Sideways Shanshu 2 Part 2

Spike shifted in his chair in the dining room, as Buffy updated Angel on

the whole Glory situation and resolution, college life, and everything

else that had happened. When she carefully skipped around the recent

developments between her and Spike, Angel stepped in and let her know

that he knew there were feelings between them. She glared daggers at

Spike until Angel told her that he'd figured it out himself, and that it

wasn't a problem. Not a huge one, anyway.

Buffy was relieved at first, but then worried that she hadn't hidden

things well enough. When Angel looked at her oddly, Spike explained.

"We're trying to keep this low-key, so we don't spook the friends. Plus,

things are still too raw from...recent events, so it's better just to

wait."

"How long?"

"A month," Spike answered, and he wasn't able to disguise the bleak tone

to his voice. The edge of a smile quirked at Angel's mouth, but it was

only for a moment.

"Is that why your car is around the corner? You don't want the gang to

know?"

Several curses ran through Spike's mind, all directed at Angel. Buffy

stared at him in confusion. "What's this about your car?"

Just then, the sound of a car pulling in the driveway stopped all

conversation, and Angel glanced to each of them. "Is that your father?"

"Yeah, he and Dawn must be back. I'm sorry about this--"

"It's okay. No need for me to bring up questions you can't answer." He

bolted out of his chair and headed into the kitchen. "I'll see you

tomorrow night, after the service."

They waved good-bye and Angel went out the back door, just seconds

before her father and Dawn came in. He looked over his shoulder and

asked, "Who's black convertible GTX is that out there?"

Buffy feigned innocence, something Spike had noticed she was kind of

good at. "Oh, I wouldn't know. Must be someone visiting the neighbors."

"Well, it's a beaut. Great condition," he closed the door behind him.

"Oh, Spike has an old car, from like the 50s, don't you?" Dawn said to

him, and everyone in the room tensed. She glanced around, puzzlement

growing on her face. "What?"

"Spike?" Her father reiterated, curiously subdued.

Buffy covered quickly. "Oh, that's a nickname of his, back when his hair

was all spikey, and sticking out, so we called him Spike. He doesn't do

that anymore, but we still call him that, occasionally. Right, Spike?"

"Oh, yeah. I go by either, but my name's William. Just William. And I do

own a DeSoto, in good shape. Runs like a dream."

"Really? I didn't see it out there."

"Well, uh, it's around the corner. I knew you'd all be getting visitors,

and I didn't want to hog a space near the house."

"And when did you do this, William?" Buffy asked, her arms folded.

Folded arms was *always* a bad sign--he'd known this well before falling

for the Slayer.

Caught, he slumped and said, "When you were out earlier. I went and

fetched it." At her wide-eyed stare, he added, "But I took it easy with

the walking, I swear. And it was only one way."

She nodded, but gave him a look that said they'd talk about this later.

Her father missed the look and said, "Well, I can see it tomorrow, in

the daytime. Dawn, I know you've got homework to do--why don't you go up

and start working on that? Buffy, did you catch up with all of your

classes...?"

"No, I didn't," Buffy replied, suddenly contrite. "I should work on

that, later...after I change William's bandages, first." Spike grimaced-

-this last comment certainly wasn't contrite, not by a longshot.

Her father agreed, and Spike felt a special kind of dread settle on him,

one that seemed to be only associated with the Slayer.

"Okay, so what kind of excuse do you have? Might as well get it out in

the open, unlike--say, the way you covered over the fact that you went

walking halfway across town and didn't say a word about it?" She began

peeling off a bandage on his back, as he sat on the toilet seat in the

bathroom.

"Buffy, I was just..." he trailed off. What was he going to say? That he

planned on staying at the crypt or sleeping in the car, if things didn't

go well? He swallowed what little remained of his pride, and said, "I

just didn't want to make a fuss, that's all."

"And what's that supposed to mean? I'm fussing now," she finished and

frowned at the jagged cut now exposed. "I think you pulled a couple

stitches, here."

"Great," he said bitterly. He should've known it would happen. "Anything

else?"

"It's healing well. I think I'll be able to take out the stitches

myself--how hard can it be? You snip off one end and pull out the thread

*very* carefully."

