Chapter 29 – Slayer Central - Reconvened

I’m sitting on my sofa, staring at the bracelet in my hand. It’s actually quite pretty, and I vaguely remember quipping to Angel that I had nothing to go with the amulet. It feels strangely heavy in my hands, heavier than it looks, and I can almost feel my eyes getting lost in the patterns made by the intricate chain. I’ve never had the chance to see it so close, so I’d never noticed just how detailed the chain was. I wrench my eyes away from it, worried that it might just be hypnotic in some way, but I can’t stop myself pouring the chain from one hand to the other as I contemplate what just happened.

The Lilah I know wouldn’t do what she just said she did. Not that I know her, except by reputation, but it’s a fairly specific reputation. Everything she said about herself meshed with what I’d heard. It’s what she said she just did that’s the problem.

I find I’m shivering, and glancing at my watch, I know I’ve been sitting here for a while. A sound from the hallway attracts my attention, and I wonder if it’s Lucy. I haven’t seen or heard anything of her since before Lilah came.

I look up in time to see Spike come in.

“Bloody waste of time, that was,” he’s muttering as he slips out of his jacket, then sits and pulls off his shoes. “Bloke we were after’s dead in a pool of his own blood, and the vamp nest’s deserted. That Lilah bird knows how to cover her tracks, that’s for sure. Wes’s gone back to his apartment to get some sleep, but I don’t think he’s going to get any. Wired tighter than a …”

He finally manages to kick off his second shoe, and he turns his attention to me. Immediately, his expression changes, becoming concerned.

“What’s up, Love?” he asks. “You look white as a sheet.”

He gets up again, and comes to sit beside me. Wordlessly, I hand him the controller. He looks at it, running the chain through his fingers.

“It looks like the amulet,” he mutters. “Is it …?”

“The controller,” I answer his unfinished question.

“How?”

I shake my head, not really sure of the detailed answer to that question. Instead, I tell him what I saw and experienced, trying to remember as much detail as I can.

The relief on his face is palpable as I finish the story, but it’s quickly replaced by a shadow of doubt.

“Is it real?” he asks.

“I really don’t know,” I answer, suddenly overcome with a weariness that’s hard to ignore. “It looks like it, but I don’t know how to operate it, and that’s the only way I know of that we could check its authenticity.”

“Maybe we should destroy it,” he suggests.

I consider that for a moment, but shake my head. “We’re not destroying anything until we’re sure that won’t result in sending you back to where you came from.”

“Good point,” he nods, then adds, “Likely Willow or the Watcher’ll know how to check if it’s kosher or not.”

“Or Lucy,” I add.

“Yeah. When’s Willow’s flight due in?”

“Ten,” I answer.

“You look like you could do with a rest for now.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “But you look like you need to get rid of some tension.”

“Well,” he says, running his tongue over his teeth. “I can think of something that might answer both requirements.”

I thought he was more like himself before he left with Wesley, but I didn’t expect it to last. Now that he thinks he might be in control again, maybe it will. I can’t help myself, I just laugh. It’s not a belly laugh, more the sort of giggle that comes from a combination of extreme tiredness and relief. I wonder as I start whether he’s going to take it the wrong way, the way so many of the things we both said in the past came out sounding worse than we intended, but there’s no way I can stop it, and after a look of surprise, he smiles back. He puts the controller in his pocket, pulls me to my feet, then lifts me into his arms.

“Think you’re giggling so much you might need some help,” he offers, as we move towards my room.

He pauses at the door, allowing me to open it. I’m sure he could have done it for himself, and can only think it’s his way of making sure he’s invited inside.

What follows is soft and gentle and warm, and when it’s over, I drift off into a sleep so deep it hardly seems real. It’s so deep that I’m shocked when Spike wakens me later to tell me that Wesley’s on his way over and Willow has already called from her cab.

Lucy’s up and about when I emerge from my room, and it looks like she managed some rest too. It’s a complete contrast to the way Wes looks when he arrives. He certainly doesn’t look like he slept, and I remember my own complete loss of consciousness with a stab of guilt. He has a day’s worth of stubble and bags under his eyes, and if his hair’s seen a comb lately, I’d be surprised. Despite his appearance, though, he seems remarkably lucid and businesslike. By mutual agreement, we hold off on explanations until Willow arrives, and when she does, Clinton is right behind her.

We start with a retelling of our adventures with the Carnolans so far, with explanations from Lucy where necessary, despite Wes’ obvious impatience to get on with the rather important matter of Gina. And, in due course, we get there, and Willow says the appropriate things, and strokes Wes’ arm in what she means to be a comforting way. Spike then takes up the story, describing their failed attempt at finding a route to Lilah, and when he’s done, it’s my turn.

Wes’ expression is incredulous, but Spike holds up the controller as proof. Right about then, the whole business of only having a single speaker at any one time disintegrates, and we’re left with multiple concurrent conversations. Lucy and Clinton examine the controller while Spike seems reluctant to actually let go of it. Willow starts describing to Wes how she’d go about looking for Gina, and I get up and get some paper. I sketch the symbols which I remember from Lilah’s arms, and push the finished article towards Wes.

“This is how she said Gina was hidden,” I tell him. “Lilah had them on her skin, but I don’t know if it needs to be on the individual or whether something bigger – an apartment or office – could be hidden in the same way.”

Willow’s shaking her head, but Wes jumps up and goes to where he left his laptop when he arrived. He quickly boots it up and checks some files. A short while later, he closes the lid of the computer and picks up his phone.

“What’re you doing?” I ask. He’s looking frankly scary right now. He just shakes his head as he finishes punching a number and waits for a reply.

“Fred?”

“I need a favour. Can you still get me into the building?”

“Look, it’s important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t. It’s Gina – she’s missing, and I think Lilah’s responsible.”

“Is she? You’re sure he said those words? Ok, but this is what I need. I need access to the computer system, maybe some of the texts that used to be in my office. Can you arrange that?”

“Thanks, Fred. If I could do this without involving you, I would, you know that. Fine, see you soon. I’ll call again when I’m outside.”

“You’re not going in there?” I demand.

“It’s the only way I’m going to find out how these symbols work.”

“But you can’t remove them if they’re what’s protecting her.”

“Maybe, but maybe I can replace them with something else. I won’t know until I can do the research.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not. I’ll be quicker on my own, and it’ll help me not to get sidetracked. If Angel spots me, I can probably cover myself. If he sees you, we’re going to get into discussing things I just don’t have time for.”

And he’s right. If Angel sees me, the best we can hope for is another argument about why I can’t possibly love Spike.

“Ok,” I agree reluctantly.

“She had some more news,” he adds.

“Oh?”

“Yes. She said that there’s been turmoil there lately. It seems Lilah disappeared, and they’ve been looking for her, but then suddenly, all efforts were stopped. But there’s no sign that she’s reappeared, in fact, the best information Angel has managed to get is that she’s completely gone, that there’s nothing left.”

“Sounds like Lilah might have been telling the truth,” I comment, and I see hope flaring in his eyes.

“It’s possible, but I’d prefer to get corroboration. His eyes narrow then, and I know he’s thought of something, but instead of explaining, he turns to leave. Before he gets to the door, Willow’s putting a restraining hand on his arm.

“If you’re going into the lion’s den, then you should at least wait until I’ve done some mojo to make you a bit less obvious.”

Wes looks to be about to go anyway, so I grab his other arm before asking Willow to explain.

“I’ve got a spell in mind that should work,” she offers.

“Why not just find out about the symbols and use that?” Spike asks from behind me.

“Well first, I don’t know anything about them, so I don’t know if they’ll help anyway. And if they hide you completely, it’s not going to be very helpful.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Just think about it. If you and the rest of us suddenly vanish off the radar altogether, aren’t the Senior Partners going to realise something’s going on? Maybe start searching like it sounds they were doing for Lilah?”

“I suppose so,” I admit. “So, what about this spell?”

“Well, it’s something I’ve been working on. I started with a basic confusion spell, and worked on the entropy factor a bit. Then I added it to a very weak invisibility charm, and the result is something that’ll make what we’re doing look confused, as if there’s no discernible pattern. They may think we’re incompetent, but they won’t know what we’re up to.”

