She turned her head slowly. She turned her head to look at him...languidly? Was that a languid look? From the position of audience member, one simply could not tell. The only one who saw it, who knew, were they two.

From the position they stood in, her in front and he behind--braced, head lifted from the torn flesh of her neck--she had to look back up into the face of the thing that killed her--but because of the position in which they stood. What passed between them was private. And only he knew--

--“What did she say?”

Spike looked at Joyce.

“What did Su Yan the Vampire slayer say to you in that moment? She said something with her eyes, said enough of some thing to make you snap her neck. She shortened her life, it was important enough to her to do that. She lost 5 minutes of life in order to tell you something that provoked you to finish her. Spike. What did she say?”

When he didn’t reply, Joyce continued. “Let’s replay it alright? We’ll get another look and refresh your memory. Let’s take a look at the moment when you found out you were better at killing than creating.”

Spike was a tough nut to crack and admittedly Joyce was one of the few people who could do it. All the Summers women. God, maybe there was something to the idea of genetic memory after all. Apples not falling far from the tree and al’.

As the scene started to replay for the third time in the open air between two pillars of the pavilion, Spike spoke:

“It wasn’t what she said or thought it was what she felt, what she was in that moment.”

Joyce nodded, her eyes said go on, go on, go, go, go...

“Like a little girl, a child who had fallen asleep an’ had just woke up to see who was holding her.”

“My Lamb.” Joyce’s voice was quiet, reflective.

“Yes.” Spike said.

“And so you broke her neck.”

“Had to.”

“Why?”

He thinks, considers and reveals...”Or she would have turned me.”

Slapping Love’s outstretched hand. Slayer, slayer, once, twice...

“Third times the charm...” Spike waggled a brow, but the glint in his eye was gone.

“Every baseball fan knows it.” It was Joyce’s job to keep the ball bouncing from heavy to whimsy.

“Cor, American sport’s ‘l put you to sleep.”

“Then let’s talk the ultimate sport. Why the Slayer, Spike? Why did you kill my lambs?”

It was time to push him.

“Why did you want to hurt Buffy?”

“Mum, please...”

“Think Miss Marple...”

Spike drew in a ragged breath and rubbed his face with both hands letting himself go back to that space, that space that held a single directed death wish for the best, the brightest, the most beautiful of girls.

“It’s too easy to say this all has something to do with Cecily. I mean that may be part of it an al’. You know, taking down the top.”

“What happened that night? The definitive moments, those are the clues.”

“Well, Cecily flattened me really...”

“And...”

“Dru...”

“Before that. What comes to mind almost immediately and without thinking about it-“

The image that rose to mind, strangely, wasn’t that mottley upper crust crew making sport of him...no, and it wasn’t what they or Cecily did to him, it was…it was what he did to himself:

William tearing his sheets. William in tears tearing his own words. The words he had written with joy in his heart.

Why should that be important? They were bloody awful, everyone said so, t’ was a mercy to relieve the world of it.

“Would you destroy your child, a child you loved dearly if it came into the world with a finger missing or a club foot?”

“No. Never.”

“Even if people in the world found the child imperfect, difficult to look at?”

“They can all SOD OFF!”

“What if the child is retarded and had seemingly, no real function in the world. No purpose?”

“Well, the bit would have a purpose in my life wouldn’t it then? I’d make it feel important. The bairen’ would be important to me.”

“Exactly. So, should your writing, or for that matter, any creation of your heart, mind or body be treated with any less kindness or respect?”

Spike was floored flat.

Joyce smiled. “Take a few moments and put it all together. Look around at the key clues. I’ll wait.”

Spike drifted in the pavilion, looking from one scene to another, he see flashes of mayhem, blood and destruction juxtaposed alongside moments of love inspired and there it was…one of the defining moments of his life.

William ripping the words was William ripping his faith. It wasn’t just the words that were destroyed; it was the faith in where the words had come from. If inspiration leads to faulty works than how honest and true could the source of that inspiration be?

Buffy. Eyes of Buffy. Buffy eyes.

More images of William at his desk, writing his sheets and sheets, that amazing feeling of achievement, of mountains ascended, it was the Matterhorn, and it was K3 and Everest. His pen in hand was the mountain climber’s spike. The white sheets of paper--the expanse of virgin snow and not even reaching the summit of an impossible climb could not compare to the elation that came when thoughts and feelings were completed and realized on the pure untouched page. The sweet courage it takes to create.

Next was the image of his words being mocked, shocked, Cecily dressing him down.

William in tears tearing paper.

William closed his eyes and went back; the demon went with him and why not?--in for a penny in for a pound.

He allowed himself to feel that pain again, raw and fresh and dared to look behind it. At the source-what caused the pain? He looked at the some thing else in hiding.

Heart hurting. Lies. Because of a lie. Betrayal. And there it was. Hiding behind his pain leading to anger at Cecily, at those high society bullies’s was his anger at...love.

At love itself.

He was angry at the nature of love. He felt betrayed and abused not by people, but by love itself--that shining effulgent beckoning hand that inspired the lowest clod to climb the mountain in search of the Blue Rose to present to his love to resurrect her.

He had trusted love and why not? He had had the gift of his Mothers love as proof positive that love was a real and valiant force. But that same love had set a high standard. And cost. To be close to that kind of love was to feel a glimmer of God alive on earth and then to be separated from it was...unthinkable, unimaginable.

William was being slowly pressed into the oblivion of heartbreak every time his Mother coughed up blood. Consumption. Consumption indeed.

He had trusted love and now he needed it and that same need had taught him to fear it.

He had trusted that his love of writing and the written word meant he was being pointed in a special direction. That inspiration itself would secure glory and success, that the nature of love itself would guarantee a happy end.

He had trusted his love for his Mother. And then watched her die daily. He had believed that the very nature of love would protect those who bowed before it. Shouldn’t it? But if God was love and then love turns to ashes, if love is just the lure, the bait to being the butt end of a bad joke-then if love fails, the gods fail. If love is bait and switch-then God is a con artist. The unbearable agony of betrayal. How could one love like that and not be protected BY it?

This has been the single most important issue of his existence. To be living in very center of love, of inspiration and imagination as he did and ever would-his nature commanded this, to do that to be this fool for love and then…and then the perpetual slack jawed amazement of the child being slapped by God for kissing. Some passionate jealous God in an Italian movie, a Latin lover, wanting demanding and then allowing no one.

God in Latin fooling everyone with ancient jumble speak--it sounds real, because it sounds olde.

Deus…Deus ex Machina…

Timed from the moment that poem was read aloud at that party, to Cecily, to tearing his words, there it was--all his faith had been shattered within 17 minutes.

A hostile 17.

HA.

Ha bloody ha by any ‘road.

No. He had been betrayed by love. And what is love but God? God inspired him to love and then broke his back for doing it. What kinda of crazy equation is that?

He had been pissed. Deep down, he had been royally pissed.

He still was.

Spike looked at Joyce.

“I went for the Slayer, the holy lamb, cuz I felt fucked over, buggered up and pissed in the extreme.”

And then he took a deep cleansing and breath and spoke so low, he barely even heard himself.

“I wanted…revenge…to get even…to break heavens little piggy bank…”

Joyce nodded. “I think so. At least that’s part of it, one side of the coin. Now flip it. Heads or...”

“TAILS.” Spike called out rather emphatically and then: “Ah....”

