Sideways Shanshu

Feedback: (hlynn28@aol.com)

Spoilers: Season 5, up to The Body

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Buffy et al. are the property of ME, Fox, and Joss Whedon.

No copyright infringement is intended--it's just for fun.

Summary: Picks up right where The Body left off, and continues from

there. Buffy has to try and deal with the aftermath, and it's just then

that Glory decides to push things into overdrive. S/B.

Author Notes: This is half of a much longer story, but the second half

started to become a story in of itself, so that'll come later. :) No

spoilers for the rest of the season are in this--it's just my take on

how I'd like to see events play out, from a redemptionista POV.

****

The floor underneath her hands was cold, as was the air in the room, the

morgue where they'd taken her mother's body. The vampire that had

grabbed her had been just as cold, but not lifeless like the other

bodies on the row of tables around her. Then her sister had been there,

pulling the vampire away and being tossed into metal tables and

equipment, more cold things. Even Buffy's strength seemed sapped in this

place.

Now her sister was lying on the floor, not far from her, exhausted from

a fight that should have been easy. But Dawn's eyes were fixed on the

face that had been revealed, the sheet pulled away by accident though it

was the original design.

"It's not her. It's not her," Buffy's voice carried in the chilly room,

almost as lifeless. "She's gone."

"Then where'd she go?" Dawn asked, entranced and horrified by the sight

of her mother, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

Dawn's hand crept ever closer to her mother's face, sensing the coldness

even from a distance. Then she felt the cold clamminess of the skin of

the body underneath her fingertips, lifeless and inert. The reality of

her mother's death finally sunk in, and a torrent of pain and grief

engulfed her.

"No, no, no...." Dawn wailed helplessly, hating this moment, wishing she

could change things, make her mother not dead. If she wasn't human, a

ball of energy everyone said she was, then why couldn't she bring her

mother back?

She summoned her will, hoping it was true. She could undo this, if she

only tried...

Dawn felt the presence before she heard the voice. She knew instantly

that she'd done something, had managed to reach out to wherever her

mother was...but the sound of her mother's voice came from within her,

stilling her thoughts.

"Dawn, honey, don't," her mouth moved, but it wasn't her voice. Buffy

stared at her in shock, as if she was a freak or something. Maybe she

was, after all.

"Buffy, Dawn...there wasn't anything you could have done. It was meant

to be. I understand that, now."

"Mom," Buffy choked out, willing to believe the voice belonged to her

mother. "I miss you so much. I wish I could have been there, have done

something..."

"Shh, it's all right. Where I am, it's nice. You'll see. I can't stay

very long, but they let me talk to you, to warn you about Glory. You

can't let her have Dawn, at any cost. The Key is only the first step."

"First step? To what? Mom...?" Buffy called out, hope dying in her

voice. Dawn wondered who 'they' were.

"I don't know. I'm so sorry you have to go through this alone, but don't

forget that I'm with you. I'll see you soon, my darlings. I love you

both so much. Goodbye."

"Mom, don't go!" Dawn cried out, feeling her mother's presence slip back

from wherever it came. Buffy was still in shock, watching Dawn with a

mixture of envy and longing. Dawn had been able to call out to their

mother, and for all her Slayer abilities, Buffy couldn't do the same.

"Make...make her come back, Dawn."

"I--I can't. I don't know how," the young girl sobbed, feeling helpless.

"I could feel her inside, but I don't know how I did it. Or if I did

it."

Buffy gathered her sister in her arms, just as the others came in.

Xander looked first to the crying sisters on the floor, then to Joyce's

uncovered body. "Oh God--"

He turned to shield Willow from the sight, as Anya walked past him to

the body. She carefully, reverently, and gently placed the sheet back

over Joyce's head.

****

After a long, odd explanation about the door and the mess to the people

working at the morgue--who knew more about vampires than they cared to

admit, and were glad that Buffy had been able to stop it before it had

killed someone--they went back to the lounge and waited for Giles to

come back. Buffy explained what had happened while they waited.

"Wow, that's--that's incredible," Willow said. "And it's weird, but I

feel a sense of peace, knowing she's okay wherever she is. And that she

likes it there." Tara nodded in agreement. Xander had fallen into a deep

sullenness, along with Anya. Seeing Joyce's body had shaken him worse

than he cared to admit.

"I know, Will. And I'm glad Dawn and I were able to talk to her one last

time, but..." her voice faltered, the shock of what had happened just

now catching up to her. In a way, her death hadn't seemed real because

her mother had been so alive one moment, then was gone the

next...there'd been no transition, no preparation. But now, her mother

had said goodbye, and it was for real.