"Don't mess with it for now. I'll show you how it's done tomorrow--

there's one on my leg that's about due. Speaking of legs, how's yours?"

"It's doing fine, and don't change the subject." She wiped the cut with

alcohol, and he sucked in a sudden breath. God, did that sting. "You

shouldn't have done that, Spike. If some demon had seen you walking

around during the day..."

He exhaled as the thought settled in, "Sorry, pet. I didn't think of

that."

"You weren't thinking, period. But bringing the car here ended up doing

a little good--Dad doesn't think you're a total mooch, anymore. He might

even starting liking you."

"Wonderful," he hissed out as she started in on another cut, dabbing

with more alcohol. "So, what happens afterward?"

"After what?"

"The funeral. Is he going to leave, just like that? Or is he taking Dawn

back with him?"

"I...don't know. I kinda didn't want to ask and give him ideas. I can't

leave Sunnydale, but I can't let Dawn out of my sight--she's still the

Key. And I can't tell my dad about being the Slayer, because he would

majorly freak. Dawn would never be able to stay here, and I'd have to

sell the house..." She blew out a frustrated breath. "It's a big messy

pile of lies and half-truths."

"You can't ignore this, Buffy. If you're thinking about it, he's got to

be, too. Giles could be one of those legal guardian types, right? Have

the power to watch over the niblet?"

She peeled off another bandage in the intervening silence, then replied,

"It's possible, if my dad would go for it. And it's not like he ever

came to visit all that often. If he thought the buck could be passed,

he'd have the bill in his hand, waiting for it to be taken."

He bit back a small yelp as the alcohol hit a sensitive spot, and Buffy

said, "Sorry--didn't mean to hurt you."

"S'okay. Heh, there's a twist, right? I never thought I'd hear that from

you," he added in a playful tone, and was rewarded with a self-conscious

smile. "When I'm all healed up, you won't have to play nursemaid

anymore."

"Sometimes I don't mind being a nursemaid," she replied coyly, and he

had to bite back several comments that sprung to mind.

"Oh, you're killing me, Slayer. Friendly interaction only, remember?"

"I'm being friendly. Do you want me to treat you badly?" She finished on

his back and came around to face him, her manner all playful and

wickedly precarious.

"Only if our definitions of 'bad' match each other," he remarked in a

low voice, and he noticed her eyes flash with more than a hint of

mischievousness. Her fingers trailed along his chest, skipping over the

bandaged parts and her gaze followed along, taking in every inch. It was

driving him mad, loving and wanting her now, but needing to wait. Now he

knew it wasn't easy for her, either. They were heading down the path to

a long month, indeed.

Spike took her hands away, and kissed the back of each one. "Love,

you're prolonging the torture."

"I know. I'm sorry, but I can't help it. Maybe we should cut it down to

three weeks? Or two?"

He arched an eyebrow, and she sighed. "Okay, bad idea. I should stick to

the plan--one month of adjusting for the both of us."

"I should find someplace else to live, then. Or head out of town for a

month."

"No, no, no--remember, the being friendly thing is for the gang as well.

You not being here kind of defeats that part, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "So, where's a place

that lets former vampires bed down for little or no rent?"

****

"No, Buffy. I've already done it once, isn't that enough?" Giles

answered with a petulant tone to his voice. She hated to call him like

this, but it was better to ask now and have him less reticent later.

"Giles, it's only temporary. And he helps out around the house now,

cleaning up and everything," she added brightly. "Plus, it's either you

or Xander, and knowing those two..."

"They'd end up killing each other on the second day. Very well, but on

one condition--he has to help out at the magic shop, and he'll help you

train as a sparring partner."

Images of her and Spike in the training room flared through her mind,

throwing punches, landing kicks, rolling around and pinning each other

to the mat..."Done," she replied, suddenly a bit breathless.

"Good. Let me know when he's ready, and I'll get things set up."

"Giles, you're the best. And another thing...it's about Dawn and the

whole custody issue."

"I know--I've been thinking about that, as well. Your mother appointed

me as a legal guardian for you both, after she was first diagnosed. I

think it was in the interest of playing it safe, and wanting to make

sure someone would be there for you and Dawn if something happened to

her. I didn't tell you before because she didn't want you to worry, and

after the surgery it didn't seem so important, anymore. I'm sorry."