Spike cautiously looked at Joyce, this double entendre was directed at her daughter after all.

Joyce winced a bit, but smiled shaking her head. Spike will be spike.

“Consider this to begin with. You wouldn’t have been that angry if you hadn’t still cared. If some part of you still didn’t believe in love. Please. 100 years with Drusilla?”

He nodded in agreement.

“I’m loves bitch.”

“And banner.”

Spike looked at her, cocking his head to one side considering her comment. Slowly he smiled

“Holy hell and saints alive I get to be a poster boy.”

Joyce laughed aloud, free and like the wind blowing through chimes. The warriors around the pavilion chuckled, the pleasant rumbling almost a purr.

“And that is why we love you.”

What could he say to that? “I feel a blush coming on.”

How a bout a brush with death coming on? Joyce indicated images of Spike fighting the Slayers. “Talk to me of the Slayers...”

“I hated them...”

“Yes we determined that, and...”

“I loved them, they way they fought, it was past self survival, it...it was like they fought with vision, with a...I dunno, fighting the slayers made me a better fighter. Facing off with them brought me up to a new level, every time, every fight and well…with Buffy... being with her…everyday…it was a place I couldn’t get to on my own-“

“No one can.” Joyce interrupted. “Other people are the catalyst. That’s why family, friends, lovers make you stronger.”

Spike nodded and continued.

“And...I wanted it. That feeling, it’s this place you’re in when your fighting see? And it’s beyond what your mind can do by itself or your body, everything’s connected and...and there could only be one thing better than killing her…”

His voice trailed off, winded down, dripped to a drop.

Now that might have been a mistake.

His first ‘morning after’ etiquette was not quite the stuff of snuff.

But what the hell. How do you stop the chain? If he hadn’t been stroking himself, his ego, then he might not have alienated Buffy and then in turn made the next few months of their relationship so difficult for her to believe in that she might not have broken it off and if she hadn’t broken it off, then he wouldn’t have been desperate and selfish enough try to force himself back into her life, back into her body. (Double wince). But if he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have realized that even with his deep love for her, without a soul, without a hotline to more light, so to speak, then he would have continued living in darkness, drawing dark temptation to himself like a magnet. And Buffy had been drawn to him, he knew she was and if he drew her to him, could he stand to put her at risk, because lets face it, even with his deep love, living in the deep dark made him unstable enough to hurt her, oh bugger al’, if he hadn’t been blinded long enough to try to force her--than would he ever have been desperate enough to seek restoration of his soul?

So. Undo one bad choice and everything could fall apart. So. It was not the poor choice it was the moment after...Spike could see clearly it was the moment after that mattered.

And loving the slayer is all that mattered. And…oh my god and here was the bloody payoff, trusting his deep feeling enough to do whatever was necessary to give that love a chance. Loving Buffy with or without her reciprocation had been all about getting his faith back.

Spike was spinning. Different thoughts ran parallel--racing each other to the finish line.

I loved the slayers and…and…they knew it, some part of them musta felt it…

Su Yan’s quiet almost peaceful gaze, almost, already half asleep…

Nikki on her back, on her back…

“They recognized me, they trusted me, some part of them saw I loved who they were and in the moment...in that moment they relaxed, they let it be me.”

“I think so.” Joyce agreed. “That doesn’t take away from your fighting skills but ironically, it was the love pattern retained in William that made them yearn for home, for heaven.”

“I didn’t kill Buffy.”

“You would have. That first fight in the school. It would have been the end…”

“Except for Mom the old battle axe...”

Joyce smiled. “You’re welcome by the way.”

Spike stopped, humbled again, his throat constricted, eyes quite suddenly filling with tears.

“Thanks Joyce. For her...and me. Well, the world, it turns out. Joyce, you saved the bloody world two times over when you did that.”

“You know you can joke, but that’s actually true. All our deeds large and small, everything is connected and counted. Take one action away, good or bad and the subsequent lesson learned is gone. If one is capable of learning, it makes it difficult to have real regret. Just say thanks for the lesson, learn something and move on.”

“O.K. coach, send me in, no argument there.”

“Really Spike? Would you like to get back in the game?”

“Oi’ eh I was just talkin’. What are you talkin?”

“Buffy has been calling for you. But you won’t even go near the phone.”

“Joyce...”

“There are ways to send a message if you want to. And you have been leaking small memos out to her, small thoughts for her to pick up in her sleep, but she’s in the dark and she’s scared for you. She wants to know that you’re o.k.”

“Joyce. I’m not o.k... I mean I’m o.k. but I’m never gonna be o.k. far away from her. Now is that what you want me to lay on Buffy?”

“Spike.” Joyce’s voice was gentle but firm. “Look at me.”

He did.

“Is there ever going to be anything, any human being, anyone undead or alive that will ever be able to love you enough?”

Spike was shocked into silence.

“Was there ever a creature created that was pure enough to love the way love itself can? We carry the memory of heaven with us on Earth and it makes what people offer each other so puny in comparison. Why do you think Buffy turned to you when she came back from heaven to the Earth plane? Your love for her shone out the brightest and reminded her most of home.

Was she ultimately disappointed in you because you could not BE home. Of course. You both had it wrong, it wasn’t self loathing that brought you together, it was self survival. It was because she wanted to feel at home again. Now, you didn’t have enough light and the reality is that over exposure to your darkness made you dangerous and painful to her. She could absorb a lot of your dark nature and be a catalyst to help you transmute quite a lot into love, but only to a point. The demon had to make a free will choice to dissolve the rest of the black, the rest of its contract.

When we are down there, on Earth, we’re just these muddy things with our pure spirit buried alive. Just recognize it for what it is and where you are. We are like light shining through the mud. The light of unconditional love trapped in little bodies made of clay from up out the earth. It’s going to look dim and inconsistent at best.”

Joyce took a breath but she was on a roll and had a bit more butter to spread on it.

“Spike, William, the kind of love you crave will never come from another being less than the peace found in heaven. Think about cutting Buffy some slack. She loves you dearly more and more and more than you, or she knows now, but will she ever love you in the way love itself loves you? No wonder you’ve been slapped silly every time. How could she? Will she ever love you the way you love her? A second better question is, can anyone, ever love you the way you love them. Your ability to love is almost unparalleled. It inspired you to crawl out of hell. That doesn’t happen every day or to everyone. Could she love you like that? I believe so. She is a slayer after all. Her heart, her love is the fire of heaven itself, but she is afraid of submitting and with good reason. So the question is do you love her enough to love her regardless?”

Everyone waited, the nearby brook broke its babble, the warriors in supportive attendance held their breath and Joyce looked quietly down at Spike’s bowed head.

He spoke.

“You know the answer is yes, I know the answer is yes, but I still need one thing.”

Spike continued without looking up.

“She has to come to me.”

“I know...” Joyce considered a moment, turned and looked at a guardian cloaked in blue standing behind her. The blue cloaked figure shrugged and nodded, Joyce turned back to Spike.

“Spike, you’re a gambling man...”

At this Spike piqued, a piqued Spike drew his brows together and smirked.

“Joyce what are you on about?”

“We can’t guarantee anything, you know, there is always free will choice, but there is a 75 /25 split that she will come to you-“

“But what does that mean? Cuz I don’t want her dying to be with me, so what are you on about? And wait a minute which way would that split? 75 to yes or 75 to no?”