Giles came back just then with the doctor and a handful of forms, and

Buffy's mind focused back on the present. Have to sign forms, have to

stay strong, I can't fall to pieces now, not now...

While she finished signing papers, Willow and Xander told Giles was had

happened. He was understandably flabbergasted, and felt his own sense of

relief, which Buffy only wished she could feel.

****

"What'd you mean, you won't do it?"

If Warren had been a smart man, he would have recognized Spike's

dangerous tone. But if it affected him, he never showed it.

"I said no more girls, and I mean it! I don't care why you want me to

build you a copy of...of Buffy Summers," the astonishment was clearly

evident in the tech student's voice, "but it's wrong, and I won't do it.

I've learned my lesson."

"And what lesson is that?" Spike continued in that dangerous voice.

Warren sighed, exasperated. "Building a robot to love you isn't what you

think it is. Sure, it seems like a great idea at first, but you won't be

happy. You'll get bored--and when you'll realize this, then you've

suddenly got a homidical robot on your hands. Besides, all my tools are

at the college and it would take months to build you one. I don't have

the time to waste on it."

Spike opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. "The robot got boring?"

"Yes, it did. It was predictable, pre-programmed...and it wasn't real.

The spontaneity, the spark of life that makes love worth it all--it

wasn't there. And even if I made you a perfect copy of her, you wouldn't

be able to love it. You'd know it wasn't the real thing."

That truth settled heavily on Spike. Buffy had accused him of not really

loving her, and if he did this, he was proving her right. He reached for

the box, hesitated, then grabbed it finally and looked again at the

intrepid inventor. "Uh, thanks."

"Don't mention it. I wish someone had told me the same thing." Warren

glanced at the box. "Does she, uh, know? About this?"

"Yeah." Spike swallowed, then shuffled over to the door. "Don't tell her

I was here, okay? It's not like I had much of a chance before, so..."

"She'll never hear it from me--my lips are sealed. I'm leaving now,

anyway. Good luck," Warren offered half-heartedly. Spike nodded, and

left with the box tucked under one arm.

****

Tara and Willow stayed with Dawn and Buffy at the house, while Giles and

Xander said they would patrol tonight in the city. Neither wanted to be

in the cemetery, and no one blamed them.

Dawn reminded Buffy that they needed to call Dad. Buffy both dreaded and

longed to hear her father's voice--afraid she would lose control if she

did, but needing to know for sure that there was another anchor in the

storm, besides her. The phone was in her hands before she even realized

she was in the kitchen.

Please, Daddy, please pick up....three rings, then a fourth, then the

answering machine kicked in. No one home. She called the office, but he

was in France now, on the Riviera. They didn't know where he was staying

yet, but Buffy told the office secretary that it was a family emergency

of the most serious kind, and to either forward the message to him when

they did find out or to please call her back when they did know where he

was.

Despair trickled in. She called his apartment again and left a message

on the answering machine this time, asking him to call her back as soon

as possible--he phoned in for his messages when he was away, so she

could hope that he'd do it soon.

Buffy walked back and sat next to Dawn at the table--the dining room

table, not the living room. Now, it was filled with horrible memories,

of EMTs telling her bad news, of the couch being where....

She focused back on her friends' faces. Willow and Tara tried to offer

comfort, but there wasn't any for her, not tonight.

"We could watch some TV," Willow tried. But, the TV was in *that* room.

She couldn't go in there, not tonight.

"Guys, I think I just want to be alone for a little while. I'll...be up

in my room." Buffy left before they said anything else.

She didn't turn on the lights in her room; the darkness suited her mood

better. The first few minutes, she laid down on the bed and could still

hear Dawn and the others talking. Her eyes focused on items from

childhood, things her mother had bought her for Christmas, and for her

birthday...

The memories were everywhere--she couldn't escape them, not in the house

or in her room. She needed to be somewhere else, someplace where her

mother hadn't been. And she needed to be doing something that would take

her mind away from the pain, where she could dull her thoughts into

oblivion.

Buffy got up from the bed, her mind focused on the one place where she

could escape from the pain; the cemetery.

****

The box of photos was tossed to one side in Spike's crypt, the contents

shuffling and settling uneasily. The bleached blonde vampire looked it

over in despair, feeling that he'd lost whatever chance he had with

Buffy when Dru had showed up. He wanted to blame Dru for it all, for

vamping him in the first place and leading him to this horrible fate.

Better to have killed him in the alleyway 120 years ago--at least he

wouldn't be going through this mockery of life.

