Lost and Found

Rated- PG13 (there might be some NC17 parts posted separately)

Spoilers- Buffy: Chosen, Angel: Soul Purpose

Summary- I’m fixing everything Joss messed up. How? With a spell, a ghost, some visions, an awakening, and a revised prophecy. Still don't know what this is about? Well, then read it and find out. B/S, A/X, A/C, D/C, and maybe F/W (that’s Faith and Wes. What do you think?)

Disclaimer- I don’t own Buffy or Angel. If I did I wouldn’t have to write this story

Buffy smiled when she gazed upon the crater that used to be Sunnydale. Peace had washed over her. The battle was over and there was finally a chance to rest.

She smiled when she ordered hot cocoa at a rest stop, nine hours later. She savored the rich chocolatey goodness, wishing she had squishy little marshmallows to plop into it.

She smiled when she ‘accidentally’ stumbled upon Passions while channel surfing at the hotel. She watched the whole thing, her attention glued, despite that she had no idea who Eve, Theresa, Julian, Tabitha, or Ethan were. The story made no sense, and the acting was pathetic, but Buffy enjoyed it anyway.

She smiled when she bought The Sex Pistols and The Ramones at Media Play. Hey, they were on sale. It was good to have a variety of musical exposure.

She smiled when she saw Billy Idol on the cover of a magazine. The supermarket cashier had looked at her funny when she mumbled, “Damn poser.”

In Rome, she smiled when she saw a tourist wearing a black leather coat. She had even complimented him about it.

Six months and not once had she cried.

“Buffy, what is this?”

“Huh?”

Dawn held up the bucket of spicy buffalo wings. She arched an eyebrow.

“Dinner,” her sister simply answered.

Putting the carton down, Dawn sighed. “Buffy, I know you miss him, but I’m getting worried.”

Buffy opened the cupboard. She got down two plates. “Don’t you like spicy chicken?”

“That’s so not the point here. Buffy, you need to stop.”

The slayer feigned ignorance. “Stop what?”

Dawn swept a hand around the small kitchen. “This. Whatever this is you are doing.”

Buffy placed the plates on their round table. She supplemented it with cloth napkins. “Dawn . . .”

“We can talk about it,” Dawn offered. “We can grieve together.”

“I don’t need to grieve,” Buffy said.

“Oh really? What do you need to do? Eat his favorite food? Watch his favorite shows and movies? Listen to his choice of music? Next thing you know I’ll catch you smoking Marlboros.”

Dawn was caught off guard when Buffy spun around to face her. She had expected a frown, anger maybe, or even tears. Instead there was the smile. The smile that she just couldn’t get Buffy to shed.

“The thought of him makes me happy. I see things so clearly now. As if a veil has been lifted from my eyes. He set us free, Dawnie,” Buffy told her. “I don’t need to cry.”

Buffy went over and grabbed the container of chicken. She opened it, taking a moment to sniff the salivating aroma. Then she brought it over to the table and selected pieces to put on the plates. The entire time Dawn watched her with amazement. This display didn’t make sense to her, but she knew somewhere in Buffy-logic it did.

Buffy had loved Spike and she was dealing the only way she knew how.

***********************

Angel didn’t visit Cordy as often as he used to. He was extremely busy running Wolfram and Hart but that wasn’t the real reason. The truth was that it hurt too much. Each time he saw her it got a little harder to bear. There never was any change. The probability that she might not wake up was high.

This morning Angel felt the odd compellation to see her. He needed someone to confide in and he wanted it to be her, even if she couldn’t give feedback.

The infirmary ward was quiet. Too quiet. He glanced into the rooms as he passed. Most of them were empty, bare rooms with unused equipment.

He rounded the corner. He abruptly stopped in his tracks.

“What are you doing here, Eve?” Angel demanded.

She smiled at him. That smile that really wasn’t a smile at all. She wore a white skirt with a red button-down shirt. Silver dangly earrings adorned her lobes. She stood too close to Cordelia’s room. Her proximity brought out the protective animal instinct in him.

“I was checking up. The senior partners want to know how things are going in each department,” Eve informed.

“If you’ve got what you came for I suggest you leave,” he growled.

Her grin widened. She glanced at the door behind her. “Easy, I’m not here to harm your little girlfriend. How is she by the way?”

“That’s no concern of yours.”

She made a mocking attempt at looking sympathetic. “The same, huh? I’m sorry.”

“Leave,” Angel ordered.

She held out her palms. “Fine. I’m going.”

He didn’t move until she was out of sight.

Angel stood in the doorway, staring at the bed. There she was, Cordelia Chase, who used to be so full of energy, now motionless and pale. He slowly closed the door and stepped inside. He went to the chair by her side and sat down.

He slipped her hand into his. “Hi, Cord, I know I haven’t been around for awhile.” He sighed. “I’m feeling a little lost. Seems that Spike is the new champion. I think I might have made a huge mistake coming here.”

He bowed his head, the only reply being the steady beep of the heart monitor.

*********************

The three Scoobies gathered in the new council library. Rupert Giles, head watcher, stood at the front of the square table. Shelves of books surrounded them, a good amount but not as ample as they would have liked. He cleared his throat and glanced from Willow to Xander.

“I received a call from Buffy today,” he announced.

Xander sat up straighter. “Buffy. How is our dear Buffy?”