“You had a mystical death, under the physical law you could be reconstituted under the myth clause.”

“Is that like Santa Clause, cause I don’t fancy being in charge of redistributing wealth, no Robin Hood gig thank you bloody poofter.”

Joyce continued undisturbed. “The phoenix myth is saturated throughout the text of the Earth matrix and coupled with the shanshu prophecy there is an accepted thought structure in place where you could be re-introduced.”

“Shanshu…shoes? Footwear…huh, had the strangest dream…huh…uh thanks... for the reference lecture ‘Giles’--oh and by the by, Buffy told me about the top of the police car.”

Spike winked at her.

Joyce fluttered and slapped the side of his head. “I’m sorry, but every once in a while that just seems like the right thing to do.” She continued.

“You would not be what you were in the way you were. But because you would be reconstituted from your ashes you can’t be more or less than what you were, just arranged differently.”

“Joyce you’re speaking Jabberwock and I’m about to be dead bored.”

Joyce stood in front of him and took his chin in her hand and looked him in the eye.

“Your strengths could be made stronger at the cost of your weakness making you weaker. But even that is from a certain point of view.”

“And I’m guessing non-negotiable?”

Joyce shrugged.

“Well I faced Glory, went through what was supposed to be impossible trials to get my soul back and have loved Buffy for 6 years, so how hard could it be? No forget I said that.”

“So is that a ‘yes’?”

“Yeah right, like I ever had a choice anyway, sure go ahead punk me out, put me on the bleedin rack, lets have another round of kick the Spike-“

--“Buffy’s pregnant.”

Spike’s eyes widened, awe, wonder and again and again…humility.

“It’s not a solid thing, there is no destiny holding you two in place, just free will choice, the wind could blow in from the north and she could miscarry as simple as that.”

Joyce relaxed and stepped back from him, he faced her squarely.

“Will you fight for her? Will you fight for your family?”

Spike felt his energy flow down through his feet through the floor of the pavilion and up through the top of his head throughout all time and space and beyond. He then declared firmly to all present and the cosmos besides.

“I will.”

There was a simultaneous roar of appreciation from the gathered warriors awaiting this, their battle cry. For love, for lover, for child, for family, for friends, for et. for all...

William the Spike WILL.

“And that...” Joyce said hands clasped to her heart, tears in her eyes...

”Is why we back you.”

Joyce kissed the side of his head, stepped back and spoke her last speech to him.

“We’re putting you back in the game and believe me there are other warriors with better karma, better histories, which have been better prepared and had been waiting in line but you knocked us out. You’re the dark horse in this race, the long shot, but we’re betting on you because you proved you can run with the ball. That you love running with the ball. We all love that. William, you will have access to great power and the temptation that comes with power but no destiny to pave the way, to make it easy--just you, like always, on the ball, the pigskin…well, pigs blood-whatever. O.K. enough sports metaphors I was told it would fire up your machismo, but, you get the idea.”

Joyce contemplated him and smiled as if it meant goodbye.

“You’ll forget most of this, but hold Dawn’s hand...don’t let the tough guy act fool you--she always feels so alone in the world and...and kiss Buffy for me--right on the very top of her head, so she’ll know it’s from me, will you?”

*

DAY 32 6:35 P.M.

FADE IN

FRONT OF GREATA’S FARMHOUSE - EXT - TWILIGHT

As seen from the country road, wide angle establishing shot. Three vehicles pull into frame, running caravan style with each other it is a

BLACK CHEVY BLAZER

Grey GMC Jimmy and a dull green Volkswagen van with a large orange flower decal on the hood. They pull onto the lower end of the farmhouse lawn, parallel parking next to each other. Positioned so the Volks Van is sandwiched between the other vehicles.

GREATAS FRONT PORCH - MS

BUFFY rises from the glider, DAWN, VI, RONA, all standing on porch step aside to make room for her to walk between them. Buffy stands poised on the top step of porch. Framed by GILES standing at attention at the foot of the stairs and CLEM who steps a little in front so the visitors can see him easily from the end of the front lawn about 200 feet away.

THE THREE VEHICLES

with the farmhouse in the background.

Like 100 clowns emerging from a tiny car in a three ring circus, the ELFIN folk emerge from the vehicles. All told, and all out, and as they stand--there are 21 Elfin. The Elfin and Humans (mostly) regard each other in silence for the stretch of a few minutes.

WARRIOR ELFIN

have taken flanking and point positions as the honor guard.

BUFFY ‘S POV-

Buffy notes their positions and smiles. She approves.

The grouping of Elfin begin to move slowly toward the front porch. Four of them maintain flanking positions by the edge of the road, as the group moves toward the porch two or three deposit themselves as sentry flanking position protecting the middle of the lawn.

As they walk, an Elfin figure emerges, power and light emanating from her core. She leaves the middle of the group to walk in the lead.

There is an audible gasp from the people on the porch as they see. Her. Anyone who had been seating stands immediately as a sign of automatic respect. They square their bodies off in an almost subconscious urge to emulate the Elfins body language.

As the Elfin walk almost in slow motion or distended and selected time, feet barely seeming to skim the surface of the ground. LOW HARMONIC ascending notes of a BAGPIPE of similar wood and wind instrument carved from nature is heard on soundtrack. It is the bittersweet sound of celebration and lament.

The elfin had reached the front porch. The matriarch. The glowy one was talking now.

Back to the flick.

ILLIYANA-ALAYA (sincere)

It is a beautiful day, is it not?

It really is.

It’s in the ground, this is a good place--can you feel it?

They all nod that they do.

ILLIYANA-ALAYA

A good place for singing, better than the other, yes?

But over there, facing the west?

The Elfin behind her follow her gaze. They do not nod their heads but one gets the feeling they all agree. She shifts her attention back to group on porch.

ILLIYANA -ALAYA

An Elfin woman appearing in human terms to be in her mid forties. Long flowing hair Golden red with white highlights, Her skin an almost a high blue.

BUFFY VO

Hmm...Buffy thinks this must be a real blueblood

ILLIYANA-ALAYA

I am Illyana-alaya, royal guardian of we few survivors

we, the living Elfin of old earth.

ILLIYANA-ALAYA (laughs)

You can call me Illy.

BUFFY

Cozy. You can call me Buffy, because I am. Buffy that is,

of...old...that is the lost city of Sunnydale. That’s me.

ILLY

THE slayer.

BUFFY

One among many now-

ILLY

--Not to him.

Well there was nothing to say to that.

ILLY (continued)

I owe a boon to the Widow of William the Spike.

Buffy smiled a little at her getting the moniker wrong like the quaint way a foreigner might learn a slang, say it wrong but have it come out sounding actually more right. William the Spike. She liked it. As she started to respond Giles interrupted her from behind and spoke sotto voche.

GILES

Buffy, this is an energetic contract, binding in the eyes of

the cosmos--

Buffy looks at him, smiles gently and turns toward Illy.

ILLY

You are the last of William’s family?

Dru and Angel flutter and disappear. .

BUFFY

I am the best loved of his family.

ILLY

It’s good to know who you are.

Beat.

ILLY

May we speak widow to widow?

BUFFY

Yes. I am Spike’s widow.

Out of the closet with a bang and boom. She felt a shift, a change in her soul and knew with this quiet truth--everything, everything in her, in her life had just shifted and changed.

Illy smiled into her eyes and spoke lower so only Buffy could hear.