It wasn't the first time he contemplated suicide. If the truth were

told, he'd always had a deathwish, covered over with bluster and the

desire to end it all with blood and glory. With his reputation ruined

among demonkind and an outcast among humans, what was left for him,

really? The encounter with Dru had shown him that the chip in his head

no longer mattered, as far as his motivations were concerned. Holding

that dead girl, knowing he could taste his first human blood in almost

two years...and he paused. He'd watched Dru in a mix of horror and

fascination, seeing for the first time how he looked to humans. It was

ugly, and horrid--but it was who he was. And who he always would be.

And so he bit into the girl's neck, not out of any desire to do so, but

because it was expected of him. Everyone wanted Spike the vampire, why

not give it to them?

It was while walking back with Drusilla that the truth sunk in--he

didn't belong in Dru's world, not anymore. He could pretend, but it

wouldn't be real. The chip wasn't holding him back; *he* was.

Buffy's presence in the crypt had messed up his plans, and he'd had to

improvise. He hated doing that, since it always ended up being botched

horribly. The human blood in his system didn't help that at all, not a

bit. What had he been thinking, when he chained Buffy up like that? Is

that what human blood did to him? If so, he didn't want it.

Spike laughed bitterly at the thought. A vampire who goes cold turkey on

human blood, and doesn't even have a soul--what would be next? A demon

who runs a child day-care center?

Sullenly, Spike gave the box a good kick, then settled down in front of

the TV. If his days were numbered, he might as well get caught up on his

shows before it happened.

****

A cold wind blew in from the northwest, and Buffy shivered in the thin

shelter of her sweatshirt, thrown on over her red long-sleeved sweater.

She hadn't dared to go back down the stairs to get her coat, instead

relying on the thickness of the cotton poly blend to be enough. From the

smell of rain in the air, that now seemed like a potentially wet

mistake. She had a couple stakes scavenged from the bedroom closet

tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. If she needed more, she would

improvise.

The vampire came from somewhere behind her. She spun to face her

opponent, finding herself up against something that definitely wasn't

newly risen. Dressed in what looked to be the best of early 90s trailer

trash, the once-alive vampire gave her an appraising look.

"The Slayer...well, well. Like the U of C sweatshirt with those jeans,

very nubile."

Damn. It had to be a bantering one, of all things. The last thing she

wanted to do was the witty, cutting remarks. She gave it a try,

nevertheless.

"It's the latest thing for slaying--comfy and yet it doesn't say I can't

be a lot of fun." She lunged with a punch, but he dodged easily...too

easily. The delivery of the line and the punch were much too weak for

her normal performance level. He landed a backhand swing on her jaw,

sending her flying into a grave marker statue.

"C'mon, Slayer. I heard you were hot stuff. Where's that panache?"

Panache? First nubile, now panache? If she weren't so upset, scared and

emotionally exhausted right then, she might have laughed. Buffy got back

on her feet, and took in a deep breath. Stake the bastard. Just do it

and move on to the next.

Her grief turned to rage, unchecked violence that sprung up from some

dark place within her. Tears burned in her eyes, but she didn't care.

Blows, kicks and punches landed on the vampire in a torrent, instantly

taking away what bravado he had. He fought back with more strength than

Buffy expected, and she grabbed one of the two stakes from where she had

tucked it. At the first opening in his defenses, she plunged the stake

into his heart, and he burst into dust.

A comfortable numbness descended over her, brought on by the fight.

Don't think, just kill. Her eyes scanned the horizon, looking for

another vampire or demon to take on.

A sudden drop of something cold and wet hit the top of her head, then

her cheek and her hands. Then in what amounted to only seconds later,

the heavens opened up and poured cold, hard rain on her. She stood in

the rain, letting the coldness seep inside, hoping it could dull the

pain just a little, just enough so it didn't hurt so bad, anymore.

****

The storm messed up Spike's TV reception, which considering how

everything else seemed to be going wrong nowadays, was only too fitting.

He turned the TV off and sat listening to the rain hitting the roof, the

noise echoing around the small chamber.

He remembered the sound of rain on the London streets, the smell of wet

earth and brick as the rain washed away the soot and dung, the quietness

as the wall of water softened the clacking of horseshoes against brick

and the chatter of passersby.

Spike opened the door to the crypt and soaked in the ambiance, the tang

of damp mulch and the patter of droplets hitting the leaves of trees in

the cemetery. The cacophony helped fill the emptiness, and also silence

it. He would never admit it to a living soul, but he liked when it

rained. He always had, and he suspected he always would.

