Chapter Ten

The Space Between


**


The reports from Los Angeles began to stream in the day Buffy was released from the hospital. Two days since the battle had occurred and already the city had begun to rebuild in the damaged area. The media resorted to wild speculation, theorizing in their own way about what had happened. They seemed to be more interested in putting a title on what had taken place, instead of trying to figure out the cause. It wasn’t long before the media had moved on to other stories.

Buffy had avoided reading the newspapers or watching TV. With Spike still missing, it hurt too much to glance at the images of the alleyway in Los Angeles, or read about the terrifying things that had come out of the sky that night.

Her dreams disturbed her more…haunted her to no end.

She was still drawing a blank on most of the events of that night. And, if it hadn’t been for her injury, Buffy would have still been in Los Angeles…maybe she would have found Spike as well. Because sitting in London wasn’t helping to abate the helplessness that Buffy had begun to feel.

It was drawing her in, pulling her under.

And there was nothing Buffy hated more than being useless. With each hour that passed, she found herself losing hope, succumbing to the belief that maybe time had run out, that Spike would never be found.

And today, Giles was bringing her to her new apartment.

While she’d been recuperating, he and Dawn had found a two-bedroom flat and put a security deposit down. Buffy had finally achieved independence.

But, she didn’t really give a damn. The victory seemed hollow, somehow.

Spike was still out there, and closure couldn’t be achieved until she had some solid information regarding his whereabouts, if anything to ease her troubled mind.

She had resorted to hoping that maybe a witness had seen him die, so at least she had something to cling to.

There was nothing left after that.


**


Buffy had taken one glance at her new apartment, given Giles a nod and then asked to be taken to her room. Dawn had looked crestfallen at her sister’s sudden indifference, and had mumbled something about going to the library to study.

Giles had stared at the space that Dawn had occupied, before looking to Buffy with consternation in his eyes. Buffy could only swing her eyes away guiltily. She couldn’t afford to feel bad for Dawn, not with so many other things pressing at her heart and her mind. She’d told Giles blandly that she wanted to be left alone. He’d nodded, helped her up to her room and then shortly thereafter had left the apartment with a promise to call with anything new.

Giles had been gone an hour and Buffy hadn’t moved from the bed. She’d been staring at the blinking light of the answering machine, which sat on her bedside table next to the phone. Her eyes had never left the machine, her mind and her heart warring with each other as she debated.

If she retrieved the message, it could be bad news.

Or, it could be the news she’d been waiting two days to hear.

Either way, Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the message.

Finally, curiosity got the better of her and she was on her feet, standing above the machine, finger poised over the ‘play’ button. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed the button…and waited.

There was only one message:

Hello, Boffy my dear, Diego here. I have old friend with me. She has taken it upon herself to search for Spike. I ask her to do this one thing for me and she has agreed. I will call again when more information is available. Do not worry, mi amore…we will find your Spike. If he is out there then Illyria and I will find him.

Goodbye, my friend.

Buffy played the message back three times before it truly sank in. She sagged onto the bed, sighing with relief. Her body trembled, shook like a leaf in the wind, tears building behind her eyes. Shakily, she got to her feet, moving slowly to the window. She pressed her forehead to the windowpane, the coolness of the glass seeping into her skin.

God, how terribly weak she was. So weak. And blind. How was it that she had allowed herself to lose a shred of hope? This was Spike, for Christ’s sake. The man had been dusted in the Hellmouth and had managed to come back from that…mostly intact.

So, why had she doubted for a second that he wouldn’t be found? Was her belief in him that tenuous, that fragile? Were her emotions playing tricks on her, or was it The Powers…jerking her around like a puppet on a string? Buffy lifted her head and glared at the ceiling, as if she had the capability of looking through the plaster and the drywall, straight up into the heavens, where she believed The Powers resided.

All-knowing. All-seeing.

So benevolent, Buffy thought acidly. Yeah, my ass.

She pushed herself away from the window, unable to control the anger that coursed through her veins. Suddenly, she felt restless. Something inside of her gut pulled at her, it was a need, an ache. The feeling screamed at her, it begged. She wanted to be with Diego and Illyria, wanted to be trekking across the dimensions, around the globe, she wanted to be the one to find him.

For once, Buffy wanted to be Spike’s salvation. Not the other way around. Seemed he was always trying to save her, to help her. Spike had suddenly made it his mission in life to protect Buffy, whether it was to shelter her after the trauma of being resurrected from the dead, or in the lies he’d told to assure that she never found out about his return to living color.

He hadn’t told her in so many words, but Buffy knew the true reason behind Spike’s lies. She’d seen it in his eyes the night they’d made love. He hadn’t wanted to cause her anymore pain. Buffy hadn’t had the heart to tell him that she didn’t believe that. She didn’t believe that Spike had hurt her out of spite, or with some selfish need to betray her.

He was a monster, who’d been redeemed into a man. Carrying around a brand new soul that came with guilt baggage, was enough to make anyone overreact. Spike was just as infallible as a human being. He was not perfect. And Buffy didn’t have a clue as to how she was going to drill that notion into his skull.

Spike did not have to pay for his sins anymore.

Buffy would see to that.

Hopefully soon.


**

The reports coming in from Los Angeles were growing increasingly dire. Buffy died a little each time a new page slid from the fax machine at the office. She’d been tired of pacing around her tiny new apartment, and looking for a release for her nervous energy, she’d come into the office to work out. The Council had built a nice training room, complete with work out equipment that Buffy hadn’t dared to believe truly existed.

Ensconced in the enclosed space, was where Buffy felt the most free. There, she could punch the heavy bag, practice her tumbling, and work out the strain and the stress that weighed heavily on her body. She still had the stitches across her stomach wound to contend with, so the work out was light by Buffy’s standards. It didn’t matter, though.

Because it helped. A little.

But, her mind never strayed too far from the matter at hand. Finding Spike. Assuring that he was alive. And, if she closed her eyes tight enough she could almost imagine him there with her, giving her that cocksure grin, swaggering across the room and pulling her into his arms so forcibly that the air rushed from her lungs, a feeling so exhilarating it had given Buffy a head rush when she’d imagined it.

She’d had to sit down and take a moment; for fear that she would pass out. She’d grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge in her office and had made the mistake of sitting at the computer to check her email.

Big mistake. Huge.

Her inbox was inundated with emails from friends, co-workers and family members, wishing her well, asking questions. Buffy saved those messages for another time. There’d been an email from Xander, much to Buffy’s surprise.

She’d scrolled through the message, skimming the three paragraphs he’d written. He’d asked if there was a way he could help and said that if she needed him, he could be on a plane at a moment’s notice, ready to do what he could to help. Buffy surmised at that moment that Giles had most likely contacted her carpenter friend and told him about what had happened.

She didn’t need Xander in the mix. Not now. As much as she loved him, as much as she trusted him, Buffy just couldn’t bring him into it all again. Not when he’d managed to move on with his life, find some semblance of normalcy. It would be ludicrous to ask her friend to step into something he clearly didn’t want to be involved with anymore. Besides, he hated Spike and Buffy wasn’t about to put up with his negative comments. It was sad, but true. Xander had never seen eye to eye with Spike, had never thought to believe that Spike could change, that he could be a better man.

Buffy couldn’t put her faith behind Xander. Even though she loved him dearly. So, she wrote a short and sweet reply to her friend’s email:

Thank you for your concern, Xander. But, I think we are doing ok. I love you for offering, but there isn’t much more to be done on this end. Everything has been taken care of. Give my best to your wife.

Stay in touch!

Love,

Buffy

She hit the ‘send’ button just as the fax machine across the room made a sound, indicating that a new fax was coming through. A feeling of dread settled in Buffy’s stomach as the page slid out of the machine. It was the second time in an hour that Buffy wished she had stayed home instead of coming to the office. Slowly, she got to her feet and strode across the room to stand over the machine and wait.

Three pages had come out of the fax machine in the hour or so that Buffy had been in the office. She knew what the fine type on the pages contained. They were reports from Willow. She’d been detailing the accounts of the battle for the Council archives…and it made Buffy sick to think of what those pages contained.

The machine made another sound, indicating the transaction had been completed. With shaky fingers, Buffy withdrew the sheets from the machine and lifted them to her eyes. She almost didn’t look, almost set the sheaf of papers aside…but something inside of her ached to read the words…if only to believe them for herself.