ILLY

I’m glad he found you.

BUFFY

So am I.

The shocking simplicity of her words as her heart stood up for itself commanded respect. Even the little blades of grass percolated and giggled under her feet.

After all this time, it was so easy, so easy to love him, to be his.

ILLY

I know you all have many questions and what remains

unanswered...after, I will address in the morning. Yes?

Again everyone nods mutely. Let’s all go jump into a spittoon says Illy and everybody would nod. Jeepers. That’s charisma baby.

ILLY (continued)

Buffy, I offer you a boon. How may I be of service

to you?

Beat as Buffy considers. Everyone waits. Oh boy.

BUFFY

There is something...that is, I don’t know if you can, how

much it would take, or if it would be too much trouble, it’s

just...well..(suddenly grounded now) there has been so

much...loss for everyone, that is and sometimes it’s all we

can do is just go on without making a fuss. Could you help

us? Will you make a fuss about them? I’m so happy you

are going to do this thing for Spike, but could you do,

would you sing for the all the dead?

There. She used the verbotin “d” word.

Illyana-alaya walked to Buffy and in a gesture that was so a Spike thing,

It was Spike.

With his right hand, he reached out at touched Buffy gently on the side of her cheek. He was here, he was here, he was alright, he was safe and o.k. and not in H-E-double-hockey-sticks-couldn’t-say-the word-or-barely-think-it---but now its o.k. and this is the sign, the ‘thing’ that she was waiting for and Buffy could have fainted with relief.

He touched her. Illy spoke.

ILLY

Buffy. How I love thee, in the heart, in the mind, in

the spirit, in the soul in the stars, in the body cell and

the space between...I love thee...

I guess that means “yes”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Day 32 8:16 p.m.

Alexander Lavell Harris had never been horse back riding before, but his new credo, to color co-ordinate with his new glass eye. Was this. New was good. Different was better. Nothing like the same old, same old experience of the yearly attendance with an apocalypse to get old. To make you feel old. He was only twenty two years old but had the accumulated life experience of say Mel Brooks’s 1000 year old man. How did that routine go? No wonder he had loved an 1000 year old ex demon. It was a match.

So many feelings and unguarded thoughts came back to a loved one done gone. They were all widows and widowers and had been content with the status quo at Vi’s grandma’s house. But he could feel it drawing to a close. That intuitive ability that had been slowly developing over the years was pop popping. He knew something was coming to a head. Freud would have loved it. What had been hidden kept breaking the surface all the time now through all the unbidden, unasked for thoughts dropped into the social mix of conversation that would jar someone or remind someone of someone done gone. He had just let one slip himself.

He was driving Greata’s truck with Willow beside him. She had pulled down the visor on the passenger side of the truck to part and comb her hair and he had said:

“Must be nice to have a widow’s peak right there in the middle of your forehead, kinda of like a plumb line for the part in your hair...”

And the words were still hanging in the air. He had let his voice trail off, but couldn’t erase the words. There they were, like hard knocks in life to bang against. And it wasn’t Kennedy--she had gone back east and no hard feelings. It was Tara. It would always Be Tara. And now Anya. And Xander almost shrugged against this one, Spike.

Widows and Widowers all and daily conversation was a mine field for the canny to traverse.

Somebody needed to do something. But it was so huge. How, where, to begin? So they smiled and made quips and quit thinking about the future, at least for today.

The rest of the ride back was silent. Not awkward, not stressy, just the sound of the truck chug chuncking and maybe I can change the oil for Greata....hmm...

“Xander look... looks like there’s some kinda party going on. Did we forget something? Were we supposed to get chips and dip? Oh...blue chips and cheese dip we should a stopped. Ohhh...”

Willows extempore observation broke into Xanders day dreams of handy man fix it ups he was planning on Greata’s farm. And yes indeed something did look a brewin’. Three SUV’s he had never seen before where lined in the front lawn. Lights blazing in all the windows which in itself wasn’t unusual. But. That sound of music. Someone had Bob Segar jacked up to 10 and was rocking out the Michigan mad man. This was new.

Xander and Willow looked at each other. Eyebrows raised. And with almost identical expressions got out of the truck and walked through the back porch and into the kitchen. .

People were laughing.

Not the wry controlled chuckle, but out right emotional release. Righteous and contagious.

Xander and Willow started smiling almost in spite of themselves.

Vi raced past them and slid into her Grandma by the kitchen sink.

“I think I’m going to Katmando! That’s really, really where I’m going to! If I ever...”

“Xander! Willow! “

Dawn slid into the kitchen chasing Vi and almost bowled the confused bemused duo down.

“I’m so glad you made it back in time. Buffy will be sooo happy! They’re gonna begin at dusk which is well, NOW! So I’m gonna run, I just came back to help Vi get Rona and Greata and leave a message for you guys. Everybody’s back behind the barn. Grab a jacket and a blanket it might get cool and maybe last all night.”

Dawn broke away from them without further explanation. “Hey Vi I got Andrews camera, lets go NOW! I don’t know if it will record fairies but-“

That got Willows attention: ”Fairies?”

“Elfin.” Greata broke in to stop gap bad info.

“Oh and Xander can you load the truck up with wood from the stockpile for the bon fire?”

The Bob Segar music came to an abrupt stop. And the silence held the sweet chill of expectation.

“VI! RONA! NOW! Dawn almost screamed. “I’m not gonna miss one minute of her singing about Spike”

She took off running with Rona close behind her. Vi stopped:

“I gotta help my Grandma...that’s too far for her to walk in the near dark.”

“You go on ahead this handsome young man will drive me out in the truck.”

Greata nodded toward the Zan man.

And with a swoosh, a smooch and greasy spotted tire marks, goodbye was all they wrote.

Xander felt punched in the gut. He had to sit down. This was for Spike? All this hull a baloo? Some kinda party, it sounded like...for Spike?

Willow looked like Miss Kitty Fantastico caught between her favorite mouse and some fresh sparkling new cat nip. An Elfin singing. To hear such a thing was a...well, a once in ...a gazillion lifetime experience.

Greata explained quickly. “Some old friend of your friend Spike-“

--“He was NOT our friend.” Xander spit out emphatically.

“Xander...” Willow’s quiet reprimand slowed him down bit.

“Yeah, I know he saved us all, but...”

Greata spoke quickly: “Sorry to break up the debate, but someone is finally going to pay tribute to the dead of Sunnydale, and Spike’s friend is going to do it. That’s all I know and that sounds good to me.”

“Me too. I’m going to go out, Xander, I gotta be there. I can feel it. I gotta. Come on out if you can. Out behind the barn right? That’s what Dawn said? “

“Go on girl. Grab one of the plaid jackets hanging in the washroom on the way out. Keep you warm--here let me show you.”

Greata led the way out of the kitchen. And with that Willow was gone.

Xander was left alone in the house with his thoughts and with loves sharp edges cutting into his heart. All these years, all this time he had known Buffy, 7 no almost 8 years now and not once, NOT ONCE had she ever thrown him a party or barely even remembered his birthday.

All these years of service and devotion and never, never, well unless you count hyena boy and being Drac’s butt monkey and that didn’t count really cause it wasn’t done with his free will and never, ever, never had he ever sucked the blood out of even one innocent human being. In all those years he had never gotten so much as a cake or even a cup of a cake from her and here Dead boy Jr. Gets a party, the fatted calf and a singing Diva on top?