A few moments passed by, and then he heard it, out in the distance. A

young woman's muffled cry of pain, and then a soft thump and a much

louder roar--a demon one, if his ears didn't deceive him.

Another female cry, this time of effort, and he smiled darkly in

recognition--the Slayer. Of course. He peered out into the rain, trying

to see where the fight was taking place. It would be fun to watch, but

he wouldn't help...not this time, since it only made her angry and

despite his morose thoughts earlier, he didn't want to be staked just

yet. Besides, she could handle herself.

He grabbed his leather duster and shrugged it on, wishing he'd swiped an

umbrella from somewhere, earlier. Carrying the wool blanket over his

head would just block his peripheral vision and tie up both arms, in

case he got attacked, so he went without.

And so he jotted out into the storm, following the faint sounds of

battle in the hopes of catching a good show.

****

Buffy ignored the cold rain, the freezing dampness of her clothing and

the wind chilling it even further. She ignored the screaming pain in her

leg and stood on it, using a tombstone to help keep her upright.

The demon was much worse off, in comparison. It knelt on the soggy

ground, already dead but not knowing it. Buffy couldn't move to finish

it off, instead watching in horrified fascination as it died slowly,

falling the rest of the way to the ground and lying still, released from

the pain and agony by death. She'd never envied a demon so much in her

life.

She breathed in a labored breath--her ribs were sore, maybe cracked. A

sane woman would be limping home by now. But she couldn't go home...she

couldn't face that pain. Physical pain was easier to take; it didn't

prey upon formerly happy memories and twist them into painful reminders

of the present.

Her hands were numb, clutching the stake for all it was worth. Another

vampire would do it for tonight, she could fight another one and be

okay. Or if not, that was fine with her. Not like they needed her to

beat Glory in a fight. Willow had done more than she had, after all.

Buffy limped away from the demon body, looking for her next kill. She'd

only gotten a few yards before she sensed another vampire coming from

her left, very quickly. Water dripped in her eyes, she couldn't see

where it was, and then it slammed into her, tackling her into the wet

grass. The stake flew out of her hand on impact, and the other was

trapped underneath her by the weight of her attacker.

She clawed its face, trying to get it off of her, and finally it pushed

itself off and away, readying to strike again. Buffy rolled over and

fumbled for the other stake, her wet clothes pulling on fatigued limbs

and making it even harder to reach behind her.

Spike heard the fight before he saw it, then he stumbled past a thicket

of trees and found her up against a standard, run-of-the-mill vampire.

Nothing she couldn't take down in a couple seconds.

But as he watched, he noticed that Buffy wasn't moving quite as fast as

she ought to be. She was kneeling on the ground, finally grabbing hold

of the stake tucked in her back pocket and pulling it free. She got a

leg under her and tried to stand, then wobbled and nearly toppled over.

The vampire she was fighting didn't falter, lunging at her with the

intent of draining her dry. A feeling of dread settled over him, as he

realized that she wasn't moving fast enough to dodge the vamp

completely. Spike was already running over as the other vampire knocked

Buffy to the ground, the hand with the stake pinned down in its strong

grip.

He saw another stake lying in the grass as he approached, snatched it

off the ground and in a couple strides he was there, staking the vamp

before the other could notice the shift of events out of its favor.

The dust vanished quickly in the steady downpour, and Spike looked over

at Buffy to make sure she was all right. He nearly gasped at the sight

of her--her jeans had a gash in them that matched with the one in her

right leg, her skin was as pale as death, and she was staring at him in

blank comprehension, as if she didn't really register his presence.

"Buffy, are you all right?" He leaned down and offered a hand up. She

still looked at him distantly, but grabbed his hand and let him pull her

off the ground.

She teetered for a second, then her injured leg collapsed under the

weight. Spike caught her before she fell, and she sagged in his arms

like a rag doll as the rest of her strength drained out of her. His

chest tightened with fear as he realized her skin was ice cold. Her

shivering for warmth wasn't doing her much good, as her clothing was

soaked through.

"C'mon, let's get you out of the rain," he said softly, and seeing she

wasn't going to be able to walk very far, if at all, he gathered her up

in his arms and carried her back to his crypt. She didn't protest in the

slightest, and that only worried him more.

****

Once inside the crypt, Buffy started to come out of the mental fog she'd

been in. Spike had noticed that the sweatshirt covered over another

piece of clothing, and he'd pulled it off to try and get her warm and

dry. The red sweater was only wet on the shoulders, elbows, and back,

and mildly damp everywhere else. Outwardly thankful he had left the wool

blanket behind, he wrapped her in it and put her in the only chair he

owned, while he took a look at the gash on her leg.