After a moment of reading, Buffy lowered the papers, brushed the tears from her eyes. She walked back to the chair in front of the desk and sank slowly into it.

The news was more horrible than Buffy had imagined.

While the human casualty of the battle had thankfully remained limited, there were some that had perished. Twenty-five Slayers had been killed in battle. Twenty-five young women who’d laid down their lives for a cause they hardly knew anything about.

But, they’d known what they were getting themselves into, had responded to the call regardless of the danger. But, this knowledge didn’t make Buffy feel any more comfortable about their deaths. Because, it would be her job to inform their families…to break the horrible news.

The news got worse, far worse.

Essentially, the team of Angel, Investigations no longer existed. The Senior Partners and Wolfram and Hart had partially succeeded in their mission. They had failed to wipe out the world, but they’d gotten the consolation prize they wanted instead. Angel, Investigations was gone.

Wesley had perished at the hands of a powerful sorcerer. This explained Illyria’s behavior shortly before the battle had begun. Buffy vaguely remembered the Old One’s urge to do more violence as a result of her grief.

That was a sentiment that Buffy could certainly relate to. She hadn’t know the former Watcher well, but she would remember him fondly, as she knew Giles would as well, having lost a colleague and a friend.

Then there was Charles Gunn. Buffy had seen him die before her eyes. A young life cut so terribly short…a profound loss if there ever was one.

Lorne had disappeared to God-knows-where. His whereabouts were unknown, and nothing had been confirmed as to whether he was dead or alive. He was just…gone.

And Angel…

A lump rose in Buffy’s throat as the image of her former lover flashed behind her eyes. A very detailed witness account had been recorded on the pages that Buffy held in her hand. The witness had seen everything…including the arrow that had pierced Angel’s chest, which in moments had reduced him to ashes.

The room tilted a little, as Buffy took in deep breaths. First Spike…now Angel.

There wasn’t much more that Buffy could take. The water had started to rise; it was threatening to pull her under. She glanced at the pages once more, skimming over the paragraphs. There was some mention of a Shanshu prophecy, but Buffy didn’t know what a Shanshu was…which meant the notes had veered into Giles territory. She’d show him the pages later.

She glanced at her watch, happy to see that the day was nearing an end. The sun had disappeared hours ago, as thick clouds had built on the horizon, a sure sign that a storm was brewing. Buffy almost wished for the rain to fall. Maybe in some way it would be cathartic…healing. The moment the thought left her mind, was the moment the drops began to hit the window pane.

Buffy listened, fascinated by the sound. The phone ringing jarred her from her reverie. Reaching over, she picked up the phone hastily and pressed it to her ear.

“Buffy Summers…”


**

Buffy ran down the rain slicked streets, ran with everything inside of her. She didn’t care that people were probably looking at her with confused bewilderment, she didn’t care that the wound on her stomach burned and that the stitches had popped, causing blood to leak from the tear and stain her shirt.

She just ran.

Her feet pounded the pavement, air rushed from her lungs and sweat had caused her clothes to stick to her body. Blood rushed in her ears as she neared her apartment and still…she ran.

When she arrived at the apartment, she found it empty. Bending at the knees, she struggled to catch her breath…and then she listened. The only sound that penetrated the silence was the constant tick-tock of the clock on the kitchen wall. In the next apartment someone was watching a sitcom…she could hear the laugh track through the thin walls.

And there was the strange sense that someone else was there. Buffy could feel it. The hairs on her arms raised, and she rubbed her hands over them as a chill descended over her body. Slowly, features crinkled into a puzzled frown, she walked around the apartment, investigating. Her Slayer senses had gone into overdrive…and with each step she took, the feeling intensified.

Someone or something was in the apartment. Watching her.

Buffy checked the kitchen, the bathroom and the bedrooms on the second floor. Nothing. She headed down the stairs and entered the living room.

It was there that she stopped short. Listened. Her heart pounded relentlessly against her chest, as if it threatened to break free of her ribcage. She pressed a shaky hand to her chest, willed herself to breathe…to calm down.

She sank into a nearby chair and silently began to chastise herself. Who did she think she was kidding? He wasn’t here. The information had been incorrect. Diego had been mistaken. Spike was…gone.

He wasn’t coming back. The mission had failed. Tears threatened and Buffy pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to contain the sobs that rose in her throat. She pressed her forehead to her knees and finally released the pent-up emotions she had been carrying around with her for days.

The sobs overwhelmed Buffy to the point where she began to choke, to cough and sputter. Nothing mattered anymore. He was gone; he wasn’t here like he was supposed to be, like Diego had said he would be.

Lies. All lies. Someone was playing with her, messing with her mind. Her Italian friend had betrayed her…even though she doubted he had done it on purpose.

Wrong, it was just…wrong. Bad information.

The sobs subsided and slowly, Buffy lifted her teary eyes…swung them around the room. She dragged a hand over mouth, the salty taste of her tears mingling with a bitterness that lingered in her mouth. She glanced down at her stomach, pressed a hand to the spreading blood stain that had begun to soak the material of the tank top she wore.

Wearily, she got to her feet, headed toward the kitchen. She took a left and shuttered herself in the half-bath, staring numbly at her reflection in the mirror above the sink.

With trembling fingers, she opened the medicine cabinet, withdrew a first aid kit. She sat on the lid of the commode, removed her stained top and dropped it to the floor. Methodically, she began to clean the angry gash across her stomach.

She dabbed at the blood with a wash cloth, applied a salve and then bandaged the wound to the best of her ability. Briefly, the thought of going back to the hospital crossed her mind, she’d need new stitches.

But, at the moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

Buffy cleaned up the bathroom, her mind and body on auto-pilot. She carried the bloody shirt in one hand, not caring that she was clad only in a bra and stretchy work out pants. The moment she entered the kitchen, something caused her eyes to lift…caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand straight up. The shirt in her hand fell to the floor soundlessly.

And then a brilliant light flooded through the windows above the kitchen sink. It was everywhere. The entire apartment was soon cast in the brilliance of the white hot light, and Buffy had to shade her eyes from the intensity of it. Unafraid, she walked to the hook near the kitchen door and retrieved a jacket, pulling it around herself.

Blindly, she fumbled with the door knob, thrust the door open and stepped onto the patio, drawn by the sheer force and radiance of the light. It seemed to beckon to her, call her name…and Buffy could do nothing but follow, blindly.

She stood stock still on the patio, eyes searching, as they burned and stung; such was the power of the light. It penetrated directly it seemed, right into her brain. And then the wind began to pick up.

The trees surrounding the apartment complex began to wave and teeter…the branches barely holding up as the wind picked up speed, increased in intensity. Buffy had to steady herself against the porch railing to keep from blowing away, but she remained rooted to the spot, not daring to move, hardly able to breath…for fear she would miss what was going to happen next.

Her eyes were unblinking. The breath halted in her chest, muscles froze, and her feet remained firmly planted. And then, her hand, with a mind of its own, lifted to her mouth, covered it…as a vortex, a whirlpool of some sort, opened right on the back lawn behind Buffy’s apartment. She stumbled backward, her body slamming into the side of the building as a figure began to appear from the light, and to step from it...as if it were one with the light…had become the light.

Mouth agape, eyes wide, Buffy could only stare at the shadowed figure that stepped out of the vortex. She wanted to move, wanted to investigate, but found it difficult to move her feet. The figure seemed to turn back to the light, seemed to hesitate, as if it were reluctant to leave the light. Minutes passed like hours, and Buffy continued to hold her breath as the light slowly dissipated, as the winds died down…as the figure began to walk toward her.

Darkness. Buffy’s eyes quickly adjusted and she scanned the perimeter of the area, searching for the figure. Twigs snapped, a rustling sound assailed her senses and a moment later, the figure had stepped in front of the porch, and directly into the path of the porch light, which illuminated the figure in its warm yellow glow.

Buffy gasped, took a step forward.

And then…the figure smiled…took another step closer, mouth opening to speak…

In that moment, Buffy knew…had always known…that he would come back to her, as the two words that emitted from his mouth filtered over her…

“Hello, cutie…”

Two steps and he had closed the distance between them. In the space of a heartbeat, they were in each other’s arms…and in the seconds that followed…a kiss…

Home. At last.