“Oh, and Dawn!” Willow added. “How is Dawn?”

“Buffy assured me they are doing fine. They have run across another slayer in Rome,” Giles informed.

“Wow, two slayers in Rome,” Willow said.

“They just keep popping up,” Xander remarked. “It used to be demons. Now instead of them we find slayers all over the place. Although, slayers good. So um. . . finding good.”

A small smile was sent his way from Willow.

Giles just shook his head. He would never understand the way these young people thought. They babbled too much and half the things they said were irrelevant.

“Quite,” Giles found himself saying. “Buffy told me she wishes to escort the slayer here herself.”

Brightness spread over the redheaded witch’s face. “Oh yay!”

“The Buffsters coming for a visit. I’m thinking yay too,” Xander commented.

“I have to show her that store at the mall. The one with the clothes that are so Buffy,” Willow said with excitement.

“And the coffee shop. So better than Starbucks. She’s so going to love this town.”

“Except for that thing called the hellmouth.”

Xander frowned. “Oh, yeah. There’s that.”

Giles removed his glasses. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He had given up a long time ago. There was no hope in getting them to focus when they were in these moods.

**********************

Eve glanced around her. There was no one in sight. She faced the white wall, digging into her purse for her cell phone. She pressed in a few numbers and waited for the other end to pick up.

After a moment she smiled.

“Hey there, cowboy.”

She paused for a moment.

“Yeah, I gave her the good stuff. Close call, though. I was almost caught by Angel.”

She listened carefully to the reply.

“I know. I’m thinking we shouldn’t risk it during active hours. It’s too risky.”

She nodded. “Uh huh.”

“How’s our champion?”

She waited before asking, ”You sure he trusts you?”

“Good.”

Laughter spilled out of her. “Later. Tonight. It’ll be the best night of your life. See ya then.”

Eve hang up, pocketing the phone. She continued down the hall with a very satisfied look on her face.

***********************

The dream hit suddenly. Buffy shot up in her bed. She breathed heavily, her heart pounding. She gripped the sheets tightly.

Oh God, she thought. Oh God.

She sprang out of bed. She went over to the window. The blinds were shut. She opened them to let the full moon’s light stream into the room.

“Buffy?”

The slayer spun. She hadn’t even heard her sister enter. The sixteen-year-old stood before her wearing blue-striped pajamas. A concerned expression was on her face.

“Are you all right?”

Buffy opened her mouth to speak. And that was when it happened. She covered her mouth with her hand and let out a retching sob.

Dawn stepped forward. “Oh, Buffy. What is it?” She wrapped her arms around the older girl.

“I saw him, Dawn. He was burning. Flames were all around him and. . .” She couldn’t go any further.

“It was just a dream.”

Buffy shook her head. “Yes, it was just a dream. It wasn’t slayerish or anything. But-But it is a possibility. What if-What if he really is in hell?”

“He saved the world, Buffy,” Dawn pointed out.

“So? He was still a vampire.”

“He had a soul.”

“Angel had a soul when I stabbed him and sent him into that Acathla vortex.”

The darkness swirled around Buffy, engulfing her. She pulled away from her sister and turned toward the window again. The tears had stopped, but her cheeks were still wet. She stared up at the moon, transfixed.

“Funny,” Buffy said. “I never thought about him being in hell until now.”

Dawn frowned. She looked up at the moon as well, feeling its pull.

________________________________________________

Normally Buffy thought about Spike as much as possible. The dream had disturbed her, though, and she was avoiding any reminder of him like the plague. So far so good.

She was focusing on arranging their trip to Cleveland. She booked their seats, packed, called Giles, and explained the plan to Thea.

The new slayer was hesitant. She didn't know if she wanted to go across the globe. Eventually she agreed, however, realizing she needed answers and training. Buffy understood all too well what the girl was going through. The transition into slayer-hood was confusing. It changed your whole life: physically, mentally, and even spiritually. The world turned inside-out.

"Dawn!" Buffy called.

She made her way down the hall and stopped before the closed door on the left. She rose a hand and tapped on it.

"Dawn?"

There was a long span of silence.

"Dawn?"

The door finally opened. Dawn peeked her head out. She was damp from the shower.

"What took you so long to open the door?" Buffy demanded.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Impatient much. I was naked."

"You should have told me."

"Whatever. What do you want?"

"Have you started to pack?" Buffy asked.

"We aren't leaving for another two days," replied Dawn.

"It is good to be prepared early."

Dawn looked at Buffy curiously. Buffy sighed.

"So, packed?"

"N-No."

"You don't look busy. Why don't you start now?"

Buffy didn't wait for confirmation. She turned and left for her own room. Dawn stared after her sister, furrowing her brow.

**************************

Lindsey was waiting for her like always. He was lying in bed, naked under the covers. She had grinned with satisfaction, slipping off her clothes. Then they had wild, passionate sex.

Afterward, Eve curled up beside him, sweaty and sated. She trailed circles over his tattooed chest.

"I better go visit our vampire soon," Lindsey said.

She glanced up at him. "How many more times do you think it'll take before we can go to the next step of the plan?"

Lindsey pushed her gently away. He reached for his pants and pulled them on.

"Not many," he answered.

Eve ran her hands over his back. She leaned in and nibbled on his earlobe. "Good."

Lindsey broke away. A pout formed on Eve.

"It's late, baby," he informed.