One more puff and his heart could break, it really could.

Greata called out from the back porch.

“Hiney, would you go get my cane and my big pink sweater sitting on the chair in my bedroom? Would you dear?”

And because he was a good man and because he would always be of service to good women he called out a friendly response and with a constricting throat went to do her bidding.

Greata’s bedroom was on the ground level and off the dining room and close to the bathroom. A logical setup for her old bones, he thought idly, ever the carpenter, ever the man who would fix things while no one was looking. He found the sweater and cane easily enough but when he pulled the sweater loose from the chair, something fell to the floor with a smack and a flutter. An old book had hit it’s binding in the fall and split the book open almost in two. Xander bent to pick it up. It looked like an old family Bible. Ah...double heck. How was he going to tell Greata? Maybe he could plead the plight of the handicapped one eyed man.

He knelt down, and carefully raised the book, re inserting stray papers that had broken out. One was obviously well read, being yellow highlighted was a dead giveaway, his eye caught, and his heart tripped over the last passage on a page. Xander Harris of trembling hands and compassionate heart, stood in a little old lady’s bedroom in western California and on a temperate summer night in late June and from her century old Bible, he read this:

The words rose up off the page to greet his heart and kiss his eyes or rather...eye. “Thou art always with me and all that is mine is thine...he was lost and is found...”

Alexander Lavell Harris, a full grown man began to cry.

“Xander! Are you there, did you find it alright? I don’t want to miss the previews. And there’s still popcorn to buy and those little chocolate covered raisins.” Greata laughed at her own joke. She continued:

“Did you know the Russian word for raisin was ezume?”

Xander took in a deep breath, laid the book on her bed and with sweater and cane in hand went to join the party.

“Hey!” He called out to Greata. “You’re never supposed to laugh at your own jokes. It’s some kind of comedian credo. Like step on a crack you’ll break your Mothers back. Real bad ju ju. You want I should give you some pointers?”

He followed the sound of Greata’s howling laugh like a trail of bread crumbs.

We begin again.

*

Willow thought.

She stayed to the outskirts of the group, careful, always careful when her emotions were running a little high to give space, breathing space between herself and all else. She was always careful as to not influence or overwhelm by the reality of the powerful physical law of osmosis anyone around her. Respect. Integrity and respect for others. Some deep breathing was needed here. And now look, do you feel that? The air was beginning to soften around them. And the gentle hum conducted through the earth and up their feet and sung in their spines-bodies like a tuning fork to empathy to empathize.

Willow relaxed and sat at the edge of a spread blanket about ten feet from Buffy and Dawn.

It was beginning.

Buffy sensing her presence turned to her and smiled and looked at her with those strange new calm Buffy eyes. She was a woman now, Willow thought. Girl gone.

Willow smiled back, tears in her eyes, her heart in her throat. Look.

Out of the deep hum, from the throng resonating in the ground rose the voice of Illyana-alaya. Her clear contralto was warbling in Elfese. No one understood the exact meaning of the words in the mind, but the heart grasped and suckled at the invocation. Willow recognized the tenor, the feel of the introduction, the salutation offered to creation before casting.

It felt like this:

“See us, sweet creator, highest source of unconditional love,

we are here, right where you left us. We have not forgotten you. Can you see us?

How we love thee, be with us now, your creations in the very beginning of this, our creation so we may see only the truth, hear only the truth and speak only the truth as we sing the colors of our friends the dead…”

It began with blue, clear, high, clean and almost too sweet to be in this world.

Buffy looked at Dawn and the others, could they tell it was him. It was him at the very beginning of his life, the blue that draws no direct attention to itself. A color that doesn’t stand out, that doesn’t seem important save for this: It was the blue of the sky. The sky holding its arms around the world.

It was the sparkling light that rang a single clear note through Spike throughout all the time she had known him. She thought it had been vampire magnetism or charisma but it was this. Her heart vibrated and thrilled with a mind of its own. She could hear that clear note Illy sang and saw the backdrop against which everything else chugged along. It’s quiet contribution holding everything together, not knowing how much you need it, rely upon it…love it…until it’s gone. Missing sky blue William. Ever-present, loyal, true, oh my god true blue-that’s where it comes from. The loyalty in Spike began in William.

The group of Elfin stood assembled about sixty feet away from Buffy and the crew sitting on blankets and bales of hay. They stood with their backs to Scoobies ET all to face the west, the setting sun and Sunnydale.

Illy leading, voices entwined ascending into the blue sky smiling down on the rest of the world, Illy’s voice receded, and a high clear soprano surveyed the hills and valleys, mountains, trails and trees.

William sung, Spike would wait his turn and let the world roll by.

It was green now. The deep sultry green of the ancient forest, new growth under the wisdom of canopy and the smokey look from beneath, between the trunks of trees the dark brown locks of hair-

“Jenny…” Giles voice broke. Then there was the awe and the sweet relief of being with beloved again--the other, softer side of self.

“It’s Jenny. Can you see her?”

They could. All in their own way and not in the way Rupert Giles owned her. But it was the miracle of this night. She was here absolutely, her hand in his.

“She’s taken my hand…”

Buffy started, and was a little alarmed at this. She had recognized William, but had not felt him. He certainly did not make an appearance. But from Gile’s voice she knew that what he said was true. Jenny. His Jenny. It was so easy to forget how all of them had loved and lost. She would never let her own life consume her to the point where she lost sight of this again.

And the truth in the trees turned inward, into trunk, into roots, into ground, into Earth, into

“Tara…”

Earth.

Of course, of course, of course…

So solid, so strong, the honest ground to walk upon. And how I fell down when you were yanked out from beneath.

“Tara baby…” Willow crooned.

Buffy stole a sideways glance at Willow to check her dear friend out. Willows eyes were alight with love and Buffy smiled at the glow on Willow’s face lit now by the growing bonfire. Xander had been busy. Of course.

Xander stopped tending the fire and stood abruptly when the singing turned from brown to orange.

“Jesse…Buffy! Willow!” He almost shrieked. “It’s Jesse!”

Jesse. The first casualty in their long war.

“God I loved that guy. I almost forgot. How could I forget?”

“This is what we needed. This is what we needed.” Buffy took Giles hand in hers in an act of affection so spontaneous, strange mysterious water filled his eyes and did the drop and slide.

They stood together and all their souls sang silently out in concert.

This is what it meant to be a Scoob to be aligned with the Scoobs.

And on it went. Joyous recognition now. Colors changing, morphing, jump cutting and someone would call out a name or if they’d had forgotten the name they would say: “It that guy, you know the dummy, you know-“

“Sid.”

“Yeah the dummy who killed the demon on talent night. Remember?”

Or.

“It’s my biology teacher, Dr. Gregory--Giles, he was no nice to me when I really needed it-“

“Yes, I remember…he was a good man…”

Beige.

“Philip…Philip Henry…hello old man…” Giles whispered almost to himself.

“It’s Chloe!” Vi shrieked. “You guy’s its Chloe! Chloe! Chloe”

Chloe is pink. Too tender for this world, but how we need this color in the spectrum how we need pink. Chloe.

Yellow.

“Mom. Mummy…”

Dawn and Buffy drew close together to listen to the harmonic joy that was, is Mom.