…


Take my hand
Cause we’re walking out of here
Right out of here
Love is all we need dear

The space between
What’s wrong and right
Is where you’ll find me hiding
Waiting for you

The space between
In your heart and mine
Is the space we’ll fill with time…


…

**

End of Chapter Ten

to be concluded in chapter eleven: epilogue

Chapter Ten title and accompanying lyrics taken from: The Space Between, by the Dave Matthews Band.
 

Chapter Eleven

Conclusion: Part One / Sky Fits Heaven


…


All she did was watch him sleep. After his sudden appearance from the vortex in her back yard, and after the initial reunion, he’d collapsed in her arms, almost too weak to stand. Buffy had helped Spike inside, taken him to her bedroom, and gently tucked him into bed.

She’d inspected his body for physical injuries and was distressed to see the many bruises and scrapes scattered over the pale perfection of his muscular body. Outwardly, Spike appeared a little banged up, but Buffy figured that something else had to be going on, internally, because he hardly moved, didn’t respond to her touch or the sound of her voice.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Trailing her fingertips lightly over his battered flesh, Buffy drank Spike in. His chest rose and fell with each labored intake of unnecessary breath, and every so often he trembled, as if he were having terrible dreams. She felt helpless. There was nothing she could do, expect watch him intently.

Buffy didn’t know what he’d been through. Hell, she didn’t even know where it was that he had come from, or how he’d managed to find his way back to her. Spike had been back forty-five minutes and she had yet to hear from Diego or Illyria. Buffy wondered what all the mystery surrounding Spike’s return could possibly be about.

She wanted answers. Immediately. Buffy sensed within herself the burning desire to get to the bottom of it all, to discover the truth. She couldn’t sit on her hands all patient-like, she couldn’t sit at the edge of the bed and swallow back tears of regret and sadness. Not right now. This was the time for action.

Gently, she rose from the bed, stared longingly at Spike, who seemed to sleep more peacefully now. She inched closer, lowered herself so that they were face to face and timidly pressed a kiss to his cheek. Skin connected with skin, leaving behind a burning sensation that matched the fiery roiling Buffy felt in her stomach, in her heart and her brain. A part of her secretly hoped that his eyes would open, that they would connect with hers, that he would be well.

Spike remained asleep. Buffy sighed heavily and silently exited the room, pulling the door closed behind her. She stood in the hallway and mentally composed herself. Turning, she headed toward the stairs and raced down them. Once she was in the kitchen, she retrieved her purse from the counter and withdrew her cell phone. In moments, she had dialed a familiar number and now waited as it rang incessantly in her ear.

There was no answer, instead she got voicemail. With a frustrated sigh, Buffy left a message.

“Diego, this is Buffy. I don’t know what you and Illyria did, but Spike is here. He just…showed up…like poof…from some kind of portal, in my back yard of all places. This is only one of the minor bones I have to pick with you. So…call me. And then get your Italian ass to London as soon as possible. Bring the Blue One with you.”

Swiftly, Buffy flipped the phone shut and then tossed it back into her purse. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, silently collecting her thoughts. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do next. Maybe she’d call Giles, get his opinion on Spike and his sudden reappearing act. Buffy nodded to herself and reached for her cell phone once again.

Giles would know. He always did.

Somehow, this managed to comfort Buffy to some extent. Although, her gut was telling her that there was a whole lot more behind Spike’s instantaneous return…and a lot of it probably wasn’t of the good.

But, Buffy would deal. Just as she always had. If moving heaven and earth was involved in the process, than it would be done. Buffy would see to it.

Spike needed her.

And nothing else mattered.


…


Giles had, as Buffy suspected, dropped everything the moment he received the news of Spike’s return. She was slightly surprised at how quickly her Watcher had responded, even though she knew he had his doubts regarding Spike. Frankly, Buffy didn’t think that Giles cared much about what happened to Spike, but, nonetheless, he hadn’t wasted any time in getting to her place.

Buffy heard the doorbell from the bedroom and rose from her spot near Spike’s side. She pressed a palm tenderly to his cheek, letting her touch linger as long as possible, just so he could feel her presence, somehow sense that she was there with him, there for him. She had so many things to say that a simple touch could not convey. Silently, she prayed that Spike would awaken soon.

The doorbell rang again, insistently. Buffy gently removed her hand from Spike’s cheek and reluctantly left the room, heading down the stairs to the entryway to let in her impatient Watcher.


…


Buffy offered to make tea and asked Giles to sit at the table while she went about filling the kettle with water, and dropping tea bags into mugs. Once she had set the kettle to boiling, she turned and took a seat across from Giles, casting an impervious glance in his direction. At the moment, he was frowning as he read over the documents that Willow had faxed to the Council earlier that day.

The silence surrounded them, felt as if it was closing in all around. Each sound seemed magnified to a higher degree, amplified. Buffy could hear the water inside the kettle as it heated, the ticking of the clock on the wall above the stove, and the sound of her own heart as it beat furiously in her chest. She folded her hands tightly in front of her, resting them on the wood veneer surface of the table. Her gut twisted painfully when her eyes traveled to the ceiling, when her mind envisioned Spike, badly injured, now at rest.

What had happened to him? Why had he appeared so suddenly? And how had Diego and Illyria managed to find him and send him back to her? Questions that Buffy had no answers to weighed heavily on her mind. Hopefully, Giles would be able to shed some light, because she didn’t know how much more she could take.

As if he had read her mind, Giles lifted his eyes from the pages he held in his hands and slowly removed his glasses. Buffy tensed immediately. From past experience she had learned that if Giles removed his glasses, the news that followed his patterned gesture couldn’t be good.

“Giles,” Buffy finally spoke tersely, after a few minutes of silence had lapsed. “Please. If it’s bad, I want to know. I can handle it.” Giles turned to Buffy slowly, a knowing look in his eyes, as if something had occurred to him, as if realization had just dawned. He cleared his throat, put his glasses back on and met Buffy’s eyes.

“I believe we have a slight problem,” Giles said slowly. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back with a heavy sigh.

“I knew it,” she breathed, lifting two fingers to her temples and shaking her head. “Can’t ever get something for nothing.” Giles tipped his head to the side as he studied Buffy.

“You may indeed be right about that,” he answered with a frown. Buffy shrugged her shoulders and got to her feet.

“So what’s the bad, Giles? You have that look on your face…that I’m-about-to-lower-the-boom look, can’t be good,” Buffy pressed. The kettle began to whistle from the stove, and absentmindedly, she walked toward it.

Giles got to his feet and came to stand at Buffy’s side as she poured the boiling water into mugs. He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder and waited. Buffy set the kettle away and sighed, facing Giles.

“That bad, huh?” Buffy asked worriedly. She handed Giles a mug and reached for her own. “Let me sit down for this, ok?”

Once they had situated themselves, Giles glanced over the papers before him once more, and then glanced up at Buffy cautiously.

“Willow mentions a prophecy in her notes. Why am I just hearing about it now?” Giles asked. Buffy shrugged nonchalantly as she dipped her tea bag.

“I dunno. I didn’t think it meant anything. At least not anything in regards to Spike,” she frowned and then turned to scrutinize Giles warily. “Why? Did I do it again; did I dismiss the all-important information that would help us solve our problem? Because, right now…kinda getting that vibe from you, Giles.”

Giles removed his glasses once again, and made sounds of hesitation. Buffy placed a hand over her eyes and shook her head. Glasses removal. Two times in a row. Definitely not good.

“Don’t say it. I already know,” she replied with a lift of her hand. “Buffy’s bad. Again.”

“Well--” Giles hedged, “this may have been an oversight…but we can work around it.”

“How?” Buffy asked. Giles contemplated her question thoughtfully for a moment. as he stirred his tea idly with a spoon. Tapping the spoon against the side of the mug, he lifted it to his mouth, taking a tentative sip as he regarded Buffy.

“The prophecy specifically stated in these notes is the Shanshu prophecy,” Giles began, lowering the mug to the table and folding his hands in front of him.

“Shoe shine…huh?” Buffy asked with a perplexed look. “Not following you, Giles.”

He shook his head and continued.