"I'll have the demon attack at eleven sharp. Be sure you direct our crusader near Judson."

He gave her a quick kiss before donning his dark-blue button-down. "No worries. He'll be there."

***********************

"I'll have another."

The bartender took the empty mug and went to refill it. He set it back down on the counter a short time later, rich foamy liquid to the brim.

"Thanks, mate," the vampire remarked.

Spike grabbed the beer and took a large gulp. He savored the taste of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. There was nothing like a beer. It was the only thing he could rely on these days.

His eyes roamed to the mounted television overhead. The evening news was being broadcasted. The reporter said something about missing young adults.

Spike suddenly sensed movement behind him. He spun, grabbing the arm of the person before their hand could clamp down on his shoulder. He slammed the intruder's head against the bar.

"I'm not really a touchy-feely kind of bloke," Spike said. "Appreciate if you'd keep your hands to yourself."

"Spike, it's me."

Spike studied the man. Recognition came over his features as he took in the dark hair and Urban Cowboy getup. His grip loosened. "Oh, you." His tone wasn't malicious, just uncaring.

Doyle, the PTB's chosen seer, straightened. He winced. "You have a good grip."

The bleached-blonde rose an eyebrow to express 'duh'.

"Right. Vampire," Doyle stated.

"I've been looking all over for you," Doyle went on.

"Right," Spike muttered. He was slightly distracted by the TV.

The news was giving more details on the disappearances. Apparently there were over fifteen cases, seemingly connected. The victims were all between the ages of fifteen and twenty-one.

". . . need to be around where I can find you."

Spike snapped his attention back to Doyle. He had missed most of what the other man had just said.

"So, you had another one of your brilliant visions then?" Spike asked.

"Yes. A girl is going to be attacked by something big and ugly with horns," Lindsey explained. ". . . Soon."

Spike stood. He downed one last swallow of his beer before heading toward the door. Doyle followed right behind.

They exited. Spike walked down the abandoned sidewalk, his duster billowing behind him. "What'd the girl look like?"

The only answer he got was a groan. Spike turned. Doyle was having another vision. This one seemed nastier than any of the others before. He had sunk to his knees, palm against his forehead. The scene reminded him of his reaction with the chip. Spike wondered if it felt like his brain was being ripped out of his skull.

The vision eased. Doyle took in a few deep breaths, collecting himself. His body was slightly trembling.

"Those visions getting worse?" Spike inquired.

Doyle lifted his head. His gaze was directed off into the distance. "Y-yeah."

Spike reached down, offering a hand. Doyle blinked, almost bewildered. After a moment he accepted the help. His legs were unsteady for a moment, reluctant to accept his weight.

"What'd ya see?"

It took a moment for Lindsey to focus. "What?"

"Vision? What did it show?"

Lindsey swallowed. "A girl," he got out.

"Another girl." Spike frowned. "Somebody needs to teach these blond bints to stay in at night."

"She was in an alley." The dark-haired male appeared to be speaking to himself.

"Which alley?" Spike pushed.

"I don't know!" Lindsey growled. He backed up.

Spike held up a hand. "All right. All right. I'll find er' without an address."

Something didn't sit right with Spike. Doyle had never had a reaction like this to a vision-trip. He was usually coherent afterwards. And not to mention, very observant about what he had seen. He always knew exactly where the incident was supposed to take place.

"I'll check alleys after saving the first damsel. Where was that again?"

Doyle shook his head, clearing it. "J-Judson?"

"Right then." Spike looked at Doyle for a moment, frowning. "Judson. Got it. I'll, uh. . . I'll just go see to it then."

Spike started to walk away. He was almost a block away when he heard Lindsey say something. He looked back.

"What was that, mate?"

"Blue dress."

"Excuse me?"

"She was wearing a blue dress. The girl in the alley."

Spike nodded. Then he continued going toward Judson.

*************************

Lindsey leaned his body against a metal dumpster.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

He closed his eyes. There was still a slight throb between them.

What was going on?

He opened his eyes and directed them to the darkened sky above.

"What the hell are you doing to me!?" he exclaimed.

______________________________________________

Somehow Lindsey made it back to his apartment. In a daze, he entered his darkened home. He found Eve waiting for him on the bed. She immediately got up to meet him.

“How’d it go, ’Doyle’?” she asked, putting her arms around him.

Her touch made him shiver, and not in a turned on way. He disbanded her.

“It went well,” he lied.

“What should we set lose next time? Maybe a Palara.”

The girl in the vision flashed through his brain. He shut his eyes and turned away. She was fresh in his mind. Innocent, young, and unaware of the lurking evil. Then the demon attacked. He had tasted her fear. She didn’t want to die. She had a lot of things she wanted to do in life. She was engaged to be married.

“Hey, are you all right?”

Eve’s voice hit him like ice.

“You should go, Eve,” Lindsey told her.

She didn’t answer at first. She placed a hand on his shoulder, but quickly removed it.

“Sure,” she said. “Get some rest. I think you need it. We’ll meet tomorrow to discus Spike’s next mission.”

He didn’t respond. He listened to her retreat before opening his eyes. All he saw was the shadows looming around him. Maybe Eve was right. Sleep sounded good.

Lindsey shed his clothing and got into bed. Before drifting off he made a decision. So what if the powers wanted to get back at him with a few real visions? That didn’t mean anything. He would simply ignore them. It took a lot more than that to make him moral and a dignified citizen. There were too many people to worry about. Why even bother? He only had one priority and that was himself.