The yellow now ascending into something golden…white gold shining and…bright--

“Buffy.” Willow gasped. “Buffy it’s you…”

A stunned Buff shook her head…but I’m here and that can’t be me anyway, I don’t look like that…besides I’m here…”

“But you fell in battle…”

Twice, no one said.

Giles, Willow, Xander, Dawn buffeted around their Buffed out one as if to remind themselves though fallen, she was here, shining still, but in quite the solid three dimensional way.

Buffy looked into the mirror. No one should see themselves like this. Or. Everyone should.

Then we could all accept love when it came, we would love ourselves enough, know ourselves to be worthy, to be strong …enough, and not waste all that bloody time. Did she just think “bloody?”

Gold sun in a blue sky.

Buffy and Spike, Spike and Buffy and there is Grant a light green and Molly rose red and Amanda, purple, purple and KENDRA! Loud base and bump of burnt umber Kendra! Cassie, Cassie is ivory and Eve is here and not lying on the floor in that motel room she’s here and amber always and with a violet trim-and Lynn who loved light red and Annabelle sharp in chartreuse--that Monk, THAT Monk--ah his name was Aloysha, we never knew, he’s pumpkin orange and there’s dark plum Jonathan and all, and all held against the blue sky, sometimes clear, sometimes the blue rain that crashed to earth in a downpour, sometimes the light rain, that fell steadily, fell incrementally, insidiously, insinuating itself into a flood rising, rising, until the world was overwhelmed by…

“Spike.” Giles said it that ‘tone’ but touched now with amusement and…something else…

respect perhaps at the power and energy contained in water, at the gradual but complete transformation directed by a single focused will.

And through the rain a secret was played, there, do you hear the intro music for the big number and now jumbled and confused but so sincere in it’s effort that the rest of the world is crashed to a standstill when it speaks the truth.

They spoke almost all at once.

“Anya. Ahnyanka. Ahn. (short for honest) made-up-maiden-name-Jenkins.

Xander said nothing, but nodded. So proud, so proud of his girl. Her almost desperate need to understand. To feel love. To be loved. Standing at the end to defend one insignificant male-boy. Take back the night. Take it all back and stand upright without even thinking about it.

This is what it means to be a human being.

Her crescendo lit a roar, her desperate struggle to transmute the pain of being alive; this was the earths struggle itself in dealing with the human life that crawled upon it. That pain is the earth’s pain and pain as it does--pain leads to anger, to the boiling point that needs expression, NEEDS so badly to vent or the whole shebang will cave and crash. This is the violent shrug to obliterate the gentle hand that would calm a temper. Don’t wanna calm down!

NEED, NEED, NEED

To blow

The tops off volcanoes, earth quake rattle and roll, spike me, hit me harder don’t wanna let go of the blow, hurri-cane me, storm the sea, blue water crashing now tidal wave high, turbulent and uncontrollable.

Smashing vessels. Dangerous, frightening, murderous, murderous unthinking black to dark blue to black, to black, to black and blue--to be back in blue...

Revelation. Behind every act of destruction, behind every, smash and grab, every evil act, every serial killer, every joy taken in destruction is…pain. Pain is the catalyst evil uses when it preaches, converts. Just or unjust, not relevant, it is, quite simply true. Pain. This will be good to remember the Scoobies thought.

An illness in the body will cook it to a fever until you sweat it out, wait the virus out in a battle of wills. Will you, won’t you, nil you, nought you, not you, BUT I, but me, I, my choice, I choose, I CHOOSE!

Sweat out the virus, the pain--use the blue water to ease, to loose the toxins from mind, soul, spirit and body. And when the fever brakes and the storm stills: see the air is so clear? See the blue sky? Blue sky, blue sea and all the shades in-between.

And all this for me? You broke a sweat so I could see sweet.

Sailors set sail to a blue sea fall in love with water and sky and never look back

And this is why Buffy had been afraid to love him. She would be out to sea and never need for another thing, not family nor friends just, the rolling, mesmerizing, violent, serene, destructive, ambiguous, loving complete embrace-

“Who is that?” It was Willow asking. No one knew.

Oh god…no one knew him, not at all. And she, Buffy only got it now because he was in her heart. Dawn spoke low.

“It’s Spike isn’t it?” She loved him too. Buffy nods. And Dawn repeats it for everyone to hear. They gotta know they oughta know who this was.

And now it was the sun rising, golden, golden, effulgent shining, a path lit over the water easing, calming, persuading, inspiring the black and blue night to begin again. The sun roasted water and sky, changing the color of both by proximity alone, just by being close by--blue became gold and green and pink and yellow and purple, and, and, and…this is why Spike had been afraid to love her. He could smell the change happening, toasted, roasted by the sun but went ahead and did it anyway. He loved her anyway. He loves her still.

Illyana-alaya sang it so.

It felt…alive.

And then: “Oh my god, his eyes are blue.” Buffy laughed. Well, duh.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

They were gathered, huddled around the bonfire back behind the barn. Humans, Elfins and Clem. They sat quietly, spatters of subdued conversation here and there then quite suddenly someone would remember something about someone that would induce a chuckle or the hiccup of a sob-but it was all good. It was goodbye and hello again. It was good to remember, respect and release. And now the whole world knew about their friends. They had felt it. They had felt the news travel around the world and the Scoobies sat humble in their gratitude for service rendered and the gift of their history being conducted energetically throughout the globe and cosmos and even-hey, why not throw in, beyond all time and space in-between?

It was all of the good. Remember, respect and release. The new 3 R’s of Scooby philosophy.

Buffy looked and liked looking at the Elfin sitting at ease next to her friends. Somehow she had thought they would slip away after the singing but no. Now she realized that singing the souls of the Scoobs beloved was such an intimate act, that they had become one. One of ‘them’ now. In with the inner circle. The new Scooby gang forever and a day. As if to cement the deal, Greata’s blackberry brandy was being passed, chugged, sipped or dumped into cups of tea or coffee. There was Kahulia for coffee but some went the brandy way. There was also some kind of Elfin nectar. Incredibly sweet though, Buffy sipped at it and let out an

“Ahhhwooo…”

The Elfin giggled. They stood almost as high as average humans, but were very slim and impossibly demure. Even the male posturing was so precious.

Spike would have lost his mind.

Buffy was suddenly so overwhelmed by a wave of loving gratitude for her friends, her family, Illy and the others whose names she’d never remember unless they were repeated as needed.

Illy and her amazing gift. All the Elfin could sing souls. But Illy was able to touch and render the complex tapestry that is Spike and Spike synonymous with world, with life lessons. How did she do that? It had to have cost her. You need to be open to sing open. What a risk she took in opening herself to Spikes nature. (Any different than yours?)

Perhaps that is what fueled her respect and gratitude. Opening to something evil, and make no mistake, Spike was, and hoping, hoping there was enough, that that spark she guessed was there would be enough to balance the black. Buffy knew her own reason for opening to Spike. For letting him in. But why would Illy? It was such an amazing gift and service to offer…well, until this evening, to strangers. Why did she do it?

“So how did you know Spike?”

It was Dawn.

Speaking the secret thought aloud to break the peace. Everyone froze. No really. They really did. Wherever, whatever was going on seized up tight. Something terrible could happen now. Poor Dawn--would she be remembered as the one who sucked it up and asked it out loud what they all wanted to know or, OR be the one who delivered the death blow to a miraculous night.

Buffy spoke cautiously into the void. “Dawn…”

“How funny...” Illy said. “It is almost…’dawn’.”