“The Shanshu prophecy is centuries old. Probably older than time itself. It states that a vampire with a soul will save the world and in turn, have his slate wiped clean,” Giles explained slowly, as he gauged Buffy’s reaction. She narrowed her eyes, slightly confused.

“So…what does that mean? What does that Shanshu thingy have to do with Spike?” Buffy asked. Giles shrugged.

“I don’t rightly know, Buffy. I’d have to do a little digging, research it a little more. Unfortunately, with the demise of Wolfram and Hart, we no longer have certain resources available…certain expertise…” Giles hedged, clearing his throat as he started to look uncomfortable.

Something dawned on Buffy at that moment and she faced Giles expectantly.

“You mean Wesley, don’t you?” she asked. Giles gave Buffy a long silent look and then nodded, slowly.

“I do.”

Buffy thought it over, lowering her eyes to her hands. She reached for the spoon beside her mug of tea and dipped it into the liquid, stirring idly.

“So, was Wesley like knowledge-guy? Did he know about the prophecy and whom it was meant for?”

Giles nodded.

“The last time I spoke with him, he told me that he’d been extensively researching the prophecy…attempting to translate it. He seemed…mmm…excited, I dare to say. With Wolfram and Hart’s resources at his fingertips he had a lot of opportunities to delve further into research. It was something he was quite proud of, I believe.”

Buffy made a sound in agreement as she got to her feet and walked to the sink. She dumped the contents of her mug down the drain and then faced Giles.

“So, our only source of real solid information on this prophecy is dead. That’s great. Really great,” Buffy shook her head, her words bitter and tinged with sarcasm. “So that leaves us with a whole lot of nothing…gallons of nada. Right?” Giles got to his feet and closed the distance between himself and Buffy.

“Not necessarily,” he replied with feeling. “I’m sure that the Council has something, in the archives, perhaps. I could access it immediately; we could have our answers by the end of the day.”

Buffy flung her hands into the air in exasperation and then let them fall to her side listlessly, as she regarded Giles.

“That’s all fine and good, Giles, but this doesn’t help our situation with Spike,” she cried out, gesturing toward the second floor where Spike lay sleeping in her bedroom. “He’s still all poofy from out of nowhere and we’re still clueless as to how that’s possible!” Giles stepped forward, placed his hands on Buffy’s shoulders and peered directly into her eyes.

“I realize that you are frustrated and upset right now. You are under an incredible amount of strain, and I’m sympathetic to that. But, we have to find out what this prophecy means and how it ties into everything. I’m not ready to abandon the belief that we may be dealing with something larger than the odd surroundings of Spike’s return.”

Buffy flinched visibly beneath the strength of Giles’ grasp on her shoulders, immediately taking a step back. She shook her head and pressed a hand to her forehead.

“I know it’s important,” she finally said flatly, not meeting Giles’ eyes. “But, Spike is my priority now. He’s hurt, possibly near death and I need to help him. He needs to live. I won’t rest until I’m assured of that.”

Buffy cast a withering look in her Watcher’s direction, silently pleading for him to understand. Giles sighed and thrust his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“Right, I believe I have a solution to both of our problems, then. I will research the prophecy; try to gain some understanding on how it pertains to our immediate situation. Meanwhile, you will contact Illyria and Diego--”

“Already did that,” Buffy interrupted. “I left a message.”

Giles pursed his lips and then nodded.

“Right, then. Leave another message, keep calling. As soon as you’ve reached them, ring me. And then maybe, finally, we can get this sorted out. All right?”

Buffy bit her lip and thought about it. There wasn’t much more that could be done. A lot depended on Diego and Illyria; they were the ones who held all of the answers to the many questions that were beginning to pile up.

There was a lot of confusion, a lot of pain and nothing that could be done to abate that pain. Buffy hated to wait, hated the twisting in her gut as Spike’s life hung inauspiciously in the balance. Finally, she shot Giles a glance and sighed resolutely.

“All right. I agree to this plan,” she murmured, “doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

“I understand,” Giles said, his expression softening. He reached out, gingerly touched Buffy’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort, and prepared to leave. Buffy could only watch helplessly as he exited.

Nothing to do but wait now.


…


Dawn entered the apartment shortly after Giles had departed and met Buffy in the kitchen, where they shared a brief embrace. They broke apart and Dawn studied Buffy intently, questions in her eyes.

Slowly, Buffy explained to her what was happening, and Dawn seemed to take the news with a level of calmness, asking if there was anything that she could do. Buffy shook her head slowly, but didn’t say anything.

Dawn nodded in understanding, and then reached for Buffy’s hand.

“If you need me--” she started.

Buffy gave Dawn a tender smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her sister’s ear.

“Thanks, Dawnie,” she whispered. “I’ll let you know.” They shared a poignant look as Buffy turned away toward the stairwell. Carefully, she ascended the steps and headed toward the top floor.

Entering the hushed inner sanctum of her bedroom, Buffy closed the door, shuttering herself inside…alone…with Spike. The lamp on the bedside table illuminated the room in warm-hued tones, casting shadows over the reposed form of Spike, who still slumbered in relative peacefulness. Gingerly, Buffy approached the bed and sat on the edge, folding her hands delicately in her lap as she gazed sadly at Spike.

Rarely, if ever, could she remember simply watching Spike as he slept. In the fleeting months following her resurrection, she had sought out the vampire, if only to find the missing piece within herself that had somehow been lost in the shuffle of her transition from heaven to hell on earth. She had never bothered to reflect directly on the man behind the body she had used and abused relentlessly.

Reaching for Spike’s lifeless hand, Buffy clasped her fingers around it, relishing in the coolness of his skin as it touched hers. She stared unwaveringly at their laced fingers, her mind taking her back to the cavern in the Hellmouth on that last day, back to the waning moments they had spent together before it all came crashing down.

She had reached for Spike’s hand, delicately laced her fingers through his and had made an indelible promise. Whether or not Buffy had been fully aware of this unspoken promise at the time, remained to be seen. Nonetheless, that day had sealed something between her and Spike, had managed to bond them tightly together infinitively, in a way that Buffy still had trouble comprehending.

Still, she wondered why things had turned out the way they had. Why had Spike chosen to fall in love with her? And why, with this choice, did he continue to stand beside her, even though she had refused him time and time again? Back then, Buffy had only viewed his unwavering devotion toward her as a nuisance. In her twisted mind, she had believed that what Spike felt for her was wrong, believed that if she reciprocated in kind, that she in turn, would be wrong.

Everything about her had been wrong, then. Buffy realized it in that split-second. Spike had been right the night they had first come together, that terrible and wonderful night that the house had come down around them, symbolizing brilliantly the path that there relationship was heading down.

Spike had been right.

Buffy had come back wrong.

She could hear his voice in her mind, taunting her, testing her. Daring her. Telling her she was wrong, she wasn’t nearly as human. And he’d been right. Even if he hadn’t known it at the time, Spike had been speaking the truth and issuing a challenge. Spike wanted to bring her back, return her to the pedestal he had put her on in his mind.

He’d wanted her to be powerful; he’d wanted to fix what had come back so wrong. More than anything, he’d desired to make Buffy feel again…something, anything. He had idealized Buffy so much in his mind that the sharp contrast of who she’d returned as paled in comparison.

She was the Slayer, the Slayer that Spike had fallen in love with. And it had killed him to see her being anything other than the strength and the power she had come to symbolize for him. Spike didn’t want to Buffy to lose the fire and the faith that had drawn him to her in the first place. It made perfect sense.

Spike didn’t want to see Buffy weak, and so he in his unique way…had tried to give her the fire back.

Buffy hadn’t realized it until now. Even in Buffy’s weakest moments, Spike had envisioned her as strong, had wanted to lift her up. Spike hadn’t known it at the time, but his own strength had exceeded that of the woman he loved. The fact that he believed in her more than she believed in herself, was, in itself, a testament to his character.

Yes, he was a horribly flawed man…a monster. He had killed relentlessly, for joy, for kicks. But, when the tables had turned, when the chips had been down, Spike had made a choice. He’d turned his back on the whole ’evil thing’ as he had once described to her in his own words.

Spike had redeemed himself and in the process, redeemed Buffy as well.