“I’ll take your word for that,” I offer. Clinton, on the other hand looks totally fascinated, and I suspect Willow’s going to have to give him a more detailed explanation later.

“How long will this take?” Wes is demanding.

“A few minutes,” Willow says. “I brought what I’d need with me, and let me tell you, you owe me for having to pack some of those ingredients among my underwear. I can be set up soon.”

She leaves to get the things, and I persuade Wes to sit down.

When she returns, she starts to arrange the contents of various packages, mixing and pouring while she explains a bit more.

“What I’m going to do is cover all of us, and this apartment. That means that what happens here will be pretty much totally protected, unless someone other than us is here. Once you’re outside, it’ll still have some potency, but the fact that you’re mixing with others will dilute its effect, since there’ll only be the normal sort of chaos in their actions, and therefore some of the patterns in yours will become apparent.”

“Clinton is very interested to find out more about your spell, Miss Rosenberg,” Lucy says.

Willow looks startled, used, I suppose, to my usual attitude of not wanting all the details.

Lucy goes on to explain why she’s speaking for Clinton. Willow nods, and at Lucy’s mention of the word ‘magic’ her eyes seem to widen as she realises there’s a whole branch of the subject about which she knows nothing.

“Buffy,” she says, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “I need something I can burn some stuff in. Something flame-proof."

I nod and go into the kitchen to pick up a grill pan. It’s metal, and fairly large, and I offer it to her.

“That’ll be fine,” she agrees.

“Just remember, I had to pay a small fortune in a security deposit for this place. If it gets damaged …”

“No, no damage,” Willow swiftly reassures, but I don’t feel much better.

One by one, she places the ingredients into the dish, then she sets fire to the whole thing, chanting quietly as she does so. The flame’s small at first, eventually rising to a noticeable fire, but to my relief, it remains contained within the dish. What doesn’t remain contained is the smoke which rises in a cloud, bluish and distinctly putrid.

“Open the doors,” she shouts, and Spike does that while I make a bolt for the windows.

“No, no windows, not yet,” she stops me. “We need the smoke to infiltrate the whole apartment before we let it escape.”

I give up and try to hold my breath. She notices.

“And no holding your breath either. It’s got to get right inside you to have any effect. I’ve been working on the smell, I even added a good dose of lavender to this batch, but it looks like I need to try something else.”

Gradually, the smoke dissipates, and after several moments, Willow gives the ok to open the windows. I do so, running from room to room, opening windows normally shut against the heat. When I get back, Wes is on his feet again, and ready to go.

“How long will you be?”

“Not long, if I can find what I need. I’ve got my cell phone with me, although I’ll switch it off before I go in. I’ll call you as soon as I’m clear, ok?”

I give him a hug, and he turns to leave. Without his presence, I turn my attention to the others. They’re examining the controller.

“Is it Carnolan?” I ask.

“Yes,” Lucy replies. “It’s ancient, and something we no longer have the ability to make, although we understand part of the technique. A find like this will keep our experts busy for a long time.”

“Forget it,” Spike answers. “I’m not letting the bloody thing out of my sight.”

“He’s right,” I agree. “You can’t ask him to let you have it when it can be used to control him. We were going to destroy it.”

Willow gasps at that, and I know she’s shocked that we could even consider destroying something so powerful. Clinton’s reaction, although silent, is similar, and I feel a wave of panic emanating from him, and there’s a pause during which I assume he and Lucy are ‘talking’.

“Clinton would not advise its destruction,” she says after a moment. “We have no idea of the consequences of such an action. But, it should be possible to de-tune it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The controller was tuned to the amulet, linking them. Since Spike wore the amulet, the controller is now linked to the essence of the amulet, and that is part of Spike. If we can de-tune it, we can render it powerless as far as Spike is concerned.”

“And what happens if someone comes along and tunes it back up again?” Spike demands.

Clinton shakes his head, and then I hear that beautiful voice in my head. Judging by the expression on Spike’s face, he can hear it too. I glance at Willow too, and her face is one of rapt attention.

“In order to tune the amulet and the controller, they had to be made together, cast from the same sheet of material, sung into life by the same voice. Tuning them again would be impossible.”

“You sure?” Spike obviously isn’t convinced.

“Certain,” Clinton replies. “But I don’t know how to convince you.”

“Can you operate it?” I ask. “I mean, how do we know it’s the real thing?”

“Clinton is certain,” Lucy replies. “He says it resonates exactly as Spike does.”

“What do you mean resonate? I can’t say I want to spend my life being a bloody tuning fork.”

“If we can de-tune it, you won’t be linked to a controller any more, but the amulet will effectively always be a part of you. There’s nothing we can do about that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it means that all more adept Carnolans will recognise you, if not as Carnolan, then as something akin to them. Otherwise, it should have no effect at all.”

That seems to pacify Spike a bit.

“So what do you need to do to de-tune it?” he asks.

“He needs to sing for it, but he’s warning me that it won’t be a pleasant sound. Ideally, we should go back to the enclave to do it, or failing that, there is a safe house here in LA which has appropriate facilities.”

“I’m still not letting it out of my sight,” Spike insists. “I had a chip in my head for years, keeping me on a leash. Then Lilah’s been pulling my strings since I got back. I’m not letting it happen again.”

“If you’re in the room when it happens, you’ll most likely be deafened. You may be allowed to remain in an adjacent room, beyond the sound-proofing, but you cannot be shown the location of the safe house.”

“Let me see the set up and I’ll tell you if it’s acceptable.”

Lucy nods at this, and I’m relieved she’s not going to be awkward just for the sake of it.

Spike takes the controller and returns it to his pocket. I glance at my watch, trying to estimate when I should start really worrying about Wes. The sound of my phone ringing startles me. I get up to answer it, conscious of the fact that all eyes are on me.

The voice is instantly recognisable.

“Buffy,” Angel says.

“Angel.”

“I’m glad you’re back. I hear that you failed to perform Lilah’s task. Do you need help? I know Lilah disappeared, and the Senior Partners seem to believe she’s not coming back. I’ve even got a new liaison, and they wouldn’t have done that if they were expecting her back.”

“No, Angel, I don’t need help. Everything’s going according to plan.”

“But …”

“Look, Angel, really, I can’t think of anything … no, wait. There is something. I’d be really interested in knowing exactly what happened to Lilah. If you can find out, of course.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. “But Buffy, what about Spike? I know Lilah was using the controller on him, if he’s hurt anyone …”

“The only person he hurt was himself. Now, if you can help with the information on Lilah, that’d be great. And, if I can think of anything else you can do, I’ll be in touch, but for now, that’s it.”

“I’ll always be here for you, Buffy, you know that.”

I know he means that, I really do, but the support he’s offering isn’t anything I’m likely to need.

“I know, Angel. Look, I need to go.”

We say goodbye then, and my eyes stray to Spike’s face to see how he’s taken the conversation. His expression is strangely devoid of emotion, and I’m worried about that. I want desperately to take him off somewhere and make sure he understands, but I see him shrugging and then he smiles at me, and I know he’s ok for the moment.

Willow has turned to Clinton now, and by the look on her face, he’s talking to her. She starts to explain more of the theory of the spell she used, and she’s more animated than I’ve seen in a long while. Now, if it wasn’t for Kennedy, and if Willow wasn’t gay now, I’d be seriously worried.

Lucy gets up and leaves them, approaching me and asking if I’d mind if she cooked something. I explain that someone offering to cook for me is definitely of the good, and I take her into the kitchen. Obviously, there’s not much in the way of fresh food, but she seems to find enough in the freezer and cupboards to do something, and I leave her to it. I glance into the living room, and Willow and Clinton are still busy, but there’s no sign of Spike. I go into my bedroom and he’s there, lying on the unmade bed.

“Had to escape, did you?” I ask.

“Well, there’s only so much of Willow’s excitement a bloke can cope with.”

I smile, and lean down to kiss him.

“You ok about the call from Angel?” I ask.

“Probably never be ok with the idea of you and Angel doing anything, but I can hardly blame you for answering the phone.”

“Lucy’s cooking,” I offer. “Not sure what it’ll turn out like, but it should be better than if I cooked it.”

