering shut momentarily. But the Slayer wanted to offer him just a bit more. Reaching out as she reloaded her sponge with supernatural hydrogen, Buffy let her vampire patient take a firm hold on her hand, knowing he could perhaps use the physical contact as another form of comfort.

Rugged flesh made contact with creamy skin, and Spike could only vaguely remember the time he had felt so secure. In all reality, his last session with the Slayer had been only a day ago, but it seemed like an eternity. Spike sighed against the pillow he was suddenly aware of, completely at ease in the company of his angel.

A voice as gentle as the wind was there when his muscles flexed, not expecting the puddle of liquid that came his way; gentle pressure was returned to his clenching hand when the icy fluid again surprised him. Most blatant of course was the mystical water itself; although its appearance was surprising to his skin at first contact, Spike had come to realise and appreciate its healing powers.

Between the highly cushioned bed, the presence of his guardian, and her healing potion, Spike knew somewhere in his mind that he had been offered just a small slice of Heaven.

Perhaps an hour later, the healing process had come to what Buffy saw as a perfect finish. Every wound on her patient’s body had been healed by the caress of her tonic against his skin. Throwing her bowl over the bed, casting it into oblivion, Buffy knew it was impossible for the glass container to shatter on a floor that didn’t exist.

Spike was lying on his stomach at the moment, but after carefully shifting herself and the vampire, it wasn’t long before Buffy was sitting against the wooden headboard, the upper half of Spike’s still naked body resting in her lap as he lay on his right side. Gently stroking back his sweat-moistened hair, Buffy’s hands roamed to the other reachable regions on his body, occasionally making time to plant a kiss on the top of his lightning-hued cranium.

During the time spent in his saviour’s lap, Spike’s eyes remained shielded from the nothingness that surrounded him. Though his body shivered, used to the magma-heated temperatures of Hell, the vampire maintained his feeling of complete relaxation. If his heart needed to beat, it would contract no more than fifty times a minute in such a state. Taking in Buffy’s scent, causing unneeded breaths each time, the vampire would be perfectly content to remain in such a void for all eternity.

Sadly though, all good things were created to die.

From a far off region, chains could now be heard slinking toward the blonde pair of beings, each of them having been totally at ease only a moment before. Metal sliced and screamed into itself, and though the sounds were mere echoes for now, Buffy knew it didn’t take long for them to find him. Time was of the essence.

Vampire hearing had already picked up the wretched sounds, causing every one of Spike’s now healed muscles to tense immediately. In a world of such peace, even his broken mind could understand that such a distasteful clamour could not be a good thing. Curling deeper into his angel’s lap, Spike’s grip on her right hand tightened, his other limb holding her by the waist.

“Shh… it’s okay Spike. It’s okay… I’m here… I’m here… Shhh” her words trickled into his ears, the once sugary sound now slightly frightened. Buffy draped herself over the portion of his body that was in her lap, the Slayer’s powerful left arm holding him around the front of his waist, very similar to the death grip he had on her. Gently, she rocked Spike back and forth on the bed’s cushioned surface, attempting to drown out the horrid sounds that were constantly drawing nearer.

Hearing Spike give what could surely be classified as a terrified whimper, his form pressing farther into her, the Slayer continued her verbal assurance. “It’s all right, Spike, it’s okay…” she said, pausing to kiss the patch of his skin that was most readily available. “I’m here Spike… everything will be okay… I’ll always be here for you Spike… I’ll always be here to make things right…” her voice still soft, Buffy pulled out of the embrace enough to see his face.

Tears had welled at the edge of Spike’s eyes, the vampire terrified of the reverberations that were quickly becoming deafening. Elbow resting against the upper half of his arm, Buffy smoothed the left side of Spike’s already slick hair, bending closer to press a kiss against his temple and cheek. Leaning her right cheek against his left one, the Slayer simply remained in that position, the arm that was not used to hold his hand now clasped around the vampire’s shoulders. The tempo of their rocking motion refused to alter despite all of Buffy’s motions, and her comforting words never took a break.

It wasn’t long before the somewhat calm bubble of the spontaneously created bed was viciously deflated. Feeling Spike jolt beneath her, Buffy knew that some hideous creature had no doubt grabbed his legs. The presence of his form deflated beneath her, and Buffy quickly looked up, watching as Spike was towed, kicking and screaming into a pair of now gaping metal gates that lead to the dimension that truly owned him. Clawing at dead air, his throat already becoming raw from screaming, the last thing Spike saw before being surrounded by flames was the face of his saviour, her eyes filled with remorse.