A lump rose in Buffy’s throat as her thoughts swirled endlessly in her mind. She tightened her grasp around Spike’s hand and squeezed her eyes shut.

Come back to me, Spike, Buffy pleaded with her mind. You’re stronger than I am. You make me stronger. I need you.

She opened her eyes and gazed down at his sleeping form. With aching tenderness, she reached out her hand and caressed the sharp angular curves of his features…fingertips trailing delicately over his cheekbones, his eyelids, and nose and finally dragging over his mouth. She began to sob as she lifted Spike’s hand to her mouth and gently kissed his bruised knuckles.

Spike remained motionless…except for…

Buffy frowned and peered closer.

His eyelids…they were twitching. She held her breath and waited. A sigh escaped from his mouth and he moaned softly. Buffy listened closely as he moaned again.

“Buffy…”

She gripped his hand tighter, leaned closer.

“I’m here, Spike,” she cried out in an excited whisper. “I’m here!”

Spike moved ever so slightly, shifted his body and moaned her name again. Buffy could hardly contain herself. Was he going to wake up? Had the crisis passed? Another moan issued from his lips as his body shifted once more.

“Spike…baby…c’mon…” she begged.

But, his eyes remained closed…and his moans had grown softer, less coherent. Buffy’s body sagged as Spike seemed to drift away again. Timidly, she swung her legs over the bed and stretched herself out, so that she lay perpendicular to his motionless body. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulled him closer. She pressed her cheek to his back and closed her eyes.

Buffy felt safe, secure and…loved. She knew now that Spike was aware of her presence, had somehow sensed that she was by his side that she wasn’t going to leave him. But, she wanted to give him more.

It was time for a role reversal, time to turn the tables. Spike had wanted to give her his strength so that she in turn would find hers again. And now Buffy felt the need to return the favor.

It was the best she could do. It was the only way to truly prove her love for him.

Buffy closed her eyes, cleared her mind. She recollected the time that Willow had shown her how to meditate, as she had healed herself from the Gnarl demon’s vicious attack. Curious, Buffy had asked about the mediation, had expressed a desire to learn. Willow had agreed heartily and eagerly granted her best friend’s request.

Buffy had taken the knowledge with her and clung to it.

Meditation would bring Buffy to the ultimate plane of relaxation and hopefully, would succeed in channeling her strength directly into Spike…if only, in some way, to help guide him back to her.

It was all Buffy had to give, but it felt as if it could be enough. Buffy clung to that hope as she held Spike tightly in her arms.

She dared to hope that Spike would make it.

He had to, he just had to.

Buffy drifted off as the last of her thoughts floated from her mind, as a calm sense of serenity washed over her and carried her away.


…


End of Conclusion: Part One / Sky Fits Heaven

To be continued with conclusion part two: walk on

A/N: Ok, I know I said that this would be the last chapter, but I have a lot of plot thingies to tie up, so I will definitely conclude this next chapter. Hopefully, LOL. Hang with me, ok? :D Thanks!
 

Chapter Twelve

Conclusion Part Two / Walk On


…


She knew it the second it happened. A minor movement, the breath of a sigh. Buffy’s eyes fluttered opened and she slowly turned her head to face Spike. He was moving and muttering…something.

Steadying herself on an elbow, Buffy remained silent, still. The darkness shadowing the bedroom made it difficult for her to see clearly, but something inside of Buffy was telling her that it was real; he was really waking up this time.

At last.

Spike moaned incoherently, and instantly Buffy was touching his shoulder, assuring him that she was there…always.

“Spike,” she whispered, “c’mon. Wake up. I’m here. You have to wake up.”

“Buffy,” Spike groaned groggily as he began to turn. She could see his frown in the darkness, wanted to smooth it away.

“Yes,” Buffy cried out excitedly, shaking his shoulder. “It’s me. Come back to me, Spike. You can do it. I know you can.”

Spike’s eyes opened and the breath left Buffy’s body as his piercing blue stare connected with her hopeful hazel one. She smiled, pressed a palm to his face.

“Oh Spike,” she leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead in her exuberance.

“What happened?” Spike asked with a confused frown. “Where am I and what the bloody hell is going on?” Buffy shook her head.

“That doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re alive and that you’re here…and you’re with me.”

Spike reached for Buffy as the words left her mouth, pulled her to his side and then lowered his mouth over hers, captivating her senses in a kiss that she felt from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He murmured love words in her ear, revered her, worshipped her…adored her.

Buffy couldn’t help but bask in the delicious feel of Spike’s hands racing over body, the lightning eliciting from his fingertips crackling along her nerve endings, awakening everything inside of her. She ached with the all-encompassing knowledge of her love for the man beside her.

Spike was back.



…


“Buffy!” a voice called from the first floor of the apartment. Buffy immediately recognized the voice as Dawn‘s. She turned to face Spike, who shrugged.

“Give me a minute, ok?” she told Spike as she climbed out of bed and out of the shelter of his embrace. He seemed hesitant, as if he were afraid…that if she left she wouldn’t come back.

“I’ll be back, I promise,” Buffy assured him, touching a hand to his shoulder. She went to the door, flung it open and called to Dawn that she’d be right down. Then, she faced Spike.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she breathed. Spike held out his hands and gave her a look.

“Don’t know where you ‘spect me to go, love. I’m stayin right here,” he snarked.

“Ha ha,” Buffy retorted and then exited the room, the sound of Spike’s good-natured smirk ringing in her ears.

She couldn’t contain her smile as she flounced down the stairs and entered the kitchen. She stopped short when two figures came into her line of vision, the smile falling from her face.

“Hello, Boffy,” a voice with a thick Italian accent chimed in after a moment of silence had passed. Buffy turned her eyes to the formidable presence of Illyria, who stood motionless nearby. Diego followed Buffy’s eyes and nodded with a grim smile. “Illyria says hello as well,” he affirmed with a curt nod.

Buffy lifted her hand half-heartedly and managed a wane smile.

“Hey?”


…


Giles stepped into the kitchen at that moment and interceded, effectively cutting through the weighted silence that had settled over the room. He nodded at Buffy and smiled at her apparent confusion. Buffy folded her arms over her chest and acknowledged Giles.

“What’s going on?” she asked, as a frown settled over her features. Dawn stepped to Buffy’s side and gently touched her shoulder. The two sisters faced one another, and Buffy couldn’t help but feel as if something had happened and she’d missed it.

“Dawn?” Buffy questioned with a tilt of her head. Dawn looked appropriately reserved, which never spelled ‘good’. “Tell me.” Her sister sighed and then tossed a lock of brunette hair behind her shoulder, avoiding Buffy’s eyes.

“There’s this thing, Buffy,” she started. But before she could finish Giles interrupted.

“Why don’t you have a seat,” he chimed in, pointing toward the chairs that lined the dining room table. Buffy frowned and continued to stare at Giles as she strode to the chairs and took a seat with hesitation. She crossed her legs as her features set grimly.

“Ok, something’s up or you’re all crazy. Right now I’m leaning towards the crazy,” Buffy said flippantly. “What’s the deal?” Giles walked to where Buffy sat and placed a hand on the chair she sat in as if to steady himself. Finally, he removed his glasses and faced Buffy.

“I’ve researched the Shanshu prophecy, the one we spoke about earlier,” he began.

“Yeah?” Buffy asked.

Giles sighed and continued.

“Do you remember me mentioning that there was a problem?”

“Think I do,” she answered. “Why?” She cast a glance at everyone gathered and then faced Giles again. “Ok, what the hell is going on? Why are you people looking at me with the pity faces?”

Buffy got to her feet and shot Giles an accusatory glance. Giles didn’t meet her eyes, instead idly fumbling with the glasses he held in his hand. He began to speak, but was cut off by the sound of the hacking cough that penetrated the stifled silence hovering over the room.

Buffy’s eyes followed the others’ gazes and connected with Spike, who had stumbled into the room, looking worse for wear. Immediately, she was at his side, touching his arm with concern.

“Spike, why are you up? You should be resting. Upstairs,” Buffy chastised. Spike smiled gently down at Buffy and tenderly touched her cheek.

“Bloody done resting, pet. Got business to take care of,” he murmured and tipped his head in the direction of Giles, who looked on curiously. “Ain’t that right, Watcher?”