"No, that's more than fine, Giles. I'm so glad she thought of that--it

saves us the hassle of doing it now. I can't let my dad take Dawn with

him, and you're the only one with legal authority to prevent it."

"Consider it done. I'll talk to him about it after the funeral." She

thanked him, and hung up the phone silently, wary of her father

listening in. But he was still in the living room, watching TV.

Buffy had glossed over the sleeping arrangements, but now she knew it

had to be dealt with. First, she went upstairs and changed the sheets on

her mother's bed--for some reason, she couldn't allow her father to

sleep on them, maybe in fear that the lingering smell of her mother

would be erased, or tainted. She thought over sharing a bed with Dawn,

but then she remembered that they'd never been able to share without

kicking each other out. Her mind skipped quickly over the idea of

sharing with Spike, then just as quickly over sleeping on the couch.

*That* couch.

They had sleeping bags somewhere...she could grab a couple and it would

be like camping, only indoors. She was about to walk downstairs when she

heard Spike call her name, from her room. He'd been in there ever since

she changed the bandages on his back, then insisted on doing the rest,

himself.

"Yes?" She opened the door and peeked in, not prepared for the sight of

an unclothed Spike sitting on her bed, with a sheet draped conveniently

over his lap. Some of the cuts on his leg were dark pink lines, and the

bandages were discarded in her trashcan.

"I was going to pull out one of the stitches tonight, thought you'd

might want a look-see," he said, then caught the look on her face, and

where she was looking, then stammered, "Well, uh, not that kind of look-

see. Sorry, I don't have shorts or boxers."

It felt very hot in there, all of a sudden. "W-where is it? The cut, I

mean."

"Here," he pointed to a faint red line on his right thigh. "But you

don't have to watch, really. It was just a thought."

She closed the door behind her firmly, praying her sister wouldn't

decide that now would be a good time to look for her. Or her father, for

that matter. "No, I should watch now, in case the ones on your back are

next."

He nodded, then proceeded to take out the stitches as she watched,

memorizing everything he did and trying to ignore the allure of the

well-defined muscles of his abdomen and chest, which had ensnared her

earlier that night...

Don't go there, she chided herself, and focused back on what he was

doing. His arms and hands moved with grace and precision, the movements

of a lifetime and more of experience. Buffy had to again block out

thoughts that began to drift, and refocus.

After several minutes of work and instruction, he finished and said,

"And that's how it's done. Very simple." She nodded, already committing

it to memory. And then some, her mind added naughtily, which she quickly

stifled.

"Yep. And remind me to buy you some underwear in the future, Spike."

He grinned in an echo of the Spike of old. "Well, if you're going to,

make 'em boxers. Preferably the silk kind."

"Black?" She asked demurely, although her blood was racing. "Or with

little red hearts?"

"Use your imagination," he replied, his voice rough, like sandpaper on

satin. The smile she gave him was about in the same condition as her

knees, unfortunately.

Buffy got to her feet in an attempt to appear nonchalant, but her body

betrayed her horribly as she wobbled a bit before standing straight.

"Just my leg."

He nodded, then said, "Make sure you take care of it. Don't fret about

me and forget yourself."

"I won't," she replied, determined.

"I could take a look at it if you want..."

"No! No, that's okay." Now she understood--this was payback for the

moment in the bathroom earlier. But she wasn't going to rise to the

bait--she wouldn't. "I've been hurt worse. And it's healing fine. I

better grab my pajamas and go find the sleeping bags."

"Sleeping bags? What for?" The puzzlement in his voice erased the mood

he'd tried to create.

"For the sleeping I'll be doing tonight. Dad is in my mom's room, Dawn

is in hers, you're here, and I'll...take the dining room. It has

carpeting, which isn't so bad."

"No, you're not. I'll take the couch and you'll sleep here. No arguing."

His demeanor showed he meant it, but Buffy shook her head. "You're

injured and need the rest. I won't be able to sleep, anyway."

And she knew it, too. The grief had abated due to so many things going

on at once, but now with the day winding down and facing her mother's

funeral tomorrow, it had come back in force. Weariness crept in, and she

leaned against her dresser for support.