She glanced down at it herself; Long, but not too deep. It was hard to

tell how much blood she might have lost, since the rain had probably

washed most of it away. Using some gauze he had left over probably from

the last time he'd been hurt, Spike began to dab at the dark red slash,

his movements careful and gentle.

Buffy watched him silently, more aware now than earlier. Seeing her

change in awareness, he attempted to find out what was going on. "I've

seen you take out blokes twice that one's strength in a quarter of the

time, so something must be wrong. Are you hurt? Did something

happen...?" He watched patiently, growing ever more worried by her

silence.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The look of

concern and worry in his eyes undid her, for reasons she couldn't

explain, and the dam of grief and pain within her burst. "My

mom...she's--she's dead," she wept, finally, uncontrollably.

He stilled, his face a mask of shock. "She's....but, how? Was it...her?

Glory?" he asked, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. Buffy shook her

head.

"N-no. It wasn't her." Spike sagged to his knees, and Buffy wasn't sure

if it was in relief or sorrow. A long moment passed, and Buffy felt the

worst of the grief abate for the time being, the sobs slowly turning

into a deep ache and sadness that seemed it would never end.

Spike's voice startled her. "It must've been something from the

operation, or the tumor, then, right? 'Cause no one else would've hurt

her," he replied with certainty, his voice tremulous, on the edge of

breaking. She gazed at him with bleary eyes, but the deep pain and

anguish on his face was clear enough. Was this genuine? Or was he still

trying to prove himself to her?

She pushed herself off the chair, not able to bear the idea of his

grief. If it was true, then she couldn't deny his feelings for her were

real--

Her legs buckled underneath her once again, her strength not quite back.

Spike leaped up and caught her by the waist, easing her down to the

floor so that their knees rested on his throw rug. Her hands

automatically fell on his shoulders for support, and now she could see

the tears in his eyes, and the tracks of tears already fallen. Without

thinking, she placed a chilled hand on the side of his face, over the

path the tears had taken. Her skin felt hot compared to his, she noted

with a growing detachment, her coping mechanism slipping back into

control.

****

"Your skin is so cold," Buffy said, her voice hoarse from crying. Her

eyes gazed into his with childlike fascination; not so distance as

earlier, but she was heading back down that path.

Troubled by the change, Spike now noticed that her skin was much warmer

than it should've been. "Buffy, I--"

She stopped him with a finger over his lips, then leaned in and, to his

utter amazement and shock, pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss. He

knew she wasn't herself, but he couldn't help kissing back lightly,

wanting to comfort her any way he could.

Buffy pulled back a second later, and watched him curiously. "Your lips

are cold. You feel cold, like my mother, but you still look like you're

alive. But my mom isn't. And you're not alive, either..."

He winced at the truth of it. If he could've given anything to be human

again, he would have, at that moment. But he had to reconnect her to the

present, keep her from slipping back into a path that led to the

deathwish. "You're right, I'm not. But I still have feelings--how, I

don't know. Maybe I'm different from other vampires, maybe it's just who

I am. There's one thing I do know; your sister needs you right now, as

do your friends--they'd be bloody lost without you."

Tears welled in Buffy's eyes once again, and Spike felt both guilt and

relief at seeing those tears, knowing he had managed to reach her. She

weakened in his arms, and he gathered her close to him as she wept, the

grief more in control but still raw in its power.

He swallowed down his nervousness and fear, adding softly, "And so would

I, love."

She said nothing to that, didn't tense up or push him away, so either

she hadn't heard him or she didn't consider it a horrible thing to say.

He hoped it was the latter.

Eventually, her crying subsided and he felt her sink into sleep,

relaxing into his embrace in a way that spoke volumes. That she would

fall asleep in his arms showed a level of trust he would never have

expected from any human, least of all her.

His heart soared at the thought, but the reality was she was still

feverish, and needed to be taken care of in better surroundings than his

dank, cold crypt. Gently, he tucked the blanket around her and then

wrapped his leather duster over that, to protect her from the rain. He

remembered to snatch up her sweatshirt, lifted her into his arms and

headed out into the storm, not caring that he'd end up soaked through by

the time they got to her house. The only thing that mattered was her.

And so, he never saw the pair of dark eyes that watched him leave.

****

"Buffy? Did you want to eat something?" Willow asked at her friend's

bedroom door, then cautiously pushed open the door when she didn't get a

response.