And she pointed to the skyline. Indeed the velvet blue black of night sky was muted now. Illy continued, “And I always bow to synchronicity. In honor of the dawn I shall answer Dawn. There was gentle relieved laughter. And now they all settled down, drew in closer to hear her low voice, the gathering quiet before a story.

“This is a story that must be told in the dark and so I’ll tell it quickly. And it is a story that must be told truthfully to feel it properly. I’ll tell what I remember, what I thought and what I guessed and be done before the sun.”

Giles leaned forward, head down, in full listening mode. Buffy stared into the fire. And she knew that any which way around this was going to hurt. And as if to confirm this, Illy began.

“The Vampire--not yours, not now…’It’…The Other. The Other one. ‘It’ wanted to discover how it was the Elfin glowed. Where did that pretty light come from? And so.”

Beat.

“’It.’ The Other. ‘It’ was torturing three of my children slowly, so slowly to death. The process was slow, to see, to find out. ‘It’ was fascinated, determined to find out where the light came from. And so it went from one to another of my children, peeling them, their skin, to see? Is it there? ‘It’ would ask. Hee hee, ho no, how about here? ‘It’ would laugh. ‘You are so shiny little thing, maybe it comes from here. If I cut you, burn you, will your mother feel it too?’ ‘It’ would look at me and say: ‘she is feeling something…but is it emotional pain or true empathic pain…hmmm? Let’s find out for sure. There has to be no doubt. NO DOUBT! Let’s find out for sure…try again, try again.’ ”

“This went on and on…Hendsrick, Amalya, Mani; my small children made smaller still through loss of flesh and blood and bone. ‘It’ would tie off a finger to prevent bleeding too quickly and-chop. ‘It’ would put ‘It’s head down and drink the blood trickling as if from a fountain. And laugh with…”

Beat.

“And we…me and my three other little ones, my Tomi, Buckne, Clarsii, all across, all forced to watch and wait…our turn.”

Illy stopped. Kept breathing, stayed in the zone, the monotone of recall.

“It was evil beyond recall. Nothing, no sliver of humanity remained in ‘It’. I could not see any part of value in the human it once was. What kind of human being could be so black as to cast no glimmer?”

Illy sang out as she did that night 128 years ago from the top floor of and old dried up estate in Germany, in the Black Forest. In supplication she had sung in Elfin:

“Oh creator! Oh creator! How I love thee! I sang in my heart see us here! If it is indeed our time to be released and walk the world no more I bow, I bow, but not polluted, not at the hands of such a thing as It. The Other. I claim this from divine source of love within my being and from the center of my free will choice.”

Three Elfin rose from where they sat around the fire to stand behind Illy.

“My song pierced the darkness of ‘It’. The Other and it howled in rage and came at me-“

“A bottle flew through the air--I remember it so clearly…”

The Elfin male standing to Illy’s extreme right spoke. “This is Buckne speaking and I was there and I saw it spin over and over, liquid spill from the open end as it spun-strange what one remembers…”

Tomi picked up the story. “The bottle smashed ‘It’ on the back of the head with such force ‘It’ was knocked it to the ground to lay in front of us and we saw him…”

“The William one was standing almost falling down laughing in the doorway.”

“I christen thee ASSHOLE!” Clarsii added. “That is what he said.”

Illy was in control of herself again, enough now to continue the story.

“I could see by his field, his energy field--that he was a very young childe. Very young. Too young to assault such a thing as ‘It’. I could see he had cuts and bruises and had been in a fight or fought upon. Are these the signs of a warrior or someone just too stupid to live long? Is this what my song had called forward?”

Tomi spoke quietly almost inaudible. “I saw him watching us…cocking his head to listen, he was listening from down the hallway--before the bottle flew.”

Illy continued speaking what she had thought that night.

“So maybe it was planned, or planned so fast it was impulsive, that’s alright, impulsive could work in our favor. We all watch to see what happens next.”

“‘It’. The Other jumped to it’s feet and him, William supplicated ‘It’ with laughter…”

“Oops…Musta slipped…nah, it didn’t slip-just a love tap. I’m bored.” Clarsii in the zone of recall speaks William’s words.

“He strolled swollen faced into the room like he hadn’t a care and looked at us in almost amusement.” Illy said and Clarsii continued:

“Fightin’ the good fight again, eh?”

Illy took up the words ‘It’ spoke.

“Artisrty, William, always artistry, something you could never begin to appreciate-“

“Oh I’m an artist alright. Who can make who scream louder? You with these little things you poke at with a knife-or me poking our Dark Goddess until she screams …my name…”

“‘It’ turned away from us and seized him by the throat and threw him across the room hitting the wall with a crack. He got up laughing. The laughter was directed toward ‘It,’ but his eyes looked straight into mine and with such evenness I understood his intention, I heard him think to me: ‘Run’. I heard him say to ‘It’ this:”

“I know you can ‘bang’ me better than that.”

I saw ‘It’s’ eyes light up and ‘It’s’ lips smile. ‘It’ liked the way he bounced back. And I understood how he had stayed alive as a young childe in ‘It’s’ company.

It wasn’t stupidity.

I remember thinking, if I get out of here; he’s going to be one to watch.

But before ‘It’ could get it’s hands on him. A female ‘It’ came into the room--dark and tall and ‘It’ grabbed her in an arm lock and dragging her out of the room ‘It’ said:

“As much as I enjoy hearing you scream in pain William, I think I’ll enjoy your pain at hearing her scream…more.”

‘It’ left and He just stood there looking at us for a while as if he could kill us. When her screaming started he stopped standing and then moved very fast. He undid bindings around my hands-“

“He shook each one of us as if to wake us up and opened the shutters that hung on the window. It was almost sunrise.

“NOW or never.”

I stood staring at him.

“You can make this jump easy. I’ll toss those ‘uns down to you.”

“He pointed at us.” Tomi said in his small voice.

I went to the window to look down, yes I could make it, an adult Elfin could make that jump, my children, no. I would have to go first. I would have to catch them. I went to Hendsrick to unbind him from the chair he was tortured in. He said-

“No not them. Even with daylight coming, you won’t get half a mile away from Angelus. ‘Sides I’m burning the place down to cover your tracks, you can’t be bleeding, soddin’ blood all over the place. Back track through the woods the way he brought you here and he’ll never be the wiser. But not them, you can’t bring them. Bring the mostly dead ones with you and you’ll all be dead, me too, an’ and I fancy a long undead life.”

“I stood firm, resolute, ‘I will not leave without all my children’ I say to him, looking into him, into the eye for that part of him I could get to bend my way, to my will. William’s face relaxed completely and I had him, I thought I did-but then a blur, I only saw a blur move to Hendsrick, snap his neck, Amalya, snap her neck, Mani, snap his neck. Just like that. He walked to the side of the window, taking a care to watch for the sunrise.”

Clarsii spoke Spike speak:

“If you want to live it has to be now. I need time to set the fire and get Dru out. The others in the barn, you’ll have to get them out yourself. But it has to be now, right now. Or I tie you back up and tell the Poof I got tired of hearing those three, those dead ‘uns whine.

Tis’ in your hands, but you’ll not take me down with you-“

Drucilla screamed.

“NOW, BLOODY, NOW!”

I moved. I called,

“Clarsii” Clarsii said.

“Buckne.” Buckne said.

“Tomi.” Tomi said.