“Should probably get some food in,” he suggests. “Looks like this apartment’s going to be Slayer central for a while.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “When Wes gets here?”

“Assuming we’re not too busy with whatever information he brings back.”

I lie down beside him, snuggling close. I let out a sigh at just how good it feels to be here with him. Despite everything else that’s going on, this bit is just perfect.

Chapter 30 – Comfort in More than One Guise

When Lucy calls us to eat, there’s still been no sign of Wes. The meal’s good – pasta and a sauce made with tomatoes, some veggies and an unusual seasoning I don’t quite recognise. Engrossed in eating, we don’t talk. My mind is on Wes, and Willow seems distracted in the way she always gets when she’s trying to solve a problem. Clinton left again, apparently to set up the safe house for the detuning, which he’s planning on for tomorrow at the latest.

I jump when my phone rings, and pick it up from the work top where I’d left it.

“Buffy?” Wes’ voice provides an immediate drop in the tension I’d been feeling.

“Yes. You ok?”

“I’m out, but … it doesn’t look good. I’ll tell you more when I get there.”

I pass on that news, and mention of Wes seems to remind Lucy of something.

“If it’s possible, I’d like to sit down with you and Wes later. I’ve gone through the contract you agreed with the Senior Partners, and I’d really like to ensure that your memories and the written version tally as they should.”

“Have you found anything?” I ask, desperate for some good news.

“There’s something, but it really depends on the detail you experienced. The paper contract may have legal standing, but I don’t think they’re going to take you to court over any breach. It’s the mystical version that’s important. If there’s a hole in it …”

I nod. Yes, we desperately need a hole in that contract. If there’s any way I can get out of destroying Lucy and the others, I’d be happier. I mean, if I had a reason to do it, I’d be there in a flash. One slip into forcing women to join them, or a change in their policy on eating their mothers’ flesh, and they’ll be on my black list. Right now, though? I’d feel as good about destroying them as I’d have felt about killing Clem, or maybe worse. I mean, there was the whole kitten poker thing, and I’d bet they weren’t just currency for him.

When we finish eating, I chase Lucy out of the kitchen, and start to clean up, pleased to note that Spike joins me. You’d think that since eating solid food is a bit of a novelty to him, he’d be a bit lost in a kitchen, but he isn’t. I mean, I know he can use a microwave to heat blood, or make popcorn, but he seems quite comfortable with the whole thing.

We’re just finishing up when Wes gets back, and we all reconvene in the living room. Wes is looking even more exhausted than before, and there’s something else. His eyes have lost that glint of determination they had before, and I can feel my heart breaking just to see it.

We take our seats, and this time, I ensure that I’m on the sofa beside Wes. I just get the feeling he’s going to need some contact, and I’m the closest friend he’s got here. If there’s one thing I know about Wes, it’s that he’s really not into physical contact beyond a handshake with people he doesn’t know well.

“So, any problems?”

“Not with getting in or out, no. Fred’s the sort of person everyone likes, and she seems so innocent that no one even considers that she might be up to something. I found what I needed to about those symbols. They’re powerful, extremely powerful. They’ll hide someone or something from just about any sort of surveillance. I mean, even face to face, people who see someone with those symbols won’t even notice them. I suspect the effect will diminish if you already know the person concerned, especially if they draw attention to themselves by talking to you, for example. That explains why you, Buffy, were able to see Lilah, and if Gina is protected by the same symbols, those of us who know her would be able to see her if she were here. But strangers just wouldn’t notice her, and she would be invisible to electronic surveillance, cameras and so forth. That puts paid to my next option, which was to call in some favours around town and get some people checking out CCTV tapes around the area pinpointed by Clinton’s spell.”

“But, isn’t there a way of removing them?” Willow asks. “Surely, there must be some way of erasing the symbols?”

“Oh, there is.” Wesley’s smile is tight, and full of irony.

“Well,” I say, trying to hurry him along.

“Well,” he answers, looking straight at me. “Erasure of the symbols is pretty simple. It needs some demon blood, but the actual spell is simple enough.”

“So, what’s the catch?” I ask, getting irritated, despite my attempts to keep calm.

“Well, it’s the old Catch-22, isn’t it? To erase the symbols, I need to know exactly where she is. And while she’s hidden by the symbols, the only way I’m going to find her is by bumping into her by sheer luck.”

There’s silence for a moment, while we let that soak in. Desperate to find something that’ll console Wes in any way, I remind him of what Lilah said.

“But, it looks like she’s safe for now. That’s what Lilah said, and so far, it looks like she was telling the truth.”

“Safe,” he mutters, half under his breath. It’s so quiet that I’m shocked by the volume of the next bit. “She might be safe, but if she’s frightened, for herself or for the baby, then it’s not bloody good enough. And I’d like to know how she’s supposed to be anything other than scared witless. I mean, she lost so much before; there was a time when she thought she’d lose her mind. If anything happens to her because of this …”

He stops then, and I know he’s vowing to hurt whoever’s responsible. Except, as far as we know, the person who’s responsible has put herself beyond pain.

I hold out my arms to him, and he looks at them, as if unsure what to do. I don’t know who initiates the move, but the next thing I know, Spike, Willow and Lucy are all leaving the room. Once the witnesses are gone, Wes’ inhibitions seem to fall, and he collapses into my arms and sobs. I hold him close, stroking his hair, saying those inanities that always seem so natural when you’re trying to give comfort, whether it’s to a small child or a grown man.

After several moments, he stills, and I feel him taking some deep breaths. He sits up, and immediately apologises. Before he can get more than a couple of words out, I hold up a hand to stop him.

“No apologies. Sometimes, you just need to vent a bit. I understand that.”

He nods, and stands, saying, “Maybe I should go home for a bit. I’m feeling rather … rather …”

At that point, he sways alarmingly, and manages to fall back into the chair.

“Wes,” I say. “Wes, you’re exhausted. And you’re not going home. Look, come with me, you can lie on my bed for a while, and have some sleep. When you’ve done that, then you can have a shower, and I’ll see if Spike can lend you some clean clothes, or better still, I’ll get Spike to run over to your place and get you a change.”

He’s about to argue, but then he seems to realise that he’s in no fit state to drive anywhere. He nods, and stands again, steadying himself on the back of the sofa.

He manages the walk to my bedroom without incident, while I hover behind, just in case. I’m relieved to note that Spike isn’t there when I open the door, so I just pull the drapes, then leave Wes who’s already sprawled out on the bed, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he was already asleep.

I find the others in Willow’s room, where she’s holding court over her laptop. She’s got it connected to the internet via her cell phone, and she’s checking out some further leads on those symbols. By the look on her face, though, she’s not finding anything new.

Spike approaches as I go in, saying quietly, “How’s the Watcher?”

“Exhausted. But I think he’s asleep for now. Was it your idea to leave us?”

“Well, yeah. I know how a bloke like that feels about showing what he’d consider to be weakness.”

“Thanks, I think he’ll feel better after some sleep.”

“You sure he’s asleep?” Willow pipes up. “’Cos, you know, if he can’t, maybe I could help.”

“I’m sure, Willow. Worried or not, there just comes a point when your body gives out on you, and I think he’s reached that.”

I pause then, and I know we’re all listening for any sign that Wes is moving around.

“So, what’ve you got?” I ask, to break the silence.

“Nothing really,” Willow admits. “I can’t even find a reference to those symbols like Wes did. I’ve checked all the usual sources of old scripts and languages, but I can’t see anything that matches exactly.”

“So, Lucy, is there any point in you and I looking at this contract business, or would it be better to wait for Wes?”

“Well, given what I understand to be his background, his Watcher training for example, should have given him an ability with details, so I’d prefer to wait until morning. Besides, even though I slept for a while this afternoon, I’m pretty tired.”

“Fine,” I reply. I turn to Spike. “Feel like a quick patrol? Hit the streets and see if there’s anything looking to snack on the locals?”

As I knew they would, Spike’s eyes light up at the possibility. Despite our earlier activity, he’s still wound tighter than he can find comfortable.

“What about our hostage situation?” he asks.