Flipping on the lights proved to her that Buffy wasn't in her room, as

she said she would be. A quick check of the other rooms upstairs

affirmed that Buffy wasn't in the house; if she had come downstairs,

they would have heard her. Not to mention that her window was cracked

open, just enough so that fingers could slide in underneath and lift it

up from the outside.

"Tara, she's gone," Willow called out breathlessly as she came down the

stairs, her worry starting to escalate. "Where do you think she'd go?"

"What--Buffy's not upstairs?" Tara looked over to Dawn, who was growing

ever more concerned.

"No, I looked, and she's not anywhere. Her window was open, and I know

she used to climb out whenever she had to go slaying, back when her mom-

-" Willow stopped, both for Dawn's sake and because a sudden fear had

gripped her. "Oh God."

"Willow?"

"I hope I'm wrong, but she used to sneak out to go slaying, and she

might have thought...well, I don't know what she's thinking, but she

shouldn't be out there. I mean, the vampire that attacked Dawn--"

"It took her longer to slay it than it normally would, and she got

thrown around a lot," Dawn spoke up quietly. "It was like she forgot how

to fight."

Willow and Tara shared a concerned look. Willow headed for the phone in

the kitchen. "We gotta call Giles--no, wait. He and Xander are out

patrolling. One of us is gonna have to go out there and bring her

back..."

"I'll go. You stay here with Dawnie and I'll find her."

"No, I should go. You haven't been out in the cemetery as much, and

that's probably where she went." The sound of knocking interrupted her,

and hoping it was Giles or Xander, Willow rushed over to the door and

opened it.

It was Spike, drenched from head to foot, holding someone wrapped up in

his leather duster. It took Willow a second to realize it was Buffy.

"She needs help," he said lamely, in answer to her questioning look.

"Bring her in," Tara said as Willow moved aside, but he stayed still.

"I can't, remember? I need to be invited."

Dawn walked over, deeply distraught. "Come in, Spike. Is she okay? What

happened?"

He stepped through hesitantly, then once across the threshold his

confidence grew. "She's okay for the most part. Got a gash on her leg

and she's soaked to the bone, plus she's got a fever."

"Let's get her upstairs, then. Spike, would you..?" Tara asked,

gesturing at the stairs, and he went ahead without a word to spare. The

others followed just behind him.

He carried Buffy into her room, laid her carefully on the bed and

started to peel away the coat and the blanket. Dawn came in with gauze

and bandages, plus a medical kit that was well used. Tara went to

Buffy's side and took over for Spike, while Willow led him out of the

room.

"What happened?" The red-headed witch asked him, her arms wrapped

herself self-consciously.

A pained expression crossed his face. "She, she was trying to do some

slaying tonight, and she wasn't doing a good job at it. I think she got

tossed around a bit; the gash on her leg was probably from a demon,

you'll want to make sure it's not infected or anything."

Seeing Willow's look of puzzlement, he continued, "Anyway, I found her

fighting for her life against some blighter she normally could've taken

down easily. I staked him, but Buffy wasn't able to walk, or really even

talk. She was just...disconnected." He added softly, "She told me about

her mother, once she came out of it. I tried drying her off as best as I

could, but she was probably out there in the rain for a long time before

I found her."

"How *did* you find her?" Willow asked, a hint of skepticism in her

voice.

Spike sighed in a mixture of exasperation and unwanted memory, "I heard

her fighting from my crypt. I was curious, went out to take a look, and

then...well, you know the rest."

Willow's quiet anger at Spike began to fade, in light of what he'd done.

"Thanks for bringing her here, but you'd better go before Buffy wakes

up, or the guys come back. We don't need a conflict right now."

He nodded, clearly expecting as much. A rueful smile played on his face.

"Yeah, you can't revoke the invite while I'm still here, can you? But I

won't make a fuss. If I could have my coat back, I'll be going."

Willow went back into Buffy's room, and Spike drifted along at a

distance, just enough so he could peek into the room and check on the

Slayer. Awake but not fully absorbing her environment, she was now

dressed in flannel pajamas and sitting on the edge of the bed while Dawn

towel-dried her hair. One leg of the pajamas was rolled up, exposing the

wounded leg. Butterfly bandages held the edges of the gash together,

and Tara carefully put a gauze pad over the wound, then taped it down

and rolled the pant leg over it. Buffy looked up at him as he came into

view, and blinked in comprehension.

"Spike? You...brought me here?"

Tara glanced at Spike then handed his coat and blanket over to Willow,

who passed it on to the vampire. He shrugged in a feint of indifference,

but it fooled no one. "You needed to be taken care of."