He would get back at Wolfram and Hart. Angel being the head boss was just a bonus.

**********************

It sucked being a ghost. Her new status was boring and very frustrating. Anya was a material girl and she couldn’t even touch anything.

She watched the cashier deal out two twenties to a middle-aged customer. A sigh escaped her. She remembered the feel of the bills in her hands. The texture, the smell. . . Oh how she missed it.

Anya knew that loitering in a Wal-Mart could lead to nothing good. It brought up too many nostalgic memories of retail.

“Get out!” a malicious voice shouted.

Anya glanced around. Her eyes landed on a man, maybe in his thirties. He was staring straight at her. She gaped, awed. Someone could see her!

“Hey, you can see me!?” she exclaimed.

“Of course I can see you. Now get out,” he demanded.

“But why?”

“This is my haunt. Now get out.”

Disappointment came over her. He was a ghost too. It hit her like a knife.

“You’re the ghost of Wal-Mart?” The thought of it was absurd.

“Yes, and this place isn’t big enough for the two of us. Go find your own place to haunt.”

“Where do you suggest?” Anya asked. “I’m very familiar with the demon hang-outs, but I don’t know much about ghost dwellings.”

The other ghost shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you go to where you died? Lots of spirits haunt their burial ground,” he offered.

Anya shook her head. “I died in Sunnydale. It’s a big crater now. That’s why I left.”

The ghost smiled. “Sucks to be you then.” He began to walk away.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to help me!?”

He didn’t answer. She watched as he passed the women’s clothing section. He reached out and knocked down a few blue sweaters. Her eyes bugged out.

“How’d you do that!?” she shouted.

He continued to walk away. “Hey! Hey!”

He never turned back. Anya left the Wal-Mart in defeat.

Come on, Ahn, think. You can get yourself out of this mess. There has to be someone who can help you. Too bad she had no idea where the gang went. She might have been able to make a connection with Willow. Maybe she could find a psychic.

There just had to be somebody living she could make contact with. . . Or even the undead.

**********************

Damnit, Faith was not going to cry. Robin had been good for a screw . . . She thought for a moment. Okay, fifteen screws. But now it was over.

He’d decided to accept that school principal offer in New York. He said Cleveland wasn’t for him. Faith couldn’t abandon her post. The new slayers needed her. So it was over.

It was all right. Faith wasn’t emotionally involved. She never got emotionally involved. It was just a good time. When you got emotionally involved . . .

Fuck, she was crying.

This was why she had agreed not to feel beyond the physical sense with men. They were unreliable. They left.

Poor B. That girl had a lousy piece of luck. She had found the one male in all the galaxy who would stay, and he had to up and die on her. Fucking unfair, that’s what it was.

She needed to get her mind off stuff. Work. Work helped. Maybe there was some slayer who needed help with a move. She’d ask Giles for something to do, but Mr. Bookworm would most likely give her something involving research. That notion made her shutter. No thank-you.

The dark-haired slayer exited her room. She hoped she looked okay. She had made sure to splash water in her eyes before going public. She hadn’t paid attention to her hair and clothing, though. She glanced down at herself. Tight black pants and shirt. Okay, that passed inspection. She ran a hand through her hair. A few tangles, but not bad.

The school was unusually quiet. Normally it was echoing with teenage laughter. Did someone take them on a field-trip?

Faith glanced at her watch. What? It was two in the morning already? Shit, everyone was asleep. That’s just great.

Okay, if there was nothing to do here she’d just go out. The cemetery must be crawling with vamps. Hopefully.

She was making her way to the main doors when she spotted movement. As she neared, the figure came into focus.

“B? Is that you?”

“Faith?”

“That’s me. What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t due until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Was. We got here a tad bit sooner. Dawn and Thea, the new slayer, are at the hotel. I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d come check out the council/slayer boarding school digs. Figured someone would be awake.”

Faith smiled. “I am. Though, I think most aren’t. God, B, it’s good to see you.”

The other slayer offered a forced smile. “How ya doing?”

“You know, five-by-five,” Faith lied. “You?”

“Five-by-five,” Buffy said.

They stared each other in the eye, not fooling each other.

“Want a tour?” Faith offered.

“That’d be great.”

The ex-rogue led Buffy through the large building. She indicated the bathroom and water fountain. They came to a room. Faith opened the door.

“This is the magic room,” she informed.

Buffy peeked her head in. She couldn’t help the amazement that filled her. “Wow,” she murmured.

The room was filled with a circle of desks. In the middle was a rug displaying the pentagram symbol. There were bookcases with spell books. A blackboard was at the head of the room, with names of pagan gods. Buffy also noticed a few posters. She read one by the door that showed the phases of the moon.

“So, Willow is teaching slayers to be witches?” Buffy asked. “That’s a little -Well, strange.”

“Not really,” Faith told her. She shut the door as Buffy stepped back. “She teaches witches who want to aid slayers. Although, I admit there are a couple slayers who signed up for the class.”

They continued down the hall. Another door came into sight. Room 33, Professor Harris.

“What does Xander teach? Last time I heard he was undecided.”

“It was Willow who gave him the idea. He’s a consultant for the civilians who know slayers. He helps the people who don’t have special powers yet still want to help.”