“Well, if they can see what’s going on, they’ll know Willow’s here, and I’m sure they know she’s pretty powerful, so they can assume she’s on hostage-sitting duty.”

“And the Watcher?” he asks.

“Will,” I turn to face her. “You can keep an ear out for Wes, can’t you? And you can let us know if there’s a problem.”

“Sure,” she agrees. “There’re a couple of other sites I want to check, so I’m not going to bed for a while.”

I do a quick survey of what I’m wearing. Not the best choice for a patrol, but I’ve known worse. The prospect of going into the room to change is not one I’m going to entertain, though, so I slip my arm through Spike’s, pick up my cell phone, and we’re out of there.

“We should hit the store before we get back,” Spike suggests as we get to the door.

“Yeah, and I offered to get Wes a change of clothes,” I add, turning back to the living room. As expected, there I quickly spot Wes’ phone and keys where he dropped them as he came in.

We get to the area I had in mind, and I close my eyes, trying to sense anything less than wholesome. The tingle seems to be coming from further along the road, and I start to pull Spike in that direction, only to find that he’s already moving in the right direction.

We hear a scream, and follow it into an alleyway. Just why do so many cities have alleys like this? They’re magnets for all sorts of evil, of both the human and demon variety. Spike’s longer legs ensure that he’s ahead and, not surprisingly, he’s not waiting. I hear some grunting, which I just about recognise as Fyarl, even if I don’t have a clue what it means. Now, a Fyarl demon’s trouble. They’re just too big and strong to ever take beating them for granted. Not the brightest perhaps, but when you’re built like a tank, sometimes you don’t need to be. With that in mind, I slow, walking as quietly as I can, and peer into the distance to take in the situation.

The Fyarl’s even bigger than most, and the reason things haven’t degenerated yet is apparent when I see that one of his huge scaly arms is around a girl’s neck. There’s something behind them too – I can see a shoe which I assume to be on a foot, but it’s lying still, and I’ve got no way of knowing whether the owner’s alive or dead.

I take a look around, and spot a fire-escape above the Fyarl. If only I can find a way to get there, I can take him by surprise. I spot the route quickly. Unfortunately, that route involves an overfull dumpster, and I take another glance at my clothes. Definitely not what I’d choose to go climbing about in one of those, not that I’d ever choose to go climbing about in a dumpster.

I move into the alley, keeping to the darkest shadows, and watch the stand off for a moment. I know that Spike knows what I’m doing, because he’s moved so as to take the Fyarl’s attention away from me. I climb into the dumpster, and from the top of the trash, which fortunately, seems to be of a dry and comparatively unsmelly variety, I jump to the ramp above, grabbing onto the edge, and haul myself up and over the railing. Again, Spike helps out, as the level of incomprehensible growling increases to cover any noise. I creep along the walkway until I’m right over the Fyarl. I pause then, taking in the details from this angle. I check through my pockets, ignoring the stakes and finding a small silver knife. I make sure it’s handy, then choose the sharpest stake I’ve got. It’s not going to do any serious harm to the demon, but for now, all I want is for him to let the girl go.

Stake in hand, I jump, lunging towards his arm with my stake as I fall. Between my momentum and my strength, the stake sinks in through his scaly hide without difficulty, and he instinctively moves his arm, releasing the girl in the process. Fortunately, she’s still with it enough to scramble away as soon as she can, running to cower behind Spike.

“Thanks, Love,” Spike says once I’m on the ground and ready to get down to the main business. “Stupid nancy-boy didn’t want to do without the hostage, even though I’ve been telling him it takes all the fun out of it. But then, he knew there was a Slayer coming, so maybe it’s understandable.”

Big and strong as he is, the Fyarl really doesn’t stand a chance against Spike and me. It might be a while since we patrolled together, but you wouldn’t know it the way we fight. Each of us knows what the other intends, and before long, Spike’s wrenching his head, breaking his neck and ensuring the demon’s not able to fight back.

“Now all we need is some silver,” he says, stepping back and patting pockets he must know don’t have anything suitable. I pick the knife out of my pocket, and take its cover off. I hand it to him, knowing he needs to do this, while I go to check on the girl. She’s crouched next to the owner of the shoe, and it’s now obvious it’s a young man.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

She looks at me, as if unsure for a moment, then shakes her head.

“But Bob – he’s … he’s…“

“Alive,” I finish, checking for a pulse. “What happened to him?”

“The … thing. It wanted me, and Bob tried to get between us. He just batted him away with one arm.”

“I’ll call an ambulance,” I offer.

“No, I … already did. While you were fighting. And the cops. Should be here soon.”

“You be ok till they get here?”

She looks puzzled. “Why? You’re not going?”

“Yeah. Explanations could take a while. And you can tell them what happened.”

“How do I explain? I don’t even know what happened.” She pauses then, and looks over to the now dead body of the Fyarl. “What was that anyway?” she asks.

“Do you really want to know?” I ask, because, surprisingly often, people don’t.

Spike’s waiting. I join him, and we walk out of the alley together. Once out on the sidewalk, we wait, pretending to read through a menu outside a restaurant close by, until we hear the sirens, then we leave. Quickly, but trying not to look like we’re in a hurry. The adrenalin from the fight is working its usual course, and I know Spike feels the same. I daren’t touch him as we walk, because I know I won’t be able to let go.

“Do we really need to stop off?” he asks, and I want to tell him we don’t. But I promised Wes, and if we don’t get some food, there’re going to be several unhappy people in the apartment in the morning.

We head to Wes’ place, and I open the door then go and pick out some clothes for him while Spike paces in the hallway. Then, we go to the market, picking up supplies in the most haphazard manner I’ve ever done. Concentrating on something as mundane as food is just really hard when all I want to do is get somewhere private. You’d think having other things to do would clear my mind, allowing me to concentrate on something other than my baser instincts, but when the cause of those instincts is right beside you all the time, believe me, it doesn’t help at all.

The journey home is done as fast as we can, and we carry the groceries through the living room into the kitchen. It’s then we notice the lack of sofa, and I spot a note from Willow telling us to use her room, since she’s taken the sofa into Lucy’s room. In all my hormone-driven haste, I’d forgotten about the small matter of Wes being in our bed. We dump the groceries in the kitchen, and Spike’s arms are around me, pulling me towards the bedroom, but I stop him, going back to put some things in the fridge, before yielding to his demands.

Within five minutes of getting back to the apartment, Spike closes the bedroom door behind us, and stalks towards where I’m already lying on the bed.

Chapter 31 - Discord

At least it looks like Wes got enough sleep last night. He's no longer got the dark shadows under his eyes, but he's still got that haunted look which I know he won't lose until he gets Gina back safe.

I, on the other hand, seem to be functioning remarkably well on too little sleep. I feel more alive than I've felt in a long time, and with one glance at Spike, I know he's feeling the same. There's nothing like a fight followed by some rather more intimate physical activity to give you a real feeling that everything's right in the world. I catch Willow watching me watching Spike, and I can hear a flash back of Dawn's teenage voice complaining about potential trauma. The combination makes me smile.

Lucy's in her bedroom, apparently having some sort of telepathic conference with someone about the contract, and aside from when she cooked some breakfast, I haven't seen her so far this morning. Wes ate something, then he sat down at his laptop, and hasn't moved since. Spike's watching TV, but I'm not sure he's so much watching it as using it to make himself sort of invisible. No one, well, except me, seems to be paying him any attention, and I get the feeling that he's watching the rest of us rather more than the sit com repeat that's on.

Willow announces that she's going to go and clear up the kitchen, and I follow her in. I haven't had a chance to talk to her since she got here, and even before then, I was kind of out of touch.

Once there, she immediately closes the door behind us, and turns to me.

"You and Spike, eh?"

"Yeah."

"So, dish the dirt. How's it going? Good as you remember or …"

"Better than I remember. All the good bits, and none of the bad. Well, different bad bits, I mean with Gina and the controller, but not bad bits about us, if you know what I mean."

"He's doing better than I expected with the whole 'being human' thing," she comments. "I mean, he's one vampire I really didn't think would adapt well."