No one replied to that, so Spike added, "I'm sorry about your mum,

Buffy. She was very kind and generous...and she treated me better than I

deserved." He glanced down at the coat and blanket in his arms, then

back at Buffy. "She will be sorely missed."

"Thank you," Buffy replied, the tone carrying a meaning beyond his

compliment to her mother. He smiled wanly after an awkward moment, then

said goodbye and turned to leave, as if trying to flee before Buffy

changed her mind and thought better of what she'd said.

Willow and Tara first looked to each other, then over to Buffy, who

merely watched where Spike had been standing. Tara gathered up the damp

towels in an effort to cover the continuing silence of disbelief.

"Buffy, I think all the ingredients for the deinvite spell are here. If

you want--" Willow began, but her friend wasn't really listening. Dawn

settled down next to her sister and hugged her. Buffy wrapped an arm

around Dawn and glanced away from the door for the first time.

Dawn disrupted the silence. "Buffy, I know you told me that Spike wasn't

really in love with you...but do you think you could've been wrong?"

Willow expected her friend to refute it, but she was surprised at

Buffy's response. "I don't know, Dawn. He saved my life tonight, and it

was more than just about staking the bad guy. I wanted the pain to end,

and I didn't care how. But, he reminded me that I had family and friends

who needed me."

"He, uh, he didn't say anything about that, earlier," Willow replied,

now extremely awkward at thinking back on the moment. "He just said that

you got in trouble and he staked the vamp. Well, and that you also were

really out of it."

Buffy nodded absently, as if that made all the sense in the world. "I

was. And I think I still am, a little. I don't feel too good."

"That's probably thanks to losing blood from a deep cut on your leg,

being thrown around, and standing out in the rain for too long," Willow

chided softly, moving over to check Buffy's forehead for any increase in

fever. Feeling none, she nudged Dawn off the bed and beckoned Buffy to

get underneath the covers. "Why don't you get some rest, and I'll go get

some Advil for the fever and the pain."

"Thanks," Buffy replied, her voice already starting to fade as she hit

the sheets. Tara escorted Dawn out of the bedroom while Willow fetched

the painkiller. Buffy held on to consciousness long enough for her to

get back with the pills and a glass of water, then she drifted off into

dreamless sleep.

****

The rain tapered off into a drizzle as Spike walked back home, turning

into a whisper of what it once was. His boots squished in the rain-

sodden ground, as he weaved past tombstones and statues to the place he

considered his only refuge.

He still couldn't believe how the night had ended. What had been the

lowest point in his existence had now become laced with hope. It wasn't

perfect, but it was a start--and that's all he wanted. How amazing, that

a simple 'thank you' could change a person's perspective on life.

Spike pushed open the door and pulled off his leather coat, heavy from

being drenched thoroughly tonight. But it didn't matter--he tossed the

coat to one side and looked around the crypt--

And that's when he felt the sensation of something being not quite

right. The weighty presence of another person in the dank structure,

stirring the air unnaturally. And then a familiar smell hit him--

expensive perfume, jasmine body lotion, and various hair and face

products. He hadn't felt fear in a long time, but he was feeling it now.

Spike tried to run for the doorway, but it was already blocked by the

person he'd identified. "Glory," he muttered, not sure if it was a plea

or an attempt at bravado.

The tawdry goddess smiled. "Boyfriend-guy. Nice place you got here.

Though the view isn't exactly the greatest."

"What do you want?" He tried to project cool, he really did, but he

remembered how the woman had beaten and thrown him around. He definitely

didn't want a second go at it.

"Aside from the Key? That would be you, pal. My loyal minion saw you

with the Slayer, taking care of her, being all cozy with her. It makes

me think you might have an idea where my Key is."

He smiled with an indulgence he didn't feel. "Haven't heard of it."

"Listen, buddy. I don't have time for these games, and if I have to beat

it out of you, I will. I just figure this way, you save yourself--and

the Slayer--a whole heapin' helping of pain and agony."

He turned with nonchalance towards the interior of the crypt, hoping to

draw her away from the door. "Can't help you, sweets. Sorry."

A hand with a grip like iron grabbed his arm, and tossed him casually

into his TV, shattering it into pieces as he landed on it. The glass

drove into his back and he let out a terse cry of pain, then Glory's

hand wrapped around his throat, lifting him into the air.

"Want more? Or are you going to tell me where I can find the Key?"