“Very fitting.”

Faith’s mouth tugged up. “Isn’t it?”

Moving on, Buffy frowned. “I sort of feel guilty,” she admitted.

“What for?” Faith questioned, confused.

“For not helping. I’m living in Rome, creating my normal little life, while you guys are all still following the noble path. I came across Thea by accident.”

Faith stopped. She spun. Her eyes were harsh.

“Fuck, Buffy,” Faith growled. “If anyone deserves that normal life it’s you. You’ve done enough.”

“Have I?”

“God, how many apocalypses have you ended? Six? Get over the guilt-trip. Now me . . .” Faith pointed to herself. “I’ve far from done enough.”

They stood there in silence for a moment. Then they went on. Buffy saw the cafeteria and indoor track.

Faith gestured to a door. “That’s Andrew’s room.”

Andrew, Watcher Initiation.

“Oh, God, it’s true,” Buffy commented. She laughed.

“I was skeptical too,” Faith said. “But it really isn’t a hard job. All he does is interview watcher candidates. He checks their background history and gives them a test.”

Buffy continued to laugh. “I guess everyone can do something useful.”

They came to the work-out center. “Major cool,” Buffy said.

It was. There was a balance beam, a horse, a vampire dummy, a few punching bags, and a massive amount of free space.

“Wanna try it out?” Faith asked.

Buffy jumped at the chance. “Think you can take me?”

Faith gave her a wicked smirk. “I don’t see a fancy knife with you this time round.”

The two slayers went into the training area. They faced off, going into attack mode.

Faith acted first. She threw a few punches, which Buffy was ready for. The blonde skillfully blocked them. Buffy kicked, but Faith jumped over her leg.

They continued on. Barely any fists or feet made contact, but they were able to let out their aggravation. Eventually they both collapsed on the mats, exhausted.

“You’ve gotten better,” Buffy complimented.

“Thanks,” Faith replied.

“Still couldn’t take me in a real fight.”

Faith chuckled. “I dunno, depended on when I decided to spring.”

Buffy tilted her head to look at her. “Whatever.”

Faith grinned. “I’m pretty sure there were times when your legs didn’t even work right. I bet Spike could dish it out all night. Am I right?”

Abruptly, Buffy got to her feet.

“Hey, B . . . “ Faith realized her mistake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“No, I’m ok. You can say his name.”

“Still, B . . .”

“I said I’m ok, all right,” Buffy said without feeling. “Thanks for the spar, Faith. I think I’ll head back to the hotel now. Catch ya later.”

Faith relaxed, prone on the mat, and stared up at the rafters. If it wasn’t for the frequent times that she got horny as hell, and even her hand couldn’t satisfy her, she’d do away with men altogether. They were nothing but trouble. Even when they were dead.

_______________________________________________

Xander Harris had just gotten done with a class. He was satisfied with the lesson. It had gone well. It had been about losing a loved one. He had gotten through it without shedding a tear, which was a great achievement.

Each day that passed became easier for Xander to get through. The thought of Anya still created a lingering sorrow and regret, but he was also filled with pride. She had truly been a miraculous woman. He wished he had done things differently. He really should have married the ex-demon when he had the chance.

The past was past, though, and the present was what was now. There was nothing he could do about that.

He was on his way to the lounge when he passed by Giles’s office. He bumped, literally, into a woman exiting.

“Ooops, clumsy me. Sorry about that,” he apologized.

“Xander?”

He knew that voice. It had been far too long since he’d heard it, and he had missed it tremendously.

“Buff? Good to see you.”

The two friends shared a hug. Contented smiles formed on their lips.

“I didn‘t expect to see you until tonight,” he stated.

“Yep, we got here sooner than expected,” she replied.

“Well, yay for modern, zippy-fast flights.”

They stepped back, looking at each other.

“How are things on the Summers’ front?” Xander asked.

Buffy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Xander noticed that she had cut her hair and gotten subtle high-lights. It now fell just to her shoulders and glowed with the color of the sun.

“Rome looks like it’s been treating you well.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Full of amazing sites and many new words to learn.”

Gesturing over to the stairs, Xander suggested, “Why don’t we go sit on the steps and talk.”

“Sure,” she agreed.

They settled on the first two levels. There was a moment of silence before anyone spoke.

“Anything new in Xander-land?” Buffy questioned.

He shrugged. “Oh, not much. Been teaching the next generation of Scoobs. They’re a pretty promising bunch.”

Buffy stared off down the hall. She watched a girl around fifteen scurry around a corner.

“Hey! Rachel!?” Xander stood up. “Where are you off to?”

The girl slowed and turned around. “I have to go to my locker,” she informed.

“Did you get permission?”

“Yeah,” Rachel answered. “Ms. Rosenberg always lets us.”

Xander nodded. “Okay. But straight there and back, okay? And at a slower pace.”

“Thanks, Mr. Harris.” Rachel continued away towards her locker.

The brunette sighed and sat back down. He heard a giggle and looked over to see Buffy with a hand over her mouth.

“What?”

Buffy removed her hand, grinning. “Mr. Harris? Ms. Rosenberg? It is so unreal.”

He smiled back. “Pretty weird, huh?”

“Totally wiggish. Remember when we were so against authority? I even cut class.”

“Sometimes I miss it,” Xander admitted. “Not the almost dying part. But the other stuff. We were always together back then.”