Within seconds, the Slayer was completely alone on a bed in the middle of nowhere, knowing that the next time she came in contact with Spike, he would again be unaware of who she was, his mind easily destroyed by hours of ruthless torture. Burned into the back of Buffy’s mind was the utterly terrified expression that Spike pierced her with every day as he was dragged away from her by some fire-fisted demon. Someday… Buffy thought as she heard the metal fortress finally close before her …Someday I’ll save him. Someday I’ll be able to stop those creatures. Someday, Spike will be free…

Chapter 5:

Beginning to feel a little light-headed, perhaps from the mystical energy being conjured in her bedroom, Buffy hoped that if the Powers were going to reply, they would do it soon. Reality’s already delicate fabric was becoming more and more difficult for the Slayer to hold on to with each of Willow’s chanted words, and Tara’s every whispered prayer. Fighting the urge to faint, Buffy continued thinking only of Spike and the Powers That Be, wondering how she would know that the Powers had heard her.

“Miss Summers?” a friendly male voice came from behind her. Opening eyes she didn’t know had been shut, Buffy was surprised to find herself not in the comfort of her bedroom, but what appeared to be a waiting room of some sort. Five burgundy chairs were pushed against the yellow wall directly in front of her, and on each side of her was a silver-knobbed doorway. Suggesting to herself that she might possess some sort of body, Buffy attempted to turn toward the voice, and was successful in her short endeavour.

Staring back at her was the smiling face of a young man, perhaps in his early twenties. Short, dark hair, hazel eyes, and well-set cheekbones were his most prominent features. Even in a chair, Buffy could tell he wasn’t the tallest of creatures, but he was lean and looked as if he could handle himself well in any situation. “Welcome Miss Summers” his smile didn’t broaden, but it didn’t fade in the least, either. “Sorry for the delay, but we had to run what you might call a background check on you before deciding whether or not to answer your call. Of course, when the word ‘Slayer’ came up, all other questions were quickly dismissed” he finished, still smiling.

Buffy had wanted to interrupt the man, but his politeness had convinced her to wait until he was finished speaking. Taking a deep breath, she looked around at the petite, buttery-coloured room before turning her attention back to the clerk. “Um, I didn’t accidentally summon Psych-help Incorporated, did I? Even Doctors-R-Us?” the Slayer’s voice was soft, her eyebrows rising as she spoke.

Realising how confused the girl must have been, the man’s smile changed from welcoming to understanding as he gave a soft chuckle. “Oh, Goddess, no. Do not worry, Miss Summers. You asked for the Powers That Be, and you are getting exactly that,” he said with a nod. “We just thought that this type of environment would be more fitting for you” the man finished, business-like smile still pasted to his features.

Glancing at his wristwatch, the man closed his appointment book, folded his hands together and glanced at the still-adjusting Slayer. Temporarily distracted, when Buffy looked back to her welcoming committee his face was of a sobering nature. Eighty-pound weights plunged within Buffy, and she was suddenly grounded to the setting. “They are ready for you now, Miss Summers” leaving out further explanation, a suited arm was waved at the door to Buffy’s right, its silver handle beckoning her.

Pulling on an elongated breath, Buffy approached the door, clasping the generic knob with almost trembling fingers. Turning the spherical object, Buffy finally worked up enough courage to push open the maple-coated door, revealing a setting that was all but the sterile white she had expected.

The room she walked into was coated in deep forest green, cream-coloured carpet becoming apparent beneath her heeled shoes. Paintings by Monet and other landscape artists decorated the windowless walls, hung there for Buffy’s pleasure, she guessed. In front of her was a cushioned, all-black chair, small enough that she could see the two beings seated in more luxurious types of furniture.

The woman was resting in a pristine white armchair, her full-length robe being of the same hue. Tight crimson curls were pushed back with a silver headband, exposing all of her visage and neck. Blue eyes were set below a perfectly shaped forehead, giving way to exquisite cheeks, petite and naturally ruby lips, and a chin that complimented her other features. Approximately Buffy’s size and shape, the woman appeared young, yet wisdom seemed to pour from her very presence.