Spike fidgeted, not able to move from the spot. He wasn't really too

forceful in his current predicament. "You should be in here. This is

your room."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll be fine. Really." She felt so tired, but

she managed to push herself away from the dresser and in the general

direction of the door. He couldn't stop her, not in his present state of

undress, and she closed the door behind her as she left.

****

*******

It only took a couple minutes before Spike came after her, having thrown

on a pair of pants and a button-down shirt hastily, the latter still

unbuttoned. He found her digging through the mess in the basement,

looking for the sleeping bags with a single-minded focus that troubled

him. She never even looked up as he approached.

"Buffy, please. I'll sleep in the car, or the couch, if you don't mind.

Just don't make me feel like a bloody wanker, here. Take your room

back."

"I just need to find the sleeping bags--they're down here, somewhere.

Mom knew...she knew where..."

She stopped, her hand moving to cover her mouth, to stifle sudden,

unbidden sobs. "I can't do this, I can't...I don't know how. I try, but

I can't..."

He pulled her into his arms, knowing he shouldn't cross the line but

needing to do more than offer bland comfort. Her arms tightened around

him and he winced, but he said nothing of it. "Shh, it's all right,

love. Let it out," he murmured into her ear, stroking her hair in an

attempt to soothe her.

She tried to explain through her tears. "I'm--I'm scared. I'm not in

control of anything anymore--I can't be the Slayer like this, without

being in control of what I feel and when. A Slayer has to be strong,

and--and I'm not. I try to be, but I'm not."

She sounded so lost, so vulnerable, but unwilling to let go of the

control she hoarded so preciously. "You're the strongest and toughest

woman I've ever met, physically, emotionally, and mentally. But you need

to grieve, whether you want to or not. Keeping it inside, it'll just eat

away at you."

"But...but Dawn. She needs me to be strong for her."

"She's a strong one in her own right--you don't give her enough credit.

And don't forget, you've got your friends."

He felt her sigh shakily. "I haven't talked to them since you left the

hospital. I've been so busy..."

"...Avoiding the grief by focusing on the details. But you can't hide

from it forever." A flash of insight came to him, and he added, "Is that

why you don't want to sleep in your room?"

She stiffened momentarily in his arms, and he got the feeling she wanted

to avoid the subject. "I just want you to be comfortable, that's all."

"It's the memories, isn't it? Going back to the familiar is hard, 'cause

you associate it with the way things were before. It hurts to remember

so much." He'd come to know that personally, over the past couple of

days. It surprised him a little when he felt her nod, releasing some of

what she'd been holding inside.

"It's...it's hard to be in there, alone. In my mom's room, it wasn't so

bad for some reason. Maybe it was because I didn't have as many memories

in that room as in mine. Her room was her area, her away place that we

didn't go unless she needed us in there. But my room is the one place

where I can't escape the fact that she's gone. All those childhood

things that remind me of...of her, and I can't be there."

He just held her, waiting for more. After a few seconds, she continued

in a stronger voice, "I need to be in control, and I can only do that if

I'm not thinking about it all the time. I need to do something, and I

can't be weak and weepy like this--the hellmouth doesn't give you a

leave of absence."

"What do you plan on doing, then?" He asked quietly, and she pulled away

to look at him, her eyes red from crying. "Fight until the pain goes

away? Avoid it until it leaves you alone? It won't. If I could make it

different, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but the fact of the matter is, it's

gonna take time."

"How much time?" She asked, sniffling.

"I don't know, pet. Maybe weeks, maybe months, or years. It'll be a hard

road in the beginning, but that's what we're all here for. All of us

together are stronger than one person, alone."

"But I have to be alone--I'm the Slayer."

" 'No man is an island'," he quoted, brushing away a few stray strands

of hair falling on her face, "or woman, for that matter. You might feel

like it at times, but it's more of a...peninsula, with your friends and

family tying you to the shoreline."

"Nice imagery, there," Buffy replied, some of the sadness beginning to

subside. "And I think you've made your point. I'm not much of a leaner,

but I'll give it a try."

He nodded, hoping that she would. "Let's go upstairs, before your father

starts wondering where you are."