The slayer reached out and took her best friend’s hand.

“I miss you too, Xan.” After a moment she added, “Things sure have changed. Who’d have thought things would have turned out like this.”

Neither said anything for a long time. Xander glanced around at his surroundings. He was happy where he was. But sometimes he wondered if he would have been happier if he had followed his intended path. He could have had a wife. He could have had Anya Alexander Harris. If only for a little while. Now it was too late.

***********************

Some vacation, Dawn thought. She was stuck in the hotel room doing homework. School had let her take time off, but they sent a nice stack of papers and books her way.

The teenager let out a grunt of frustration. She slammed her book shut. She needed a break from WWII. All this thinking was giving her a headache.

Dawn got up from the small couch and headed to the small refrigerator. She opened it to grab a Pepsi. All of a sudden Dawn heard commotion from the adjoining room.

Her pop no longer her main concern, she put the can down. Then she hurried over to the door. She cracked it open.

“Buffy?”

She peered into the dark room to see her sister tossing on the bed. Oh no, Dawn thought, not another nightmare. Her sister hardly got any restful sleep anymore. She was torn between waking up her sister or leaving her be.

There was a faint murmur. Dawn listened closely.

“Spike.”

Dawn’s eyes widened. This was bad.

Buffy let out a sob. “No.”

Dawn shut the door. She leaned against it for a moment. There had to be something she could do. Buffy couldn’t go on like this.

She went over to the nightstand and picked up the phone. She dialed the number that Buffy had given her for the slayer school. It wasn’t long before an unfamiliar someone answered.

“I need to speak with Willow Rosenberg,” Dawn said.

“Ms. Rosenberg is with a class at the moment. May I take a message?”

“Yes. Tell her that Dawn called and it is important that I talk to her.”

Dawn hung up the phone. She sat on the floor, near the door disconnecting her from Buffy. She could still hear her sister’s discomforting sounds. It wasn’t long before she drifted off, waiting for Willow.

***********************

Dawn awoke to pounding. Groggily, she answered the door to find Willow in the hall. The red-head gave her a concerned look.

“Dawnie, the receptionist told me you called,” Willow greeted.

Dawn let the witch inside her hotel room.

“It’s Buffy,” Dawn said. “She keeps having disturbing dreams about Spike.”

A frown marred Willow’s face. “I used to have . . . When Tara died . . .”

“This is different, Willow. It’s . . . It’s eating her away inside. There must be something you can do. A sleep spell. Can you do that?”

Willow took a moment to ponder the concept. “I might be able to make a tea to help her relax at night.”

“That’s it? A tea? Will it stop her pain?”

“Dawnie. . .? Buffy has to grieve.”

“I know!” Dawn exclaimed. “But not like this. There has to be something we can do.”

Suddenly a frightening idea came over Dawn. No, she thought. We can’t go there again. But . . .

Dawn met Willow’s gaze straight on. “Bring him back.”

“Wh-What?” Willow stammered in disbelief.

“Bring Spike back to life.”

Willow shook her head. “You know I can’t.”

“Yes you can. You brought Buffy back.”

“And it went horribly wrong. She was in heaven, Dawnie. What if Spike’s in heaven? He might be a vampire, but he saved the world.”

Crossing her arms, Dawn said, “Well, we’ll make sure he’s not. There must be a spell to find out, right? Right?”

The look on Dawn’s face was full of begging. Willow realized then that Dawn wasn’t pleading just for Buffy. She wanted Spike back too. Willow felt her chest ache. These two girls really loved Spike.

“All right,” Willow gave in. “We’ll see where he is. But I’m not committing myself to anything else. One step at a time.”

Dawn gave Willow an enthusiastic hug. “Thank-you, Thank-you!”

“If he’s in heaven it’ll ease Buffy’s mind,” Willow assured the younger girl. “If he’s not. . . I’ll think about it. But I can’t promise anything, all right?”

Dawn nodded. “Okay.”

________________________________________________________

Lindsey McDonald wasn’t an evil man. He didn’t wholly support the dark side. He wasn’t all ra-ra for hell on earth, as some of his former Wolfram and Hart colleagues had been. It was just that he looked out for number one. He disregarded everyone else, and didn’t give a damn how they were effected as long as he got what he wanted. The little civilian on the street was so far away. If the person died so what? One life out in the massive crowd would never touch his.

Until now.

The visions weren’t letting up. He ignored them as best he could. The television was the best aid. But it was a pathetic attempt at blocking out the mind-blowing images. No, not just images. There were sounds as well. And feelings. Oh, God, the feelings!

It was all too real. All too close. He wasn’t in his apartment when the visions hit. He was right there beside the victim. Almost a part of them.

It had been so easy before. He had been able to set himself aside from the rest of the world. Now it was impossible.

Eventually he couldn’t take the TV anymore. He sat in his gray recliner, still, merging in with the shadows.

He felt like crying. But he didn’t.

The small child’s scream echoed in his ears. The demon was eating him alive. Piece by piece. The parents had already been taken care of.

Lindsey wasn’t aware of it, but his voice joined that of the boy’s.

***********************

“Bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed.

He pushed the buttons furiously as he watched the television screen. A giant bird streamed out electricity on the enemy.

“Not death again! She already killed the Irvine bloke off. Knew I should have used Carbuncle.”