“Y-yes,” Giles stuttered, momentarily caught off balance as he took a step closer to Buffy. “There is a matter we must discuss and time is running out.”

Buffy was starting to get impatient and she didn’t like where the conversation was going. Why was Giles being so evasive and more…British than usual? Something was up.

“So, explain.”

Giles nodded, attempted a smile and then continued.

“Yes, of course. The problem I mentioned earlier. We have one. A rather larger one, actually. And it has to do with Spike and the Shanshu.” Buffy cast a glance in Spike’s direction. She didn’t like the look on his face. He was too calm, as if he’d already known the big secret that Giles was about to spill.

“Buffy,” Giles pressed, causing her to look his way once more, “the Shanshu prophecy specifically states that a vampire with a soul will save the world and have his slate--”

“Blah blah blah,” Buffy interrupted, with a wave of her hand. “Vampire saves the world. Slate wiped clean. I know that. You told me already. No big. So, who’s the lucky blood sucker?” The words left her mouth before she could stop them and chagrined, Buffy shot Spike a sheepish smile. “ Ooh…Sorry.”

Spike shook his head with a slight grin.

“No worries, love.”

“If I could, Buffy?” Giles pressed. “Because this is rather important.”

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy nodded. “Go on.”

Giles began to pace the room, not addressing anyone in particular, just studying the floor as he continued.

“The prophecy goes on in further detail, one that has only come to my attention at this precise moment. One Wesley failed to tell me about,” he looked up at Buffy, his gaze unwavering as he addressed her. “It states that the vampire who saves the world will be restored…will be returned to mortal form. And there’s more. A name.”

“Whose name?” Buffy asked softly as she felt a tell-tale sinking feeling in her stomach. She tried to quell her nervousness, but the look on Giles’ face was doing nothing to help matters.

“Whose name, Giles?” she repeated, taking a step forward, facing her Watcher with a steely look of determination.

Briefly, his eyes skirted away in avoidance and he cleared his throat. Absently, he reached into the pocket of his slacks and withdrew a handkerchief, beginning to rub the lenses of his glasses, as if he were on auto-pilot.

“The bearer of what the prophecy foretells was to be Angel,” Giles allowed slowly. He waited, watched as Buffy took in the news. Her eyes saddened as they traveled to her feet.

“Angel’s gone,” she said in monotone, “unless these prophecy guys know how to raise the dead. And I highly doubt that. There’s more isn’t there?” She lifted her eyes as Giles once again cleared his throat anxiously.

“There is,” he answered, “much more.”

Buffy sighed, tilting her head back as her eyes traveled to the ceiling, the frustration evident in her posture. Her muscles tensed immediately, as if bracing for something more horrible than she could imagine.

“Then who, Giles? If not Angel than who? Because I’m drawing blanks as to which vampire would actually--”

“It’s Spike,” Giles interrupted, effectively cutting Buffy off. Buffy’s mouth hung open frozenly as her Watcher’s sudden outburst washed over her. Slowly, her eyes traveled to Spike, who stepped closer.

“Human?” she breathed in awe, eyes widening. Spike shrugged and held his hands out, a smile creeping over his features. Buffy took another step closer as she studied Spike with new eyes. “You’d get to be…” she trailed off and shook her head, then faced Giles.

“There’s gotta be a catch,” she said with an unbelieving smile and another shake of her head. “Some kind of draw back o-or proviso. I am so not buyin’ this.”

“Listen to me, love,” Spike cut in, taking Buffy’s arm and turning her to face him. “Angel knew. He signed the contract himself. Showed me, he did. Signed his name in blood. Deal’s a deal.”

Buffy lifted a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. There was too much going on in her head for her to pinpoint a single thought. Human. Spike would get to be human. A beating heart, breath. Human. She repeated it in her head, tried to make sense of it all. Wouldn’t this be the ultimate problem solver?

Spike as a human, it was too much to comprehend…almost too much to hope for. She opened her eyes and immediately her gaze slammed into Spike’s. He seemed irritatingly calm, as if he’d known all along and had just forgotten to tell her. The knowledge should have angered Buffy, but she found herself experiencing the same calm, and even believing that it could work out.

But, the cynical part of her, the voice in her head that constantly nagged at her, was telling a different story. This had catch written all over it. Buffy’s shoulders sagged as she faced Giles. As she waited for the inevitable.

“Spike is right, Buffy. Angel knew,” Giles explained. “He had to make a choice. In his plan to stop the senior partners he had to sign away his rights to the Shanshu.”

“And bein’ that I’m next in line, ‘m the lucky recipient. All nice and neat,” Spike interjected.

“Ok,” Buffy said with a nod. “I get that. Spike gets to be a real boy now. So, what happens next? Is there a ritual? A test of some sort?” Giles frowned and slowly placed his glasses on his face, giving Buffy a long look.

“No,” he responded morosely with a shake of his head, “no test. No ritual. Instead, a hearing…of a sort.”

“What?” Spike cried out, narrowing his eyes. Buffy felt a bolt of fear go through her at Spike’s confused protest. She said nothing as Giles went on.

“The prophecy isn’t entirely clear on what exactly is to take place, but it says that a hearing will occur, a decision. What this hearing entails, or what decision must be made, is…unclear,” Giles said with a frown.

“We must go. Now,” the monotone even voice of Illyria interrupted, causing all eyes to swing in the Old One’s direction. “Time is running out and I am getting impatient. All you do is talk. There is no solution in talk.”

Buffy just stared at the Old One, still hardly able to believe that the former goddess-of-whatever was actually standing in her kitchen. For a brief moment, she’d even forgotten Illyria was there. And Diego as well.

Her eyes turned to the Italian, who gazed up at the Old One with awe, and something else…was that…Buffy almost laughed aloud. She didn’t dare verbalize it, but it was fair to guess that Diego had himself a little crush on the goddess. She’d have to ask him about that, later. At the moment, it appeared that another matter was at hand, as Illyria took command of the room. She stepped forward and turned her cold blue eyes to Spike.

“You will come with me, vampire,” she stated matter-of-factly. “We will leave now.” Spike shook his head and turned to Buffy.

“Sounds like she’s got my number, pet. Gotta do this,” he said resignedly, resting his hands delicately on Buffy’s shoulders. Buffy shook her head, unable to control the tears that rose in her eyes.

“No…I-I can go with you. We can do this together,” she begged. Spike smiled gently into Buffy’s eyes and framed her face with his palms.

“Much as I’d love to have you standin’ at my side, this is somethin’ I have to do. Alone. ‘M sorry, pet.” Buffy acted as if she hadn’t heard his words and turned away from Spike. She faced Illyria, folding her arms over her chest.

“Why do you have to take him? And why does he have to go alone?” she shot out sharply. Illyria tilted her head, as if she were confused, the coolness of her unwavering stare sending shivers up and down Buffy’s spine. But, she held her ground. Illyria took a step forward, meeting her counterpart eye to eye.

“It is I who rescued him. It is I who will lead him. This is my duty, human,” she spoke with disdain, not even daring to give an inch. Buffy shook her head haughtily, stepping up to the unspoken challenge that Illyria laid out.

“Well, I don’t accept that,” she countered sharply. Illyria’s eyes crawled over Buffy with distaste, her lip curling in contempt.

“Your defiance is futile. You are a human,” Illyria turned away in indifference, “I have no time for pointless arguments. If you would like the vampire to live he must come with me. Now.” Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but was stopped by the gentle pressure of Spike’s hand on her shoulder. He turned her around slowly and stared into her eyes.

“While I appreciate the gesture, love, sounds like I got places to be,” he searched her eyes, pleaded silently for her to understand. Slowly, he reached his hand to her hair, smoothed a strand behind her ear and met her eyes. “Just let me do this,” he whispered. Buffy shook her head, eyes traveling to the floor.

“What if something happens and you need me--”

“No, love,” Spike cut her off as he tucked a finger beneath her chin and lifted it, so their eyes would meet. “Don’t say that. Nothin’ will happen. Promise,” he finished on the breadth of a whisper, leaning down to softly press a kiss to Buffy’s forehead. Her eyes drifted closed and she lost her balance slightly as Spike’s mouth traveled slowly down to claim hers in a soft, hungry kiss.