A man sat to her right, relaxing in an armchair that was of the same style as his colleague’s but draped in a midnight-blue material instead of white. Mahogany hair was styled in a manner that reminded her of the way Riley’s had looked during the latter half of her relationship with him. Piercing emerald eyes dug burrows into Buffy’s soul, the man’s strong, almost square features giving him a look of complete power. Dark, full eyebrows hung above pronounced cheekbones, centered by a pair of thin but sensual-looking lips that dangled over his not-too-large chin.

Needless to say, Buffy was beyond intimidated.

“Welcome, Slayer. Please… have a seat” the woman spoke first, her soft voice filling Buffy’s ears and mind simultaneously. Glancing at the black chair before her, Buffy quickly got the hint, scooting around and plopping herself in the cushioned structure. Smoothing out her baby-blue tank top and pushing at her long, golden locks, the Chosen One looked between either of the entities, not knowing what to make of the situation. Attempting internally to slow her nervous heart, Buffy didn’t notice that she had already begun picking at the seams of her black jeans.

“We are the Powers That Be, as you may have assumed” their voices were concurrent, perfectly synchronized with each other. Despite her nervousness, Buffy couldn’t help but admire how the male’s deeper voice complimented his associate’s gentle yet wise intonation. “I am Orotus” the masculine spoke first, folding his hands together as he did so. “You may call me Tarella,” said the female, her right hand on its armrest, the other sitting delicately in her lap.

Finally taking notice of the fact that she was tearing away at her jeans, Buffy quickly stuffed her hands beneath either leg, gulping back a nervous breath. “Orotus…” she said, nodding to the male. “Tarella…” greeting the female with a nod as well, Buffy had trouble deciding which of the two entities she should focus her attention on. “So, you’re the Big Kahuna’s, huh? I mean, you’re the Powers?” her voice was soft, exposing the intimidation running through her cold veins.

Although Orotus’ face remained neutral, Tarella laughed softly at the girl’s vocabulary. “That is correct. We are the Powers That Be; the keepers of time, space, and life energy” breaking away from the influence her partner’s voice, Tarella was the only one to speak this time.

Orotus had been checking their Chosen One for any visual flaws before he spoke up, breaking a temporary vow of silence that had fallen across the Powers and their nervous visitor. “Tarella and I had a chance to read your mind and soul before you arrived. Is it true that your journey here concerns the request to resurrect a vampire?” the male was frowning slightly now, obviously confused as to why a Slayer would wish for the re-birth of a vampire.

Of course, Buffy was only slightly surprised that the Powers had been able to read her mind. After all, she had been meditating about the vampire only moments before walking into the makeshift waiting room. “Well, technically…” she tried desperately to think of a more delicate way to put it, and failed horribly. “Yeah,” Buffy said, giving up quickly on the need for excuses. “That’s… why I came here.”

“Ah…” Orotus nodded in a comprehensive manner, though he was still utterly curious about the Slayer’s motivation and intentions. Hearing her colleague’s thoughts, Tarella posed such a question to the young girl sitting before her. “Buffy… It would be of very little inconvenience for Orotus and I to force our way into your thoughts. However, we prefer to simply ask you for the information we require. That way, we know you are being true not only to us, but to yourself as well” Tarella fell silent, giving the Slayer a moment to process her words.

Buffy considered the Power’s statement for a moment, and decided that everything she thought about Spike could be easily put forth in this setting. These creatures were not her friends; Buffy had no need to be modest before the Powers That Be because they would know the truth anyway. Realizing that her gaze had fallen to the floor, she quickly made facial contact with both Powers, and noticed they were staring at her in a rather comprehensive manner, as if every one of her thoughts had simply been spoken aloud. “Fair enough…” she said finally, taking mental guesses at the types of things she would be asked.

“First…” a rather booming voice wafted toward Buffy, and her eyesight was quickly trained to the male seated before her. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with the subject?” the Slayer was confused for a moment, taking time to realise that ‘the subject’ was actually Spike.

“It’s sort of complicated…” she began, eyes narrowing minutely as she spoke. “Spike… he’s what you might call our friendly enemy. He kinda helps out with Scooby stuff once in a while… that’s actually how he died…” Buffy paused for a moment, remembering the painful look of peace spread over Spike’s face after his fall. Judging from the silent nature of the Powers, they had no questions about the term ‘Scooby’ or anything else in Buffy’s speech, so she continued. “No one in the group is really fond of him I guess… he usually only makes a point of talking to me or Dawn. If he talks to anyone else, it’s mostly just because he has to.”