"He wasn't happy at first. Went out drinking and nearly ended up as a snack for a couple of vamps. He felt useless, and didn't think I could love him as just your basic human. It was hard enough to make him realise that I meant it when I said it back in Sunnydale - that I loved him. Take away all that vamp strength and stamina, and he just couldn't believe. Somewhere, in his past, he got the notion that William was useless, and that's stayed with him all this time. I finally got through to him while we were away."

"But he's not all that weak," Willow says, looking confused. "I mean, he told me about that Fyarl last night, and it sounds like he held his own. Or was that just a bit of bravado?"

"No, not bravado. He's not just human. He can match me for strength, and …"

"And stamina too if my ears weren't playing tricks on me last night."

"Will, oh, I'm sorry. We were being quiet."

"I know, it's just, quiet house, stranger in the room, I didn't sleep so well, and, you know, some noises you just recognise."

I know I'm distinctly pink, and I also know Willow's enjoying my embarrassment. I quickly get us back onto the other, less embarrassing subject.

"So, Will, why is he so strong? I mean, I don't think Lilah expected that. I think she just expected him to be human."

"I don't know. Is there anything else? Is he just strong? He doesn't have a demon face or anything, or …"

"No, no demon face," I answer smiling. "But, …"

"But?"

"But, last night, he sensed that Fyarl before I did. It's like he's got my Slayer senses too."

She stares at me as I say that. Staring that means she's putting something together.

"Buffy, remember when I said before that you and Spike had been linked by the amulet?"

"Yeah, but …"

"Look, that's really old magic. Someone chooses a Champion, and that choice forges a link between them. It means that, karmically, they're joined, that the result for one will be the result for the other."

"Yeah, but …"

"Well, think about this. That spell I did, giving the power of the Slayer to all the Potentials, it must have affected you too."

"But I wasn't a Potential."

"Well, actually, you were. The fact that you'd been activated didn't take away your Potentialness - it just sort of added onto it. So, when I distributed all that Slayer power around, you got a share of it like everyone else. But it didn't make any difference to you, because you already had it. But, what if Spike got some of it too? What if … he actually became a Slayer for that short time before he dusted? It brings a whole new meaning to the term 'Vampire Slayer'."

Spike? A Slayer? It actually makes a weird sort of sense, and I find myself accepting what she's saying.

"Can we prove it?"

"Yeah, we should be able to. The Council of Watchers has been rounding up Slayers, so they've got to have some way of recognising them."

"But how come they missed him so far?"

"Buffy, there're hundreds of Slayers recognised so far. Some of them don't want anything to do with the Council, and some want to be trained. In LA alone there must be quite a few girls. I'm not really surprised that they missed Spike. Especially if they're looking for girls. I mean, he doesn't really fit the bill, now does he? And anyway, they'd have to have done a sweep of LA since he got back."

No, Spike certainly doesn't fit the bill. The idea of sleeping with another Slayer never appealed to me at all. As I think that, I think about Kennedy, and so I ask Willow about how she is.

"Oh, you know, she's gone off to Europe. Her parents offered to give us a holiday, going everywhere, doing all those things I've always wanted to do, but we had to just drop everything and go. And I couldn't. I mean, there's stuff going on in Cleveland too - Slayage things, and she just walked away from it. She didn't even call Giles to let him know. I had to do that, after she'd gone, so he could send a more experienced Slayer to cover for her."

"I'm sorry, Will. Hey, but you don't have to be on call for the Cleveland stuff, do you? Why didn't you go?"

"I … I couldn't. I mean, I said I couldn't, because I thought she'd realise she couldn't, but …"

"But she's not used to being told she's wrong."

"Exactly. She feels like she should only do the things she feels like doing. I think it's surprising that she actually stayed with the programme as long as she did."

"Willow," I say as a thought occurs to me. "You didn't turn down a tour round Europe because of me, did you?"

"Er, no. Well, sort of, because I knew you'd need me, but it was more than that. At the start, I didn't think she'd go if I pointed out all the things we were needed for here. But then it didn't make any difference, and there were other things, things that maybe I can do from here, but even with the net, it'd be hard to do from London or Paris. And, well, when I realised Kennedy wasn't going to change her mind, I wasn't as upset as I thought I'd be. It's just how she is."

I just smile, afraid that whatever I say will sound harsh.

Willow smiles back, and continues. "Even being the Slayer. She was so sure she'd be called, even when that meant someone had to die. But I don't think she thought it through. Sure, an apocalypse, maybe even a few, all the excitement, but there's all the day-to-day vamp killing, and she was getting bored. I'm just surprised she stayed at it as long as she did."

"I know, from personal experience, that having that sort of responsibility for seven years is a big deal. I can't really blame her for wanting out."

"I know, and if she'd just wanted out, I could have coped. It was the just going, and not arranging for cover." She shrugs.

"Anyway, I enjoyed working with you up in Tacoma, I really did. And then there was a chance to help some more, and I wasn't going to turn that down. Everything Kennedy's needed me for lately has been real routine, but you've given me the chance to find out about a whole new type of magic, and it's not dark and dangerous, or at least, no more dangerous than any magic, and it's exciting and …"

"And there's a tall, dark and mysterious man who can teach you all about it."

She blushes at that.

"But I'm …"

"Gay now. I know; I've heard the speech. But there was Oz, and it's perfectly possible to have no particular preference, and if you find him attractive, then there's nothing wrong with that."

"But what about Kennedy?"

"What about Kennedy? I'm not suggesting you jump into bed with Clinton, but there's no reason why you shouldn't get to know him a bit better, and then it's up to you to decide whether what you've got with Kennedy is long haul and worth working at, or if it's just been a good time on the way to something better."

"Not that I'm admitting to any attraction, mind you, but you're right. I mean, there's no harm in looking and getting to know someone, and it doesn't matter whether they're male of female, or even human or … not quite human."

"As I've proved, on er, two occasions."

"And is this one long haul?"

"You know, Willow, I really think it is. At least, I hope so, because it is for me. I'm just scared Spike will realise I'm nothing special once he's found his feet again."

"Have you seen him looking at you? Not going to happen. I mean, if there's one thing about Spike, it's that he sticks around. He doesn't know the meaning of falling out of love."

And no sooner are those words out of Willow's mouth, than Spike appears at the door.

"If you two are done nattering, there's been a message from Clinton. There'll be a car here in two minutes, to take me, and my jewellery here, for detuning."

"Fine," I reply. "I'll just pick up my purse."

"You're coming?" he looks surprised.

"Well, duh. Course I'm coming. It's important to you, isn't it?"

He smiles at that, but the moment is broken by Willow

"Room for another?" she asks.

"Well, someone needs to stay with Lucy," I say.

"Wes?" Willow suggests, then shakes her head. "No, that wouldn't work. Someone needs to be here for him too, and it wouldn't be fair for that to be a total stranger. I'll stay and keep them both out of trouble."

"Thanks, Will. And I'll see if I can persuade Clinton to come over when the detuning's finished."

I get an elbow in the ribs for that, and Spike just looks mystified.

The car is actually a limo, with tinted glass so dark that no one on the outside can see inside. The odd part is that, once we get going, we can't see out either. A bit less intrusive a ploy than the outward journey, but the effect is the same.

As we drive, I bring up the subject of Willow's theory.

"Remember that Fyarl?"

"Hard to forget something that big and stupid," he answers.

"Well, you knew it was around before I told you."

"Well, didn't know what it was, but I knew there was something unfriendly around."

"How?"

"How what?"

"How did you know?"

He pauses then. "Can't honestly say I know. I just knew, like a prickling at the back of my neck. Sort of like before, when I was a vamp, could always tell if there was another one around, and Slayers, could sense them too."

"You remember, back in Sunnydale, Willow used the scythe to make all the potentials into Slayers?"

"Not likely to forget that either, Love."

"No, I suppose not. Anyway, Willow thinks maybe you got a dose of Slayerness too."

The look he gives me shows his incredulity more clearly than words could.

"Look, Spike. She says the amulet linked us. The fact that it was mine, and I gave it to you as my champion. She says that's old magic – it links the two of us."

"Yeah, well, …"

"So, it shared my Potentialness with you. Even though I was the Slayer, Willow says I was still a Potential underneath. And because of the link, you were too, so when the scythe did its thing, you got to be a Slayer."