God, she loved this man. It wasn’t just knowledge anymore, it was a part of her. She’d come so far so fast, finally reclaiming a piece of her heart, only to have it torn away once again. It wasn’t fair.

What hurt worse, was the fact that Spike was taking it rather well. But, the more Buffy thought about it, the more sense it made. If Spike had to face a trial for his right to be human, than so be it. If, he had to go alone…Buffy sighed resignedly, as she gave into Spike’s kiss…than she would have to let him.

If you love someone set them free. If they return to you, it was meant to be.

Tears welled behind Buffy’s eyes as the quote slipped through her mind. Hadn’t her mother said those very words to her…a long time ago? Buffy didn’t know. But what was becoming completely clear, was the fact that she hadn’t hurt this much in so long. Even the pain of not knowing that Spike had been alive in Los Angeles, didn’t compare to the shafts of pain that were assaulting every fiber of her body. She hurt all over.

And, when Spike pulled away, the pain intensified. Sadly, Buffy wrapped her arms around her body and hugged herself, if only to cling to the lingering feel of Spike’s imprint against her body. She could feel him inside, on every nerve ending, in her soul.

She didn’t want him to go, but she couldn’t deny him anything, especially when he looked her directly in the eyes and mouthed, ‘I love you.’ And, then the pain was too much.

Buffy turned away; she didn’t want him to see her fall apart. Dawn immediately stepped to her side, wrapped a comforting arm around Buffy’s shoulder, gave her sister permission to simply fall to pieces.

Buffy could hear the commotion going on around her, but it felt as if she were dreaming, or having an out-of-body experience. It wasn’t real. She heard Illyria mumble some words in a language that was hard to understand. She heard Giles’ stilted attempt at wishing Spike good luck…and then a flash of light. The room shook briefly. Moments later…silence.

Buffy’s body sagged as the realization hit her. Spike was gone.


…

Moments after Spike disappeared into the portal that Illyria had created; Diego appeared at Buffy’s side. He nodded slightly to Dawn, who stepped away. Buffy lifted her teary eyes to her friend. Diego peered into her eyes, gentleness and understanding washing over as he pulled Buffy into an embrace.

“I am here, Boffy. Whatever you need, I am here,” he said softly. Buffy shuddered and allowed Diego to hold her, the reassuring strength and comfort of a friend’s embrace purifying her, bringing her peace.

“Please tell me I did the right thing,” she sobbed into his shoulder, “please.” Diego stroked Buffy’s hair softly as he held her tighter.

“You did the right thing, mi amore,” he whispered. “All will be revealed…in good time.” Buffy lifted her head from Diego’s shoulder and met his eyes.

“What happened to Spike, Diego? How…why…” she shook her head as her emotions swelled. Diego released Buffy and took a step back, running a hand over his hair. He sighed resolutely and reached for Buffy’s hand.

“We talk. I explain everything,” he assured. Buffy nodded and allowed Diego to lead her from the kitchen.


…


Buffy sat hesitantly on the sofa, eyes never leaving Diego as he situated himself across from her. A moment of silence lapsed between them as Buffy waited…anticipation churning in her stomach, fingers knotting in her lap. Diego took a breath and began to explain.

The calming reassurance of his tone washed over Buffy and she found herself taking a level of comfort in it. For the moment, she would be distracted. Distraction was good. If she allowed herself to wallow in the what-ifs and maybes than she would slowly go crazy. Diego continued to speak and Buffy could do nothing but listen in silent complacency.

He explained everything in vivid detail, leaving nothing to the imagination. Buffy was rapt, unable to move as the story unfolded.

On a notion, Diego had come across the broken bleeding form of Spike, in the aftermath of the battle in Los Angeles. Unsure of what to do, he’d lifted the body of the vampire and carried him, depositing him in a safe place, far from the chaos and destruction.

A part of him had felt the need to take the vampire into his care. It wasn’t something he’d done out of pity or in an attempt to seek anyone‘s approval, he’d only acted on a feeling he’d had deep within himself.

In an instant, he’d conjured Illyria, knowing the Old One had survived, knowing that she was still out there…somewhere.

The image of the goddess had flashed behind his eyes, directing him to her exact location. He’d sought out the Old One and on behalf of the vampire, had pleaded for his life. The Old One owed him a debt of some sort, which dated back to the days when he’d been The Immortal, a soulless creature with a single-minded determination to wipe out any evil being that stood in his path.

As The Immortal, he’d joined forces with a group of demon fighters in Rome and while traveling inter-dimensionally, had come across Illyria. She had been dying, hardly able to keep her strength as a war waged around her.

In that moment, he’d seen the Old One’s vulnerability and had stepped away from his persona, knelt to the goddess’s side and aided her, carrying her away to safety. In a secluded cavern tucked away in a thick grove of trees, he’d nursed the goddess to health, restored her power. They had cemented a friendship of some sort and a vow had been made. Illyria would repay her debt to The Immortal.

The time for payment had come as Diego sought out the goddess, and issued his request. Unblinkingly, Illyria had agreed to assist in anyway she could, as she considered the debt between them to be paid in full.

Buffy took in that bit of information, a little awestruck. Illyria, goddess of stone, had actually done something out of the kindness of her heart. Maybe she merely saw it as repayment for a debt, but Buffy saw it for what it truly was.

An act of love.

Respect for the Old One surged through Buffy’s veins. The goddess had saved Spike’s life, she had rescued him. There were no words to define how much that meant to Buffy. She would never be able to fully wrap her mind around it, or thank Illyria for what she had done.

Diego continued his story.

Illyria and Diego had come upon Spike, who’d barely been hanging on…calling out for Buffy…near delirium. Illyria, in a rare moment of humanity and kindness, had scooped the vampire into her arms, created a portal and stepped through it. Blindly, Diego had followed.

They found themselves in an alternate dimension, a peaceful place. It amazed Diego to think that Illyria had known of a place that existed such as the very one they stood in. Wordlessly, Illyria had carried the vampire to a clan of tribesman, who had taken him in without question, not daring to refute the dagger sharp glances the Old One shot at them.

In a matter of hours, Spike had been restored. Diego had then asked that Illyria deposit Spike in the safest place possible. London. In the secure embrace and able care of the Slayer. Illyria had obeyed the request, sending Spike to the safety of the woman he loved.

The debt had been repaid.

Buffy slowly reclined against the cushions of the sofa as Diego finished his explanation. It was almost too unbelievable to be real. She shot Diego a glance and then frowned.

“So, is this why Illyria has to take Spike to this…” she fumbled for a word, gesturing the air with her hand.

“Dimension?” her Italian friend finished for her with a lift of his brow.

Buffy nodded mutely. Diego sighed and got to his feet.

“It is the only way, I am afraid. Illyria is responsible for Spike now. She must see to it that the prophecy is carried out,” he relayed calmly. Buffy got to her feet and faced Diego.

“But, he’ll be ok, right?” she asked, her voice rising with an edge of panic. Diego saw the look on Buffy’s face and gave her a gentle smile, reaching out to grasp her shoulder.

“It will work out, mi amore. Trust me,” he answered softly. Buffy searched his eyes, hoping to find some fissure in his steady gaze, a slight crack in the promise he’d issued.

There was none.

Buffy sagged visibly as relief washed over her. Everything was going to be fine. She could feel it, the knowledge, as it rushed like life’s blood through her system. Spike…he was going to be human.

And it was going to be a beautiful thing.


…

“A choice. You must make it. Now,” the ethereal being voiced from the deep chasm of the endless space that surrounded Illyria and Spike. Spike frowned and looked down at his feet. He glanced to Illyria, who stood off to the side, indifferent.

His eyes swung around the open space, trying to connect the voice to a form, but found there was none. It was unsettling, speaking to a voice that wasn’t connected to anything. He stood his ground, readied himself for the worst.

“What choice, mate? Not followin’,” Spike questioned with a frown.

“Humanity for a vampire comes with a price,” the voice boomed. “As it is written.”

Spike should have known as much. Always a bleedin’ catch. He ran a palm over his face and sighed.

“Tell me this price,” he said, eyes traveling warily around him. Something shifted in the air, the formidable presence of the source behind the voice seeming to appear closer than it actually was.

“We cannot offer what you request without taking something in return. The Shanshu prophecy must be adhered to.”