“I see…” Orotus glanced at his colleague after speaking, removing his intent gaze from Buffy for a moment. Each of them knew there was a missing piece to the puzzle of Spike’s relationship with the Slayer; it was simply a matter of asking the right question. “Why does the vampire assist you in battling against the forces of darkness, when he is a part of such an army?” the Power knew if that the Slayer were honest, he and Tarella would receive the answer they sought.

Sitting straighter in her chair, Buffy was glad to have a no-brain type of question. “Well, Spike was one of the few vamps unlucky enough to have a chip implanted in his brain. Basically, he helps us because it’s his only way of killing things. Not to mention the fact that he loves…” her voice cut out at that instant. Buffy couldn’t recall the last time she had actually admitted the fact that Spike loved her aloud. Looking between the Powers and deciding that she had no other choice, Buffy swallowed before continuing. “He loves me” it took an entire breath to expel the simple sentence, and Buffy’s eyes glazed over for a moment as she thought out her three words.

Satisfied by the response she had given this time, Orotus leaned back into his chair, formal position lost for a moment. Glancing to his comrade, the male Power waved his hand dismissively, obviously welcoming her to pose the next question. Fixing his gaze once more on the Slayer, Orotus gave Buffy the feeling that he wasn’t looking at her, but through her, a sensation that sent a wave of shivers down her spine.

In such a setting, it was impossible for the Slayer to possess a single secret.

For once thankful that a voice was filling the silent void, Buffy focused her attention on Tarella, listening intently to the next query. “We now know quite well how the vampire feels about you, Slayer. I am curious though… how do you feel about him?” although the question was going to be somewhat difficult for Buffy to answer, she was glad that it resonated from Tarella’s soft voice, rather than the intimidating one belonging to Orotus.

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it a moment later. Repeating the motion twice again, she was finally ready to answer. “It’s hard to explain. I know that I don’t… didn’t… love him. Sometimes he annoyed me to the point where I was ready and willing to drive a steak through his heart” as Buffy spoke, she remembered such incidences, and her voice became slightly hostile. Then of course came the memories of times in which Spike had sacrificed himself for her and Dawn’s sake. “Then again…” she said for the Powers’ benefit. “Spike also did a lot of things that I never thanked him for. He let Glory beat the Hell out of him without confessing where to find Dawn… Not to mention the fact that he was killed while saving my sister, thus ending yet another apocalypse in the meantime” Buffy sighed, realising how easily the words came to her now.

Tarella nodded, as if pleased with the Slayer’s answer. “So you care for him?” she inquired, soliciting a more interested stare from Orotus.

“More or less” she shrugged almost, eyebrows rising with the motion. “I mean, I can’t say that I don’t care for him, because I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t…” sensing that her words would conjure another question from the Powers, Buffy simply held her position, remaining silent.

“Ah yes, of course…” Orotus gave a slight grin, suddenly becoming vocal again as he sat forward in his chair. “We still have not asked exactly why you wish to have the vampire returned,” he said almost cockily, as if his question could change the fate of the world. “Why, exactly, do you want the vampire back?” the male’s eyes were narrowed slightly, as if threatening to not grant Buffy’s wish should even a syllable of her response be inadequate.

Taking a breath, Buffy ran over the different reasons in her mind before even opening her mouth. “Well, there’s the obvious… life as a Slayer in Sunnydale has become a little more… difficult without him around. Spike used to do a quick nightly patrol, dusting the odd vamp along the way. It didn’t seem like much, but now that we’re having a hard enough time with demons, the vampire population is becoming more difficult to handle, Buffybot or no Buffybot…” as with the term ‘Scoobies’, Buffy paused when she mentioned her robotic self, hoping the Powers wouldn’t ask her to explain.

When no questions were asked of her, Buffy continued, but only briefly. “Basically, we need Spike back in the group, and that’s all there is to it” sighing as she finished, Buffy was still confused as to who she should focus her attention on. Each entity demanded an equal amount of consideration, and the Slayer was trying her best to satisfy such a need.

“It is quite obvious that this one called Spike is a valuable member of your tactical team…” the male’s voice found its way into Buffy’s consciousness, and she gave a slight nod in response. The Slayer’s senses were then infiltrated by a sound made up of Orotus and Tarella’s voices. “What about personal influences? Surely you did not seek us only because you need the vampire for his combat abilities…” they were confident in speaking, obviously aware that Buffy had been driven to them for reasons concerning the heart, and not only her situation as the Slayer.