"Reckon I've got the wrong bits to be a Slayer. Woman only gig, that one."

"Well, normally, but … Look, apparently the Council can prove it, one way or another. If you want to know for sure."

"Right now, I don't much care about the why. Maybe, when things are straight, we could find out – if it's important to you. Only thing that matters to me is being able to look out for you."

And I kiss him. Well, apart from anything else, it seems to be a good way to pass the time.

When we finally stop, an hour and a half later, we're in an underground garage, with no real idea of where we are.

We take the elevator up from there to another basement level. At least, I assume it's a basement from the lack of windows. I can't help but think it'd be an ideal vamp lair. It looks like a suite of offices, and we're taken into a large waiting room. Clinton meets us there, and takes us through a short corridor into an inner room. Well, when I say room, I'm being generous. It's more of a closet, about eight feet square, and, apart from the door we used, there is no opening. Clinton invites Spike to check out the room, so he can be sure there's no alternative exit. I check too, but it's difficult since all the walls sound strangely dead.

"Soundproofed," Clinton explains in his unique way. "There's a two foot gap between this room and all the surrounding ones, and it's filled with state of the art soundproofing materials. Even so, it'll be noisy in the outer room."

"But you'll be in here?" I ask.

"No. I'll be in the control room, which is off the waiting room. I value my hearing too."

"So, where do we go?" Spike asks.

"Well, you can stay with me, or if you prefer to be more comfortable, there's the waiting room."

"I think we'll stick with you," Spike decides, and I agree that seems to be the most sensible idea. Apart from anything else, Willow's going to want a blow by blow description of the procedure, so I'd better be on hand to see it.

Clinton holds out a hand for the controller. Spike fishes it out of his pocket, and hands it to Clinton who places it on what actually looks rather like an altar in the centre of the room.

"This platform is actually dampened. The vibrations induced by the detuning will be absorbed by the dampening mechanism. The alternative would probably be measurable on a seismograph."

I know there's been talk about being deafened by this procedure, but I'm starting to get the impression of a seriously powerful bit of noise here.

"One thing," I interrupt. "Is it possible for us to check this out? I mean, can I try to use the controller now, and then again after? As a check, I mean."

"Well, yes," Clinton agrees. "And that would be the best evidence I could offer that the detuning has been successful."

"So," I say, picking up the controller again. "That ok with you, Spike?"

"Depends what you're planning," he says, his brows low over his eyes.

"Oh, you'll just have to trust me."

He doesn't look too sure, but agrees anyway. The truth is, I really don't have a clue what to get him to do. I mean, there're a lot of things I could do, but they'd be things he might want to do anyway, so it wouldn't be much of a test. And then it comes to me. He talked about his poetry - the stuff he used to write, but he's never let me hear any of it.

Clinton takes me to the other side of the small room, and puts my hands on the controller. He sings a single note softly, and I feel the controller vibrate in my hand.

"Any voice could activate the controller," he explains. "But for most humans, it would take a while of trial and error to get the pitch right. It's quicker if I just get it started for you."

"Now," his voice continues. "It's in your hands, so you have to shape the command. I want you to concentrate on what you want, either using an idea from your own mind, or sifting through his memories for something from his. Concentrate, it may take a little while at first, but it'll get easier."

I do as he says, concentrating on Spike, mentally pulling away the covers which shroud his memories, and sifting through his memories as a human, homing in on poetry, and seeing the words on paper in his handwriting as he remembers reading them once. I find it at last, the one I'm sure he's least likely to say out loud, and I force him to speak. He tries to avoid it at first, but gives up quickly, and I get a flash of irritation as he starts to speak.

"My soul is wrapped in harsh repose,
midnight descends in raven-coloured clothes,
but soft...behold!
A sunlight beam
cutting a swath of glimmering gleam.
My heart expands,
'tis grown a bulge in it,
inspired by your beauty...
effulgent."

I had planned to stop him after a line or two, but I feel compelled to keep him talking to the end of the verse. Spike relaxes, and I take the controller and place it on the altar.

"Do it, please, Clinton," I say, approaching Spike, suddenly unsure of my welcome. He doesn't look too happy, but he opens his arms to me anyway.

"I'm sorry," I apologise. "It seemed like a good idea, but once I was in there, I knew I shouldn't be in your mind, shouldn't be doing it. Your memories are your own unless you choose to share them."

And it's true, I feel dirty, like I've been reading someone's diary.

"It's ok, Pet. It was a good idea. And you could hardly have asked me to kiss you or something, 'cos that's not something I need any hints about." And he proves that by giving me a quick kiss on the lips.

"It's more than the words, though, I didn't just see the poetry, I saw what you felt then, that you loved her, Cecily, and I shouldn't have been in there."

"No big deal, Pet. There's a lot worse in there, and I might have told you all about that in time anyway, so no harm done. It sort of makes up for all the snooping I did back when I first loved you."

Clinton's voice in our heads interrupts, and he leads us back into the waiting room, and from there, through another door which leads to a control console in a room overlooking the detuning room. When I say overlooking, I suspect it would be, but the screen in front of us is like a TV, not a window. There are three chairs in the room, and Clinton takes the right hand one, with Spike next to him, and me on the other end. There's a microphone and headphones in front of Clinton, and an array of switches which he proceeds to flip, until he's happy that everything is prepared.

You'll hear a bit of what's going on, but you'll feel even more. It's not a pleasant feeling, but without the excess noise, it should be bearable. I have never attempted to detune something as powerful as this before, simply because such artefacts are all but unknown these days. I suspect that the resonance in you, Spike, will make the procedure rather more uncomfortable. However, I don't believe that being so close will change that at all. Detuning has never been done with a human before, as the amulets always required someone rather more robust. However, once I begin, I will effectively be in a trance and unable to stop. In addition, the door to the control room will be locked and will remain that way until I have completed my task. The procedure should take perhaps ten minutes."

We both nod that we understand.

"I'll begin shortly," Clinton continues. "I just need a moment to gather my thoughts, and then I will sing."

He picks up his headphones, and adjusts them carefully. The silence seems unreal. I can only hear the sound of my own breathing, and beside me, Spike. Again I'm struck by the incongruity of him breathing. Not that he never did - he always did breathe a lot for someone who didn't need to. In the early days, I thought it was just because he always talked so much, but it was more than that. He did it when there was no reason, and when he probably wasn't even conscious of what he was doing, like when he slept.

And then it starts. It's a whisper of a sound, pure in a way a human voice could never be. It's achingly beautiful, and it gradually gets louder. And then I hear the first sound of the battle. The controller is singing back, audible despite the soundproofing, but the note is slightly different, and, even though the volume is low, it's gratingly unpleasant.

The volume increases, but worse than that, there's a vibration that I feel rather than hear, and I start to panic because I instinctively know that there's more and worse to come. The volume continues to increase, and I feel as if every bone in my body is trying to resonate in time with both notes at once, and the effect seems to be trying to shatter me from the inside out.

I reach out to Spike's hand, and I can feel the tremors in his body. I glance at his face, and it's streaked with sweat. Of course, Clinton warned us it would be uncomfortable. Just looking at him, though, uncomfortable just doesn't seem strong enough.

Spike's shaking badly now, and I reach out my arms to him, pulling him close, but he doesn't seem to notice. The shaking's getting worse, and his face is lined with pain. The sound's making my whole body ache, and I know it must be much worse for him. I start to call out to Spike, to tell him it's ok, but I can hardly hear my own voice. Everything's now about those two notes, two vibrations, battling for power over one another, and even when I scream at Clinton to stop, I feel nothing but the battle.

And then, it happens. There's the most awful sound I've ever heard. It's like a scream of such pain that you cannot imagine the cause, and the accompanying vibration is increased tenfold , and then there's just a single note, Clinton's note, and it's reverberating raggedly in the background from the controller, not so pure, but there nonetheless.

Spike collapses into my arms, his breathing uneven, as the sound fades, and stops altogether, I turn to see Clinton standing over us. I yell at him, "What happened? Why?"