“Just bloody tell me,” Spike answered resolutely, folding his arms over his chest.

“As you wish,” the voice agreed. “This is the way of the world. In acceptance of mortality, of humanity, you must make a choice. Upon your agreement, we will restore you to your human self. But, your memory will be wiped clean and you will be returned from whence you came. Returned to what you once were.”

The information sank over Spike like a lead weight. He understood now. He understood completely. If he was to become human, the Powers would take away his knowledge of Buffy, take away everything that he had allowed himself to become the moment he’d accepted Drusilla’s dark kiss in the hushed shadows of that London alleyway.

He wouldn’t be a vampire, wouldn’t be forced to live with the knowledge of what he’d done. In all senses of the word, he’d be free.

But, freedom would come with a price. The Powers, or whomever that damned voice belonged to, would see to it that Spike was returned…as William. A sour taste lingered in Spike’s mouth at that thought.

William. Oh, how he loathed the creature he had once been. The bumbling poet, the lovesick fool…the mama’s boy. Spike gritted his teeth as an old anger swept through his body.

No. God, no. Not again.

And to never remember Buffy?

Hell, no.

Spike closed his eyes, conjured her image into his mind. At first the image was blurry, having no shape or form and then it clarified, intensified, until it was the truest, clearest thing…an unblinking reality.

The Slayer. His true love. A lump rose in Spike’s throat as the vision of her soft hazel eyes filled his mind, as the memory of the gentle caress of her touch feathered over his body. He’d waited too long…sacrificed too much to allow her to slip away…disappear into the oblivion that humanity would create.

No. Spike’s eyes flew open as a sound penetrated his senses.

“You have made your choice, vampire,” the voice boomed once again, shaking Spike to his core. He didn’t remember voicing his answer. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the resounding insistence of the voice.

“We did not need to hear you speak your choice, vampire. We see what is in your mind, and what you feel in your heart. You choose to remain a creature of the darkness. We will grant your request.”

“But--” Spike stuttered, the word leaving his mouth with difficulty as the voice spoke again.

“It is done! We have made our decision. We cannot grant humanity to you, vampire. How is it possible to bestow such a thing upon a creature that already possesses these characteristics?”

The voice continued, and Spike remained rapt.

“You have regained your soul, sacrificed your life for that of the world…you have achieved these things all on your own. You are, indeed, a true warrior…and no amount of living flesh, or resounding beats of a heart can alter who you truly are. You are a vampire, that is who you are, that is what truly defines you. You must go. Now. Leave us. The decision has been made.”

Spike was completely floored. Dumbfounded. The words of the voice surrounded him, whispered in his ears. He could feel an insistent tug on his arm as Illyria started to pull him away. Spike could only follow in the goddess’s footsteps blindly, as she led him to a portal, pulled him through.

A flash of brilliant light and he was back in Buffy’s kitchen. He blinked rapidly, as his vision swam before his eyes. He pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes as a wave of dizziness assailed him.

The trip had made him feel wonky, but aside from that, he was experiencing something more. As sounds and scents came at him from all sides, Spike found that he was smiling. Suddenly, he felt better than he had in years. His pain…it was gone. Dazedly, he pressed a hand to his chest and waited. No heartbeat.

Bleeding fucking miracle was what it was.

The grin spread wider across Spike’s features as he picked up Buffy’s scent, his feet moving quickly, his body sensing the urgency within to close the distance between himself and the woman he loved.

Free. He was truly free.

Buffy…


…


The moment he entered the room, Buffy felt it. She whipped her head around and as if it were happening in slow motion, she saw Spike come into view. With an ecstatic cry, she leapt from the sofa and sprinted across the room, hauling herself into Spike’s arms. They embraced tightly and then Buffy pulled away, her joy replaced with concern. She stared up into Spike’s eyes, her gaze questioning, confused.

“What happened? You weren’t even gone an hour, were you…” her voice trailed off as Spike lifted Buffy’s hand and pressed it to his chest. Stunned, Buffy stilled and waited. No heartbeat. She bit her lip, shook her head.

“I-I don’t understand,” she babbled, “the prophecy. Why are you…still…I mean…why hasn’t…” Spike pressed a finger to Buffy’s lips to silence her nervous words.

“No worries, love, me and the voice,” he beamed proudly, “we worked it all out.” Buffy shook her head in disbelief.

“What are you talking about?” she asked. Spike pulled Buffy to his body forcibly, giving her a dazed smile.

“The voice, love, it told me. Showed me. It said I’m to remain as a vampire, because I don’t need human flesh or a heart beat to be a part of the human race. I’m human enough for the likes of ‘em, I suppose.” Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“So…” she started, “this…voice…it decided that you should stay as a vampire. Is it because of the soul?”

Spike nodded.

“Right.”

“Is it also because you died in the Hellmouth?”

Spike nodded again and met Buffy’s eyes.

“I wanted this, love. Did it for you,” he implored, brushing wayward strands of hair from Buffy’s eyes.

“What did you do, Spike?” Buffy asked carefully.

“They wanted to take me away, make me forget. Couldn’t let them do that, couldn’t let them take me away from you.” Buffy’s eyes widened as realization dawned on her.

“Once you became human they were going to wipe your memories clean,” she said in astonishment. Spike nodded.

“I wouldn’t let them, love. I couldn’t let the Powers manipulate me, not like the way they did Angelus. They took away everyone’s memories, love, of the Poof’s kid. Couldn’t let them do that to me,” Spike explained with feeling.

It was all making sense to Buffy now. The more she thought about it, the more it clicked. She could never see Spike as a human being, never. He was a vampire, that one thing that truly defined what he was, and the main part of what had attracted her to Spike in the first place. The fire, the danger…these things encapsulated Spike and made him real to her. There could be no substitutes, no excuses. Just a no-holds-barred vampire who took her breath away and stole her heart all with one gesture, with one touch.

Spike was all she needed.

He was all she wanted.

Vampire. Man. Someone to be counted.

Her true love.

Slowly, Buffy fell into Spike’s embrace, felt his arms circle around her body and hold her close. She closed her eyes, pressed her cheek to his chest and sighed.

So, this was what it felt like to finally have everything you ever wanted. It was true, then. Good things could happen to good people.

Love, like none Buffy had ever known, swelled within her as the gentle caress of Spike’s hand stroking her hair lulled her…calmed her.

Completed her.

Buffy was complete.

At last.


“I love you,” she murmured against his shoulder. Spike stilled, gently held Buffy at arms’ length, studying her. His eyes were serious as they collided into hers. His hand lifted, stroked over her hair.

“I love you too, Buffy,” he stated with feeling. “Love you so much.” Buffy smiled and tilted her head, accepting Spike’s gentle kiss as his lips grazed hers tenderly.

And it was real. It was true.

Forever.


…


Leave it Behind…
You’ve got to leave it behind…
All that you fashion…
All that you make.
All that you build…
All that you break.

All that you measure…
All that you steal…
All this you can’t leave behind…


…


Epilogue…


…


The days and nights that followed were richer and sweeter than Buffy could have ever dared to imagine. She found herself reveling in the pure joy of simply being in love. She filled her senses with Spike, allowed him to capture her mind, body and soul.

The more time that passed, the easier it became to cast away all of her old doubts and fears…the pain and recriminations of the past. No longer did Buffy dwell on lingering moments of sadness and despair; it was safe to say she had finally found happiness, finally found love. True love.

Eventually, Buffy found the strength to lift her wings, to fly off on her own, with Spike at her side. They left the tiny apartment in London, together, safe in the knowledge that everyone Buffy cared about was all right, taken care of. Dawn had Giles, and her friends had their own lives to lead. The circle was complete. There was nothing left unsaid, unfinished.

Together, Buffy and Spike traveled the world, allowed themselves to experience the things that time and circumstance had never allowed them to feel before. There was no world to save, no one to rescue, nothing to care about, except one another.

There was a certain perfection in bliss and Buffy believed she had finally found what she had been searching for, nearly her entire life.

Love.

Happiness.

Peace.

All of the things she’d had trouble leaving behind had suddenly become nothing more than a distant memory. Buffy was truly the girl who had it all.

And she planned to keep it that way.

No matter what.


…


THE END




Chapter Title and accompanying lyrics taken from U2’s Walk On.