Considering their query for a moment, it didn’t take long before Buffy had allowed herself to sink back in the chair provided. “Alright,” she sighed. “You caught me…” shaking her head slowly, Buffy leaned forward only partially, the small of her back still glued to the chair. “The truth is, I do miss Spike. It’s not like I go to bed at night crying because I want him back, but no matter how annoying he could get, it was nice having him around… at times. I could talk to him in a way that I sometimes couldn’t talk to my friends. He’d listen without judging… Dawn misses him too, and that means something to me…” noticing the almost blank gazes she was getting from Orotus and Tarella, Buffy sighed lightly. “Did I mention that he saved my life and Dawn’s on occasion, not to mention the whole world?”

Orotus nodded. “Yes, I believe you said something of the sort.”

As if she hadn’t even heard the male speak, Buffy continued her complex answer. “I guess I just feel like I owe him something. With him being dead and all, the only way I can really repay him is by trying to… bring him back” sighing lightly, Buffy finally resigned from her barrage of reasoning, sinking into the chair again, gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

“What is your opinion on the situation?” Orotus communicated in a telepathic manner with the other Power.

“The girl has made somewhat of a point. We did not intend for William to be executed so soon. He was supposed to have many years ahead of him” Tarella responded, partially wanting to aid the Slayer’s wishes.

“Indeed… I notice that you seem to be leaning toward granting the girl’s request. Tell me, Tarella, what sort of sacrifice do you have in mind?” Orotus was now focused on his fellow Power, drawing her attention to him, therefore leaving the Slayer hanging.

“Oh, please, Orotus. Must you be so heartless? We have already demanded so much of this girl, and she has taken it with good spirits. She is the Slayer after all, the one whom we chose as the protector of mankind. Do we not owe her this one helping hand?” seeing that her comrade was not budging from his opposing position, Tarella offered a helpful piece of information. “Think of this, Orotus. Spike… William… has been in Hell for countless centuries by now… just try to imagine the mental insanity he will suffer from upon return…” she paused, allowing the impact of her statement to sink in. “If it will put you more at ease, do not forget that we have the power to stop the vampire from receiving his visitor… Even if he were returned in two earth days, it will have been more than long enough for him to be complete and utterly broken, every notion and slight memory of tenderness driven out of him.”

Orotus sat in absolute silence for a moment, considering Tarella’s proposal. After a brief period of debating with himself, the Power turned back to his partner, nodding. “Very well… you may grant the girl’s wish under such conditions. Three earth days” he said simply, obviously wanting some control in the decision. Making a mental handshake with Tarella, Orotus sank into his chair again, waiting for the female to explain their verdict.

“Slayer…” the radiant beauty began, orbs falling softly upon her visitor. “We have decided in your favour. The vampire will be returned to you in three of your days.”

Buffy concealed most of the relieved happiness that washed over her, fiddling with her hands as she spoke. “Um, well… I don’t really know what to say… Thank you?”

Tarella’s features remained slightly concerned, and the Slayer was quick to focus her attention once more. “However…” she continued, not bothering to acknowledge Buffy’s thanks just yet. “You do understand that Spike will not be as you remember him…” knowing that a vampire had already been returned to the Slayer once before, Tarella thought it necessary to elaborate. “Angelus was returned to earth after only two, perhaps three of your months. As you could tell, he was able to maintain a shred of his humanity. With or without the daily work of his saviour, Spike has been reduced to nothing more than an animal in human flesh” the Power’s voice was almost dark, as if she were attempting to change the Slayer’s mind.

Frowning as Tarella spoke of some saviour, Buffy was more intrigued by that statement than she was of Spike’s now visceral nature. “Uh… sorry, but… what do you mean by ‘the daily work of his saviour’? Isn’t the main purpose of Hell to torture people?” the Slayer’s expression was puzzled as she even dared a questioning glance at Orotus.

“Indeed” the female answered, gracefully nodding. “But Spike is what you might call a ‘special case’… Despite the fact that his motivations were mainly due to his inability to attack humans, the vampire was able to change his ways in favour of our cause. Near the end, most of his actions were done for a more personal reason. Love. For you” unafraid to throw the Slayer’s fears of Spike’s love in her face, Tarella continued her answer of Buffy’s question. “In return, we made it possible for Spike to be visited once a day by what could be called an angel… Using the image of what he loved most, Orotus and I gave Spike a chance for his wounds to be healed while in the comfort of his angel. It did not stop Lucifer from torturing the humanity out of him, but it helped nonetheless… Of course, as you may have already guessed, it was your image that we used” finishing with a soft smile, Tarella pushed back a stray lock of hair, giving the Slayer a chance to absorb the offered information.