He shakes his head, and I hear a mixture of confusion and apology as he communicates in his usual fashion. Together we carry an unconscious Spike out to the waiting room. There are a couple of other Carnolans there as we emerge, and they disappear when they see Spike, returning a moment later with a blanket which they use to cover Spike once we've laid him on a sofa. His face, which had just recently started to get some colour, is paler than I can remember seeing, and his breathing seems even worse than before.

"What happened?" I scream.

Clinton's voice sounds clearly, and I know he's projecting the sound into my mind again.

"We had no way of knowing it would affect him so badly. Obviously, it was going to be painful for him, I explained that. But I didn't expect this level of reaction."

I'm kneeling in front of Spike, stroking his face, trying to let him know I'm here, but he's not responding in any way.

"I've called for assistance," Clinton offers. "There's a medical team on its way."

"From where?"

He doesn't answer, but gets up to leave the room. I check Spike's pulse, but it's going so fast, it can't be real. I check it again, and it's going faster than I can count. I remember, back when Mom was ill, Riley, he had a heart-rate that was too fast, and it was killing him, but this is much faster than that.

I'm scared, so scared for him. What if the trauma is just too much for him? What if his body just can't take it? Surely it would have been better to have lived with the potential of the controller than this? And then I realise, that even if Spike had known this could result, even if he had known it would cost him his life, he would have chosen to take the chance to be free. His whole life, he's been a prisoner. Imprisoned by his own nature and society when he was alive. Then, imprisoned by the demon for over a century. Then, there was the chip, restraining even the demon, then the controller. He's never had the chance to be who he really is in all that time. I may complain about the time when I was the Slayer, the one and only, and it certainly did take away my freedom in many ways. But compared to what Spike's known? It was nothing.

I hear a crash at the door, and some paramedics rush in, and I'm pulled gently away, and taken to sit at the other side of the room. Clinton's there, holding my hand, and I can hear his confusion and apologies in my head, but it doesn't mean anything. I can't follow what they're doing to Spike, I just want him to wake up and be ok.

Everything's a blur then. Somehow, they get Spike loaded onto a gurney, and they're trundling him into the elevator, and Clinton's taking me up a stairway, telling me he'll get me to the hospital, and that I shouldn't worry. I hear the siren as I'm helped into a car. The ambulance is moving away, and all I can do is sit and wait for someone to get me to the hospital.

'

Chapter 32 – Talking and Touching

The hospital seems small, and it smells as all hospitals smell. Nothing else about it seems to register as I'm led through some doors to a waiting area. Clinton hasn't left my side, and I'm torn between being grateful and wanting to blame him for what happened. In truth, if his shock and sadness at what happened weren't so obvious, blaming him would be much easier.

I can't sit, preferring to pace from one end of the small room to the other, while Clinton is quietly still. He tried to explain this hospital as we drove here, but I don't remember much. Something about the hospital being registered as a private clinic, and being staffed by Carnolans and those who already know about them – I assume because they married into the clan. Certainly, there are a lot of Mediterranean-looking types around, and my Slayer sense is buzzing constantly.

"I can't wait, I need to see him," I tell Clinton not for the first time, heading towards the door.

As with every other time, Clinton reaches the door before I do, barring my way. There's no threat in his posture, although there is some fear.

"Buffy, the doctors here are as good as any anywhere. Think about it. Given the average Carnolan lifespan, you've got doctors who've got more years of experience under their belts than humans can imagine."

"Experience with Carnolans. Spike's human."

"And these doctors trained among humans, with human patients. They keep up to date with human medicine too because they also treat the women who live among us. In fact, one of the doctors in there is human. How would you explain the cause of Spike's illness to anyone else?"

Much the same way as I'd explain the anomalies of treating me, which basically means a lot of avoidance, but I don't say it.

I'm about to argue again, when he adds, "Lucy knows what happened, and she's told Willow. Would it help to have her here?"

"Lucy?" I ask, bemused by the question.

"No, Willow. I can arrange to have her brought here if it will help."

I shake my head, trying to concentrate on answering the question.

"Yes," I say at last. "But make sure Wes knows to stay with Lucy. We've got to keep up the appearance that she's a hostage." Despite years of not having to be 'The Slayer', the thought comes clearly through my fear for Spike.

He nods, then his attention goes off again, and I hear his voice in my head again a moment later.

"She'll be here soon."

I go back to my seat, or at least the chair I've been occupying for short periods since I arrived. I really don't know how long I've been here. It seems like forever, but I know it's probably not that long.

Clinton moves away from the doorway, and I assume it's just because he doesn't think I'm going to try to get out again, but someone comes in a moment later, so maybe it's more than that.

If it wasn't for the scrubs, I wouldn't be able to tell him apart from Clinton, but he approaches me, and I stand, nervously.

"What …?" I manage, before he puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Spike is holding his own," he begins. Ok, not bad news, but not good either.

"Is he conscious? Can I see him?"

"No and yes. He's not conscious, although we have been able to stabilise his heart rate. I have no reason to believe he will not recover, but I admit to being surprised, given his general physical condition, that he's been affected as badly as he has. If you'd like to come with me, I'll take you to him."

We walk along a short corridor and through the last doorway on the right. There's a barrage of machines in the room, bleeping and flashing lights, and there, attached to it all, is Spike. My first thought is that he's shrunk. I go to him, sitting in the only chair in the room, and gather one hand into my own two. What is it about hospital beds? They always seem to make the occupant look impossibly small, but the effect with Spike is more extreme than usual. I know, he's not big. I mean, what, five ten in height, and slight build despite the muscles, but he never seems small to me. Of course, that's from my standpoint, and at five two, most men loom over me, but it's more than that. I think it's got more to do with the way he projects himself. It's the mannerisms, the way he straightens his shoulders and holds himself high. It's the way his presence within a room eclipses everyone else, although that particular effect might be limited to my rather biased perception.

"Hey, Spike," I say, quietly, not caring whether we're alone or surrounded by the non-humans who run this hospital. "Got to say, I'm impressed with the lengths you'll go to avoid risking a recital of some more of your poetry."

The joke sounds weak, even to me, and I sit, silently, unsure what to say now.

"He should be able to hear you," the doctor continues from behind. "And it might be good for him to hear a familiar voice, so talk away. That'll probably be easier if I'm not here, so I'll leave you. There's a cord next to the bed which you can pull if you need help, but the chances are that any change in Spike's condition will be obvious in one or other of the machines we've hooked up, so there'll be someone on their way before you can pull it."

"I'm expecting a friend to come," I say, turning just in time to see his retreating back.

"I know, and we'll make sure Miss Rosenberg is shown straight in when she arrives, if that's what you wish."

"Yes, thanks," I reply, but my attention is already back on the unnaturally still figure on the bed.

I consider hitting him. No, not hard, just a play punch to his shoulder, something to show him how upset I am. Because that's my way. Even now, with all that training I've done, with all that experience in getting other people to talk about what's on their mind, violence is much easier than telling him. Telling him that I love him, and that I can't do this without him. Not any more. Tried it, and I coped for a while, but that's all I was doing. Coping.

Then it occurs to me. There is another way, something else I can do to show him what I find so hard to say in words. I stand, and bend down to plant a kiss on his lips. I survey the various attachments to his body, and carefully move some things aside, making room beside him, and for once, being small is a distinct advantage. Fortunately, most of the wires and so on go off the other side of the bed, and I sit on the bed beside him, one arm over him and supporting me, while the other is free to stroke his face and comb my fingers through his hair. Once, I used pain to communicate with him. But that was when I couldn't admit, even to myself, that he was a man or that I could care about him. Now I know the truth, I can touch him lovingly and I know he'll understand.

Lulled by the contact, grounded by it, I find I'm able to relax, physically at least, and the relief is tremendous. I hadn't realised just how tense I'd been, tightly wound and ready to fight.

Willow comes in a short while later, ushered by someone whose face I don't see. She seems unsure at first, but I gesture to her, and ask her to sit down.

"I think Spike'll find it easier to know I'm here this way," I say by way of explanation. "He's just such a … tactile sort of person."

Willow smiles her understanding, then asks, "What did they say? I only heard that he'd collapsed. What happened?"

I explain about the detuning, and how it made me feel inside, and how much worse it seemed to be for him. She nods as I speak, apparently understanding more than I've told her.