Furious pounding came from the door. Spike paid no attention and continued his game. The pounding grew even more commanding. He threw down the green Playstation controller out of frustration as the Game Over appeared.

The bleached-blonde vampire got to his feet. “All right, all right, keep your knickers on.” He went over to the door and yanked it open. “Doyle, fancy seein you here. Come for a beer? Some poker? A smoke?”

His visitor simply stared. He looked like shit. His eyes were blood-shot, and it seemed as if he might fall over any second.

“Guess not then,” Spike muttered. He nodded. “So, it’s a vision again is it? I’ll get my coat.”

Spike retreated back into his apartment. He quickly shut off his Playstation and grabbed his duster. He donned the worn leather as if it were a second skin. He was never completely whole without it.

Spike stepped out. “Where am I off to?”

“Follow me,” Doyle stated. It was said weakly, as if it took a lot out of him to get it out.

The vampire thought about objecting. Doyle was in no condition to go on an excursion. But he wasn‘t his keeper. Let the guy make his own decisions.

“Right then. You’re the leader.”

The seer led him through town. Spike noticed that he kept his eyes straight ahead, hardly noticing anything around him. He wondered why the powers would pick a regular guy like this to carry such a burden. Surely there was someone stronger for the job. Not that he was volunteering or anything. He had had his fill of headaches.

Spike recognized the surroundings enter the poorer side of town. Not the ghetto exactly, but not Beverly Hills.

Suddenly Doyle halted with a holler. He supported himself against a nearby building. His gaze roamed to the sky above.

“I’m going! You win, all right! I heard you the first time, I don’t need a repeat!”

Spike narrowed his eyes, peering at this man that called himself Doyle. He was beginning to grow concerned about his guide’s sanity. Doyle was one step away from falling to pieces.

After a moment, Doyle continued on. His pace was detectably slower, though. They finally made it to their destination, which happened to be a small one-story house. It was white, and packed between two identical dwellings. The front door was partially open.

Spike’s nostrils flared. Blood.

“This is it,” Doyle got out. He breathed in deeply.

“I’ll check it out,” Spike told his companion.

He expected a response, but got none. Doyle was accepting. Spike nodded and proceeded solely.

Spike’s senses perked. The stench of blood pulled at his demon. It was strong. He entered the home, hoping for better, expecting the worse. Which he got.

Red painted the ceiling, walls, and floor. Parts scattered here-and-there. There was no movement. No heartbeats. Nothing at all.

Spike turned away quickly. He had seen many things in his unlife. Deaths made up a majority of them. He was used to the scenes. Didn’t mean he didn’t care. Just meant it didn’t shock him.

He made his way back to Doyle, who was leaning against a tree.

“They’re dead, huh?” Doyle questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Been that way for awhile now,” Spike answered. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He had been cutting back, but the call for nicotine was strong. He had seen the mangled arm, too small to be an adult. There had been a bleeding kid in that house.

“Waited too long,” Doyle murmured.

“Yeah, well . . .” Spike began, but then didn’t really know what he wanted to say. He stared at his burning cigarette. He sighed and stomped it out. It wasn’t as appealing after a second thought.

“I need help,” Doyle said. His voice was steady, stronger, more certain.

“Look here, I’d love to take away your nasty buggering mind jumblies, but I’m not an expert in those things. I know of this shaman if you don’t mind venturin to Africa.”

A choked laugh escaped Doyle. He flexed his right hand, transfixed by the movement. Then he raised his head, his eyes clearer than Spike had ever seen them.

“Take me to Wolfram and Hart.”

______________________________________________

Dawn played a trivial part in the spell. She lit the incense. That was the only prop needed, and it was merely used to stimulate Willow’s concentration. Now, the Wicca sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor. Her eyes were closed, in a deep trance. The teen had been warned not to create any distractions, and so she sat nearby in a chair, still and completely quiet.

The witch had explained the procedure to Dawn in simple terms. Willow would reach out her mind to the planes of heaven and hell. She’d search the souls, detecting if Spike was among them. There was no danger, and it took little magic, although it demanded much meditation.

Dawn fought the drowsiness that overtook her. It was getting late. She still hadn’t gotten her homework done, but that seemed insignificant at the moment. She needed to help her sister. That took top priority.

Her eyes were beginning to close when Willow took in a deep breath. They snapped back open, directing toward the red-head. Willow was awake and alert.

Dawn instantly got to her feet. “What did you find? Where is he?”

Willow sighed. Darkness clouded her face and Dawn dreaded the answer she would receive. She was afraid she knew what it would be.

“He wasn’t there, Dawnie,” Willow softy replied.

“He wasn’t in heaven?” Dawn stared across the room, not knowing how to handle the news.

Willow reached out and touched Dawn’s arm. “He wasn’t in hell either.”

That shocked Dawn and she snapped her head back toward the red-head. Her eyes were wide. “Huh?”

“I couldn’t find him. He simply wasn’t there.”

“Wh-What are you saying?” Dawn’s voice wavered.

The witch withdrew her hand. She gave the younger female a sympathetic look.

“He’s not in the afterlife, Dawnie.”

“And that means. . .?” Dawn pressed. She was pleading for a reassuring answer. Buffy needed one. ‘She’ needed one.

“Who knows what that amulet was capable of. When it activated . . . He might be gone.”

Frantically Dawn shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but we have to face facts that Spike’s soul might have deteriorated along with his body.”