"But what about--" she broke off, her eyes fixed on something behind his

shoulder. He turned and saw it, himself...the sleeping bags were sitting

innocuously on a shelf along the far wall. He looked back to her and she

finished, "--never mind."

****

Her father had already gone to bed early, thanks to jet lag, and Dawn

watched as Buffy and Spike came out of the basement, hauling the

sleeping bags out. Curious, she walked over to find out what was going

on.

"Planning on camping out tonight?" Dawn asked.

"No, it's for me," Buffy replied, and Spike gave her a resigned look.

"I'm sleeping on the floor."

"Um, where? In your room, with Spike?" Buffy's eyes widened in alarm,

and Dawn nearly smiled. Oh yeah, she was into him, big time. "Well, you

can sleep in my room. We can share."

"I don't think so. Remember the last time we shared a bed?" Buffy said

archly.

"You're forgetting that never really happened, Buffy. But if you want,

you can have a place on the floor, free of charge."

"Gee, thanks," her sister answered dryly, and Spike smiled. Dawn started

to wonder if gathering sleeping bags hadn't been the only activity going

on downstairs, now that she noticed Spike's unbuttoned shirt.

"Well, I'm just making sure things don't get awkward--y'know, with Dad

around and all. If you two want to sleep in the same room, that's fine

with me."

Dawn was rather satisfied with the look on astonishment on her sister's

face. Spike really tried to sputter out some sort of protest and

defense, but it only made her more convinced that something was going

on. She knew Spike still loved her sister--it was plain on his face that

he did, whenever he looked at Buffy--and Buffy wasn't exactly the same

around him, like before. It was more than kindness...she was sure of it.

Buffy finally ushered her sister upstairs and Dawn smiled a small smile

of triumph. She'd find out eventually; it was just a matter of time

****

Angel drove from Buffy's house and wandered around aimlessly, still

trying to piece everything together. He wished he had someone to talk

to, to hash through the jumbled thoughts and ideas in his brain, and he

quickly found himself driving towards Giles' place.

Knowing the former librarian, he would still be up. Maybe he would know

the answer to the question plaguing him. If not, Wesley might...but even

then, it wasn't clear.

He pulled up and parked, then peeked through the window. The lights were

still on, but Giles had company. After a second or two, he recognized

the others, and he smiled without realizing it. Whether he wanted to

admit it or not, he missed the old group. They hadn't ever really

welcomed him in, but he still felt something for them all.

The door opened only a few moments after he knocked, and Giles' shocked

face was the first one he saw. "Uh, hi there," Angel started, and

shuffled a bit, his plan now seeming very stupid. "I was around and I

thought I'd, y'know, drop by."

"Angel, you never just 'drop by'...but please, come in," Giles replied,

and moved aside so he could enter. The others turned in mild surprise,

not thoroughly shocked to see him there. Willow was more somber than he

was used to seeing, and Xander badly needed a haircut. A pale dark

blonde was near Willow, and she looked around at everyone else, trying

to puzzle out what was going on.

"Buffy must have called you," Willow said, after making a quick

introduction between Angel and the girl whose name was Tara. "I didn't

think of that--I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's still really overwhelming. Wesley and Cordelia are

coming up tomorrow for the funeral--that's all right, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah, that's fine. We were just going over the last details and

everything. I, uh, don't mean to pry, but you look a little more broody

than normal. Is something wrong?"

"Well, uh, maybe. Or maybe not, that's the thing. I wanted to talk to

Giles about it, but it might be better with all of you here. I presume

you know about Spike being human."

"Yeah, we were there," Xander answered, sounding somewhat melancholy. A

hint of respect entered in when he mentioned Spike. "He wasn't supposed

to live, with all that damage to his body. He even knew about it before

going in there, but he did it anyway."

"I have to admit, it was very courageous of him," Giles added.

Angel looked at them all, astonished. How could Spike have done such a

thing without a soul? "You mean he went in to save Dawn, knowing he'd

die coming out? And he wasn't coerced, or anything?"

Willow nodded. "The chip was even gone. But he knew only a vampire could

go in and save her. And he could've walked away, but he didn't."

"He could have *tried* to walk away," Xander emphasized darkly.

Same old Xander, Angel thought wryly. But this piece of information only

troubled him further. "Giles, have you ever heard of the Shanshu

prophecy?"