"And now, they've stabilised his heart rate, and I think the doctor's actually puzzled as to why he hasn't come around yet."

"But that's good, isn't it? I mean, there's no reason he shouldn't just wake up, and everything be back to normal. Or as normal as you can have when you're an ex-vampire brought back as possibly the only ever male, human Slayer."

I smile at that, because she's right, even if she's taking the most positive possible angle on things.

I squirm round a bit so I can see Willow better.

"So, anything happen while we've been gone?"

"Look, Buffy," Willow answers. "You don't need to worry about anything else just now. We can …"

"I know you can, Willow. I know there's a lot you and Wes can handle without me. But this is personal. Not only are they responsible for Gina being kidnapped, they've done this to Spike. Now, I really don't know if it's just the Senior Partners, or if it's the whole Carnolan race that's really responsible, but either way, they've pissed me off big time. And someone's going to regret that. So, what's been happening?"

"Well, I don't know the details, but Wes and Lucy have been closeted together since you left. I think Lucy's in contact with someone else, because of something Wes said when I told him I was coming here. Anyway, they've been going over the contract with a fine tooth comb, and I think he's optimistic that they've found something, but he wasn't saying too much."

"Optimistic? You mean there might be a way of me getting out of my contract to destroy the Carnolans?"

"I think that's what he meant. I kinda get the impression that Wes has thrown himself into sorting out every detail so he doesn't have too much time to think about Gina."

"Yeah," I answer, stroking Spike's arm.

"Still nothing more from Lucy about the source of the Senior Partners' power?"

"I did ask, but she wasn't talking. I get the impression she's not going to say until she's pretty sure which way you're going to jump on this. I mean, she's sort of holding the information hostage."

"Yeah, that's the impression I got, and while I understand, it's going to get old pretty fast. Whatever we do, I want to get it done fast, and for that I need information up front."

"So the detuning worked, well, as far as you know," Willow says, changing the subject.

"Clinton seemed to think so, but we didn't get a chance to check it out."

"No, of course, sorry, I …"

"It's ok, Willow. We checked it out before, though. Got the chance to go rummaging around in his mind. I was only looking for some poetry, but afterwards, all I felt was how wrong it was. The thought of Lilah having access to all that …" I shudder involuntarily at the idea.

"Creepy," Willow agrees.

"So, what's next?" I ask, thinking aloud more than actually wanting a reply.

"Well, if you can strike against the Senior Partners and leave the rest of the Carnolans alone, will you do that?"

"I suppose so," I admit. "I really do get the feeling they're just like humans – trying to do their best and that most of them aren't inherently evil. And I'd really like to be able to cause the Senior Partners some serious pain."

"You might have to share that with Wes when it happens. That's a man who really needs to hit someone right now."

"Twitchy?"

"No, not really. More eerily cool, almost cold and calculating. Kind of like an efficient version of the one we met back in Sunnydale. You know, it's all about the mission and nothing else matters, except now I can take him seriously."

I smile at the memories of Wes from then. I was a child, but he actually seemed younger. For all the facts at his disposal, he hadn't actually seen much of life then. Now, it feels like he's caught up and overtaken me because he's got the experience to match the wisdom that was hiding under that tweed.

"You want a coffee?" Willow asks, getting up.

"Yeah, if you can get one," I answer. I don't really want the coffee, but I do need something else to focus on, even if it's only for a few moments. Willow goes off in search of some, and I go back to my thoughts.

And thinking about tweed inevitably makes me think about Giles. For years he was at the centre of my life. More a parent than my father, he understood my life better than my mother did for a long time. But that last year in Sunnydale destroyed something in our relationship that we've never been able to put right. Oh, we made our peace. We didn't part as sworn enemies or anything, if fact, we parted as friends. But he was more than a friend before that, and that 'something extra' that was built on respect was destroyed when he wouldn't trust my judgement about Spike and conspired with Robin Wood to destroy him.

I know every child needs to realise that their parents are human. My dad … well, I found that out earlier than I should have. My mom? I was just getting the idea when she died, so she's always going to be a sort of 'super-mom' to me. The only one I've actually had the full, adult disillusionment about is Giles, and he's not even technically included in the roster. And you know what? It still hurts. Deep down, the fact that he wanted to see Spike gone hurts. If he'd had his way, I'd never have known the joy that's been around these past weeks. Even though we've never had a time when everything's been right, it's been the first time since I was called that I've felt like I've got a hope for a normal life. Not normal the way I used to think of it. I'll never be normal. I've seen too much, and done too many hard things to ever be normal. But some parts of normality, like having a partner in life who really understands me and who'll be there for me whatever happens, I was just starting to think I might get that.

I look towards Spike's face, and it's out of focus. I take my hand from where it's been running up and down his arm and wipe my eyes. I'm not going to shed any tears. There won't be a reason for shedding any tears, and if there is, then I still won't do it until I've destroyed whoever's responsible.

I return my hand to Spike's, squeezing it tight. It just feels so good to be holding it that I can imagine he's squeezing it back. And then, I know I'm not imagining it. He really is squeezing my hand. I look from our joined hands to his face, and his eyelids are fluttering. Mesmerised, I watch for seconds or minutes, but that's all I see, just that slight movement of his eyelids. I'm torn between disappointment and joy, unsure what to make of it.

I hear approaching footsteps, and there's another Carnolan standing behind me, and judging from the uniform, he's a nurse.

"There's been a change in …" he starts, approaching the bed.

"Yes," I agree. "He squeezed my hand, and his eyelids were moving."

The nurse nods and does a quick scan of the equipment, pausing only to glance at the fact that I'm sitting on the bed. He doesn't comment, and I'm not sure whether I'm disappointed that I'm not going to get the chance to argue, or not.

"It could be he's coming out of it," he offers. "But it may still take time."

"But he is coming out of it," I say, looking for confirmation.

"It's possible," he agrees, before leaving the room.

"You hear that, Spike?" I say once we're alone again. "It's possible. And since it's only the impossible that we have to work at, this should be easy. Just, please don't keep me waiting too long."

Willow returns after a while, bearing two large lattes from a coffee shop, and a couple of sandwiches.

"Didn't like the look of what they had here, and someone suggested using the Espresso Pump about a block from here, but there was a line, and then they had some sort of problem with the machine and …"

"It's ok, Willow," I reassure, taking the proffered cup. I sip it, pleased to note it's just the right temperature.

We chat over our coffee, starting with telling her about Spike's squeezing my hand, but then ranging far and wide, and long after the cups have been drained. We haven't chatted this much since we were in high school, and it feels comforting. All the time we talk, I keep touching Spike, stroking his arm or his face, sometimes squeezing his hand again in the hope of getting a response, just letting him know I'm here.

There've been a couple of interruptions, while someone has come in to check on Spike, but generally, we've been left alone. I hear footsteps approaching, and I'm surprised to find that it's a nurse pushing a fold-up cot.

"It's getting late, and I thought maybe you'd like to get some sleep," he suggests.

I glance at my watch, and I'm surprised how late it is. I thank him, then turn to Willow.

"Will, you should go and get some rest too. You haven't stopped since you got here, and you must be tired."

"I'm fine," she argues, but I know better.

"Go. Seriously, I'll be fine. Anyway, I need someone to let me know what's happening with Lucy and Wes, and if we do come up with a plan, and it needs some magic, then I need you in top form."

Naturally, with Willow, it's the argument that I'm going to need her that makes the difference. "Ok, if you're sure," she decides, standing up.

"Is there anything you need before I go?" she asks. "I can do another coffee run if you like, I think they're open late."

"No, I'm fine. More coffee and I'll just be awake all night. Go, sleep, and I promise I'll call if anything changes."

"Make sure you do. I'll come right here."

She hugs me, and I hug her back, feeling closer to her than I've felt in years.

Once she's gone, I set up the cot close to Spike's bed, but it's too low, and I can't touch him. I fold it back up again, and take another look at the bed. I make a couple of minor adjustments to where I've been sitting, and I make (just) enough room for me to curl up. I climb onto the bed, close to Spike, able to feel his closeness along the length of my body, and before I know it, the sense of being at home has relaxed me enough that I sleep.

'

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