“No!” Dawn quickly stepped back. “I won’t accept that! God, the powers, whatever is up there wouldn’t allow it!”

Willow moved forward, but Dawn jerked away.

“Dawnie . . .”

A tear streamed down Dawn’s face. She slumped against the wall behind her for support. “I won’t accept it,” she whispered.

************************

Madame Zelda was a psychic. Or at least that was what her sign said. Paranormal Communicator, walk-ins welcome. Anya was desperate, and so she was willing to try anything.

The little séance dwelling was dimly lit with candles and smelled strongly of incense. There were pentagrams, moons and stars, crystals, and other emblems scattered around for decoration. The reading table was off in the corner, covered in a blue velvet cloth. A clear crystal ball, which rested on a holder, sat on the surface.

Zelda herself sat in a chair, waving her hands over the scrying ball and gazing deep into its depths. She was older, in her late thirties most likely. Her hair was red, and in ringlets. She wore a long dress that resembled that of a gypsy. Mutters came from under her breath that was unrecognizable.

Her client was a woman, younger and very pretty. She sat across from the psychic and watched intently with belief.

Suddenly Madame Zelda raised her head. “Oh great spirits,” she called up to the ceiling. “Come, make your presence known.”

Anya saw her chance. “Hi. My name’s Anya Jenkins. I’ve been dead now for a couple of months. I’ve kind of lost count on exactly how long. I’m an ex- capitalist like yourself. I saw your sign outside and have come for some help. See, I don’t want to be a ghost. I left behind this great guy. We were just about to get back together before there was this apocalypse. . .” The ex-demon frowned. “Hey are you even listening to me?”

The so-claimed psychic was completely ignoring her. Anya leaned in closer. “Are you deaf!? I’m a ghost making contact!”

“It’s no use.”

Anya jumped. She pressed a hand to her chest. The voice could have given her a heart-attack. That was if she wasn’t already dead.

The owner of the voice stood by the entrance. He was tall dark and handsome, wearing black dress pants and a blue silk shirt. Anya had come to recognize fellow ghosts when she met them, and this certainly was one. He’d been gone quite awhile from his energy vibe.

“What do you mean? She’s a psychic. She’s supposed to help me. It’s in her job description,” Anya complained.

The other ghost shook his head. “She’s a fake. A phony.”

Incredulously, Anya eyed the woman. Zelda was now rolling back her eyes and acting to be possessed. Meanwhile her customer was eating up the performance. Anya was tempted to attempt actually entering the con-artist’s body and teaching her a lesson.

“How unfair! Even when I was evil I never took money by false means,” commented Anya.

“It is horrible, isn’t it?” the ghost agreed. He smiled. “Robert Green. And you are?”

“Anya Jenkins,” she answered.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry to disappoint you on Madame Zelda. Don’t worry she’ll learn her lesson. I came here to give her a good scare.”

Anya crossed her arms. “Serves her right.”

“That it does. So, why did you come here? Seeking to venture off to the hereafter? I know of this real spirit investigator who . . .” Robert asked.

“No,” Anya interrupted. “I can’t move on. I still have so much to do. You see, there’s this guy I love that I haven’t received farley enough orgasms from.”

Robert blinked, but otherwise wasn’t effected.

“And a wedding. I deserve a successful wedding. Not like last time. And babies! I want lots of little people!”

“You poor thing,” Robert whispered.

Anya frowned. “What?”

“You still don’t accept that you’re dead.”

“Oh, I accept the fact. I’m dead. Dead as a doornail. But I’m going to find a way for me to be resurrected.”

“Not possible,” Robert said.

“Is too,” Anya countered. “I know. I’ve seen it done before. Of course, the circumstances were a little different. . . But that doesn’t matter. All I need to do is find a high-performance witch. Preferable a red-headed lesbian, but if I have to make do with someone else okay.”

“Ghosts don’t come back to life.” It was a simple statement of fact.

“How would you know?”

“I’ve been around. There’ve been a few rumors, but nothing definite.”

Anya perked up. “Rumors? Rumors are good. What rumors?”

“I’ve heard that there was a ghost re-corporealized recently. But there is no evidence. Plus I heard that he wasn’t a standard spirit anyway.”

Stepping forward, Anya said, “Go on. Tell me all the details.”

Robert ran a hand through his hair. “Well, they say it happened in LA. But you don‘t want to go there.”

“Yes I do. I can do LA. I was expecting Africa or someplace. But LA, no problem.”

“You don’t understand,” Robert explained. “I was told that the recorpeal was granted by . . .” He swallowed. “Wolfram and Hart.”

“Oh,” Anya said. She scrunched up her face. She’d heard of that place. A bunch of lawyers. She wasn’t really fond of lawyers.

“Yeah,” Robert went on. “They do stuff for others but there is always a price.”

Anya shrugged. “Oh well. I guess I could sell my soul. I’ve been to hell before. Overrated if you ask me. The flames aren‘t that hot, and there isn‘t that much brimstone.”

Robert narrowed his eyes. He really wasn’t sure what to make of this woman.

“Thanks, Rob,” Anya chirped. “Wish me luck.”

With that Anya headed out the door, intent on making her way to the Las Angeles W&H branch.

“I’m off to see the lawyers, the awful lawyers of LA,” Anya sang to herself.

_________________________________________________