"It sounds familiar. I think I have a book that mentions it," he turned

to his bookshelf and pulled out a thick volume. After thumbing through

it for awhile, he found the passage. "Yes, here it is--the Shanshu

prophecy is about...a vampire with a soul, who will 'shanshu' after a

series of trials. Shanshu can be translated either as death, or life,

depending on the circumstance."

Giles took off his glasses and stared at Angel. "But for an undead

creature, shanshu would be life, not death."

"I found the scroll with the original prophecy. It pretty much says the

same thing, and Wesley--well, we all assumed it meant me. But now that

Spike is human, I wonder...if I was supposed to be *here* to fulfill the

prophecy."

"I can see your dilemma," Giles said, putting his glasses back on. "If

you weren't in a position to fulfill the prophecy, maybe the Powers That

Be selected someone else to take your place. Since Spike still has the

healing ability and strength of his former...state, it does seem a bit

predetermined."

"And Spike got chipped shortly after you left," Willow supplied. "After

the whole Gem of Amarra thing, he came back and then got captured by the

Initiative. But wouldn't it have been easier to just bring you here?"

"You would think...but I wasn't exactly in a mood to be compelled to do

anything, these past few months," Angel answered, ashamed. "I ignored

what the Powers were telling me and went way off the path. Maybe this is

their way of punishing me for that."

"Or maybe this wasn't what the Shanshu prophecy meant," the blonde woman

piped up, and all eyes turned to her. "M-maybe it's just something that

happened. Not shanshu, but something like it."

Angel mulled it over. "I'd like to think that, and I hope it's

true...but, well, I might have to talk to Wesley about it. He'll

remember what the scroll said better than I do. Y'know, it's not even

the part about being human that bugs me, it's the fact that Spike--that

the process ended up giving him the same powers he had as a vampire,

more or less. If I wanted to be human, I know how to--" he stopped,

horrified at the slip.

The others stared at him, and finally Giles asked, "You know how to

become human?"

Caught, Angel sighed and replied, "You can't tell Buffy about this, but

I do know a way to turn a vampire into a human being. The blood of a

Mohra demon has regenerative qualities for a vampire, but it has to mix

with the vampire's blood in order to work."

"Why shouldn't we tell her?" Xander asked, somewhat outraged. "How long

have you known about this, Angel? A month, a year? Years?"

"No, it's not like that. The thing is, Mohra demons are elite assassins

and are both rare and tough to beat. They hardly ever leave the demon

realm except while on a contract hit. You can't store the blood, and

they aren't the type to give donations, anyway.

"I ran into one last year, that's how I know. But the prophecy made me

think it wasn't the right time for it to happen, and if I turned human

outside of the prophecy, then I wouldn't be able to fulfill it. Plus, I

didn't want to be human if it meant I wouldn't be able to fight

anymore."

Willow looked to Giles, who looked to Xander. Angel tried to follow the

path, mystified as to what was going on. "What, guys?"

Willow's eyes didn't meet his, as she spoke. "What you said about

fighting--Riley was kind of the same way. I don't think he could take

being only human while Buffy was out there patrolling. He wanted to

help, but he couldn't fight on her level. That's partly why he left."

The knowledge that he'd done the same thing, in a way, settled on him

heavily. "I see. That...fits with what Spike told me, sort of."

"You talked to Spike?" Giles asked.

"Yeah, over at Buffy's house." When he was answered with silence, he

said, "You guys didn't know?"

"Well, kinda...but you seem okay about it. In a non-violent way," Willow

commented. "I mean, we figured he was staying somewhere, and since it

wasn't any of us...the only person left was Buffy."

"He'll be here for a short while as well, after he's recuperated," Giles

added, not exactly thrilled at the idea. "But Willow's right, you don't

seem rather...disturbed by it."

"It's okay, really. Well, it's not dancing-on-clouds okay, but for the

first time, I feel like it's really over between us. We both had the

closure tonight that we didn't have two years ago, or even last year."

"That's good to hear," Xander said, meaning it. "Closure is always a

good thing. You have to move on with life, see the paths that have

closed and take the detour."

"You just have to pay attention to the road signs," Willow mentioned

solemnly.

****