He said nothing. Angry, she clocked him with a powerful backhanded blow

to the jaw. It didn't break, but only just. Then he felt himself flying

again, this time into the far wall. The impact cracked the masonry, and

he leaned against the wall for support. If only Glory wasn't in human

form, he could defend himself...

Spike tried for the door again, having no other recourse, but Glory was

faster. A blow to the stomach doubled him over, then a solid jab sent

him flying into the above ground stone coffin. His head hit the side of

it and then all he knew was blackness.

****

"Slow night," Xander commented to Giles, as they hopped into the Magic

Box to drop off the majority of the weapons. They, in fact, had only

staked one vampire tonight--even monsters in Sunnydale had the sense to

stay out of the rain.

"Yes, quite. But I wonder if we shouldn't keep at it, considering the

rain has tapered off, now."

"It's what, three in the morning? I think the prime slaying hours are

over, especially since the people vampires prey on are likely asleep in

bed by now. Like we should be."

They hung the axe and scythe in the training room, and placed their

handful of stakes in the designated box. Giles winced as his muscles

twinged in a pattern he'd become all to accustomed to over the years,

while Xander tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"Want some coffee, or tea?" Giles offered.

"No, thanks. I'll just head on home."

Silence fell between them, both of them thinking the same thing; Should

they check on Buffy? "She's probably asleep by now--Buffy, I mean,"

Giles corrected himself. "We'll call her in the morning, let her know

how things went."

Xander nodded gratefully. "Sounds like a plan. Now, if you could point

me in the general direction of my apartment, I'd be much obliged."

"Nonsense. My car's out back. I'll drive you home."

"Thanks," Xander replied, too tired to argue. Neither really wanted to

talk about what had happened just several hours earlier, having used the

past few hours to do anything but talk about it. Now, they shuffled out

the back door quietly, still trying to avoid the subject. It was easier

that way.

****

Morning dawned, but it was hidden behind a curtain of pearl-grey clouds.

Buffy slept in, oblivious at first to the change. Then her consciousness

recognized it was a new day, and she didn't want to get up. Getting up

meant she'd have to talk to people, who would try to comfort her in

awkward and ineffective ways.

She drifted in and out of sleep for a couple hours, hearing the stirring

of activity downstairs. Someone talking, probably Willow. Sounded like

she was on the phone, considering she didn't hear a reply in the quiet

between Willow's spurts of talking. The smell of food eventually

permeated the bubble inside her room, and she stirred to wakefulness,

finally deciding that she was a bit hungry, after all.

She instantly recognized the woman in red standing in her room,

patiently waiting for her to wake up. Glory smiled wickedly, enjoying

every second of Buffy's growing horror. "Wakey, wakey, little girl!"

Buffy drew herself up to a sitting position, afraid to move too fast or

else expose her continued pain and soreness from last night. "Is this a

social call?"

"Hardly. Just wanted to let you know that when I say I'm gonna do

something, I do it. Remember, no Key for me equals no friends and family

for you? But I realize that killing all your friends at once isn't a

good incentive, so I'm doing it one at a time. Starting with that guy

you love so much."

Hoping it was a bluff, Buffy asked, "Who?"

"Didn't get his name, but he did take a good beating. He's a hardy one,

I'll give him that. He wouldn't tell me where the Key was, even after I

had some fun torturing him first."

Who could she have, Buffy thought furiously, dread settling in her

stomach. Xander? Giles? Or was it even Riley? Glory saw the doubt form

in her eyes, and laughed. "Hey, all you have to is look for him, if you

don't believe me. Or I can bring back a body part, if you want."

"No, that's all right," Buffy replied hastily, before Glory thought it

would be a good idea.

"I'll give you one hour to get the Key and bring it to me. You don't,

and your guy dies a nasty death. I'll be at the old warehouse at

Seventh and Turney. If you come empty-handed, things will get really

ugly," Glory gave her a sweet smile, as if anticipating that moment.

Buffy blinked, and the woman was gone.

****

Dawn pulled away from the door, having heard the entire exchange.

Someone else was going to die...and it was because of her. She couldn't

stand by and let someone take her place.

If Glory wanted the Key so badly, then why not give it to her? Maybe all

she wanted to do was go back to wherever she came from. The gang said

she was evil, but it wasn't like she was destroying the town, or

anything. She said all she wanted was the Key--nothing about destroying

the world, or dominating it.

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing if she handed herself over. It would

spare her sister from having to risk her life, and it would save whoever

Glory had caught.

Her mind made up, she slipped into her room and climbed down the

trellis, heading for the corner of Seventh and Turney.

****