While listening to Tarella’s explanation, Buffy’s face had contorted into a number of different designs. First, she had been interested, wanting to understand the concept of a ‘daily saviour’. Deeper into the explanation, apprehension had crossed over her usually courageous features, beginning to understand where Tarella was heading. Finally, Buffy’s face was twisted into an almost nauseated heap. For so long, she had been able to deny Spike’s love, to believe that he was only fooling himself. But when the all-seeing, all-knowing, almighty Powers That Be confessed to such a crime, it could no longer be avoided.

Spike is really in love with me…? Buffy thought silently, gaze flickering upward every so often. Spike really is in love with me. Buffy was astounded that her dread was infected by a small dose of pride at such a thought, the arcane catacombs of her heart rewarded by the fact that she had been someone’s saviour, the object of their deepest affection. Managing to make eye contact with either Power for only a lingering second, Buffy managed a weak “Oh”, attempting to appear as casual as possible. Then again, before such supreme beings, secrets were impossible; and somehow, Buffy just couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment.

“I believe that should be enough to conclude this… session. Your vampire will be returned three days from now, though the exact location of his arrival is impossible to coordinate” Orotus spoke without sensitivity to the obviously stunned Slayer. “Do you accept these conditions Miss Summers?”

Thrown back to reality by the deep, powerful voice of Orotus, Buffy gave an involuntary nod. “Yeah. Of course. I mean, if you can cure one Hell beast you can cure them all, right?” she laughed softly, eyebrows flying high with optimism. Standing, Buffy smoothed out her slightly rumpled clothing. “I guess I should say thanks again, so… Thank you…”

Tarella and Orotus both nodded. “Farewell Buffy Summers, and Good luck…” was all they said, secretly telling themselves that the Slayer would need every ounce of it she could muster. With that, Tarella quickly swept her hand through the air, and Buffy felt the floor instantly disappear from beneath her.

Falling through what seemed like an endless tunnel, the Slayer’s essence was suddenly dropped back into her material form. Opening eyelids that actually belonged to her, relief washed over Buffy as she saw Willow and Tara, both girls obviously meditating. “Hey…” she said lightly, startling both of the Wicca lovers.

“Buffy!” Willow exclaimed as a smile rippled across her creamy visage. “You’re back!” she suddenly frowned “I mean… did you go anywhere?” changing facial expressions quite quickly, the red-haired girl ended with a look of hope bordering on disappointment.

“A happy affirmative to both questions” Buffy smiled back, noticing the beautiful texture of aromas that Willow’s herbs had conjured in her bedroom.

“How did it go?” Tara was equally joyous to have her friend return, though her method of expressing emotions was more modest in nature.

“I’m not sure…” seeing the instantly disappointed looks she got, Buffy quickly changed her pace. “I mean, we got him back… We got Spike back… But things were just a little weird while I was there” she said with a shrug.

“Weird?” Willow inquired, her frown now more apparent.

“Well, not a ‘demons are messing with my head’ kind of weird… More like an ‘I’m sitting in front of the Powers That Be… the all-powerful Powers That Be’ kind of weird. Definitely a 10.5 on the wiggins scale” she said with a slight laugh, looking between the two girls.

“So what do we do now?” after sharing in Buffy’s chuckle, Willow became focused on their objective once again, curious about what orders Buffy had been given.

“Now…” the blonde girl said with a sigh. “As usual, we wait… Three days, and our bleached friend is returned” she smiled. “I’ll explain everything at the next Scooby meeting” assuring her comrades that they would not be left in the dark, Buffy got to work cleaning up the magical supplies.

Within twenty minutes of her return to earth, Buffy was standing behind her now closed front door, having sent her friends home in a desperate need for sleep. Not only was the actual ritual exhausting, but also much of the knowledge she had gained was mentally draining. The memory that Spike had in fact truly loved her was still with Buffy, but the satisfaction she initially had felt was now buried beneath a heap of miscellaneous thoughts and emotions, condemned to an unnoticed death.

Sighing as she simply floated to the surface of her bed, Buffy couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of being drowned in the number of sensuous fragrances that surrounded her. Jasmine and lavender danced with other unknown scents, allowing the Slayer to drift into a dreamless sleep. When she woke up, the countdown to Spike’s triumphant return from Hell will have already begun.