I went out the window without looking back, couldn’t look back and had to believe he would do what he said and throw my children out to me. (What if he didn’t what if I’m alive, but alone without them-then only madness, only madness...)

But he did. Each one.

“Cold hands, I remember he had cold hands, cold hands like winter right around…here…” Tomi pointed to his chest.

“I stood on the ground and looked him in the eye and choking on my anger, my grief, my pain--I stood looking upon the one who killed, who saved, my children. I saw He would be one to watch, he could be somebody. I took a risk and I called out the bond in the olde way: “Tell me your name.”

“William well…er…Spike…”

“William the Spike I, Illyana-alaya owe a boon to you and yours. By my blood I offer this with the creator as my witness, I commit this.”

He looked for a moment from the open window at me, standing on the ground. His expression was completely unreadable. His actions--incomprehensible. He killed three of my children, he saved three of my children. He killed them to save us, and saved us for…what? For spite? For fun? For game? For love? For song? For creator? For the last of creations, for we few survivors? I will never know and I was there.”

“I know why.” Clarsii’s voice rang with something new, something true she had discovered in the telling, in playing Williams part in the play. Everyone waited to hear.

“He did it because you were beautiful.”

Yes.

Everyone thought at the same time.

The sun came up and Illy stopped speaking, she nodded her head and they all sat together watching the earths star. And if you had never seen it before, if you had never seen it change--who would have guessed that from the humble beginnings of its first light, the sun could rise so high and hot and claim the day for the life of plants and animals, for the death of plants and animals, for fun and for farts.

*

Greata has insisted on making breakfast for everyone. She wouldn’t take ‘no’ just wouldn’t take ‘no’ which was good because no one wanted to give it. Everyone must stay for breakfast (and what do Elfin eat--does anybody know?--and-lets-go-vegetarian-just-in-case.) Everyone must stay. And so three picnic tables were put end to end and two more tables besides were dragged from the barn. Xander and Buckne were seeing to the manhandling of outdoor furniture. Bonding and already engaged in a friendly male one-up-man-ship.

Greata took charge of the kitchen, of course and soon it was potatoes hashed and American fries, eggs scrambled (real, real vegans? Or is eggs ok?-that’s all right they aren’t fertilized eggs-oh so it’s o.k.-yeah). Grapes, this was California after all, chunks of cheese, melons--apple and blackberry pie.

Feeding a large crew already living in-house meant plenty of food, prepared or prepped and available and took relatively little effort to assemble. And what could be called effort could be called joy. Females inside chattering and bustling the males scattering to find chairs enough or sit down things so all could be seated within close proximity of each other. Of course these jobs weren’t gender specific, but they were at Greata’s place so they bowed to the custom of her generation. Not that she probably even noticed.

Buffy was designated coffee pourer--but not coffee maker. Dawn had been very clear about that. Buffy was not to be let near the making of the brew.

“You all just so wouldn’t be happy, no not all.”

Dawn was joking of course but Buffy noticed something tight in her voice, but Dawn wouldn’t give her eye contact, so it would have to wait for later.

Now it was all about the brew, the bright brown elixir that was coffee. She was the pourer--but richer (hee hee) for being able to look at everyone and greet and re-meet and thank all if not in actual words, than with cups of hot coffee. (Unless you like it cold? Would you like an iced coffee? Cuz I can do that?)

Coffee was poured and the food was beginning to hit the tables when a dark green Monte Carlo pulled up the drive and parked in front of the garage next the morning gathering. Faith burst from the driver’s side.

“’B’! ‘B’! I drove slamming it all the way, I had the most fuckin’ amazing slayer dream-“

Her voice cut off as she surveyed those assembled for the breakfast party, eyebrows popping.

“Uh, maybe it wasn’t just a dream….”

Buffy put the coffee pot down. “You dreamed us? You were here? Faith…” Buffy grabbed her in slayer bear hug. “I’m so glad you were here for that…”

Faith choked out. “What did the tooth fairy put unnnnder your pillow B? And can I have some-uhhhh gonna need those ribs”---

But Buffy wouldn’t let go. She opened her heart and let Faith feel it. On a sigh, Faith relaxed and hugged her back. Buffy spoke low. Repeating what she had said. “I’m so glad you were here. I’m so glad you are here.”

She felt Faith nod and let her go. Faith said nothing but looked down and coughed a little to clear the lump in her throat. Time for a diversion.

“Hey look who I picked up hanging around the outside of a hospital.”

Robin Wood got slowly out of the passenger side of the car, healed and still healing. Buffy inclined her head toward him.

“Robin.”

“Buffy.”

“You’re looking spry.”

“More like ‘sprung’-was going nuts in there-“

Greata hollered. “Over here, over here, haul your conversation and your asses over here. This is where the real booty is. Come on, breakfast is served and it’s every man for himself.”

Introductions were made all ‘round. Faith and Robin were made to feel welcome and at ease in the midst of the already obvious familiarity of this odd group.

They ate for hours, setting the relaxed pace of a long brunch. They were lingering at the table over the donut, pie and of course coffee again cycle. Giles was in heaven a droolin’ and a gog at the mass quantity of info gathering he’d been all a bustle about. He was assuming the role of patron, and Buffy felt, well, kinda proud of Dad. He made every one feel so at ease, hooking one party up to another when conversation lagged. He stopped, up left of Buffy where she was sitting at a table next to Illy.

Buffy squinted up at him and spoke low so only he could hear. “Check out Willow…”

Willow was seated across from Buffy and Illy and staring transfixed, listening avidly to all Illy said.

Giles brows raised slightly. “You don’t think…”

Buffy cut him off “Oh no not that…starstruck. Our Willow is totally starstruck.”

Giles smiled in agreement. They both turned their attention to Willow when she said.

“So, can…um, can you, that is, can anyone…um learn how to do what you do? What you did last night. Can just anybody learn how to soul sing? Can people who can’t even sing that is…really at all, or that is, well--can someone like that learn?”

“Anyone willing can learn.” Illy regarded Willow with a keen eye. “You are Willow, yes?”

Willow nodded the affirmative. She was definitely Willow.

“Willow is a good name, as a solid tree you have the innate ability to bend with the forces that would see to break you. Willow. Your name also has willing, a willingness to it. And anyone willing can learn anything.”

Illy’s answer seemed to satisfy her, for the moment. In the next moment the phone rang. Buffy almost rose to get it, but was stopped when Vi called out.

“It’s o.k. I put the machine on.”

She listened with half an ear for any message being left that might be important while laughing at Clarsii instructing Xander how to put a bun in Willow’s hair.

“It’s just I’ve never seen you with your hair up Wil-“

The answering machine discharged a long beep, clicked and then the voice was there, low in volume but clear enough. Clear enough.

“Buffy…it’s me…“

Oh shit, shit, shit, just don’t say your name.

“It’s Angel…”

“Lorne picked up something big, that something big was happening in your neck of the woods. Not necessarily bad, but…well, just thought I’d call and give you a head’s up. And if you need anything, anything at all, just call, you know what? Call anyway. Let me know you’re o.k. one way or the other, matter of fact if I don’t hear from you…ah this is about 10:15 if I don’t hear from you by say 2:00 I’m coming out. Can always catch me at my cell. Talk soon.”

Click. Disconnect. Mercifully it finally ended. Buffy looked around the table. The conversation was still lively around the table. The machine had been so low, maybe no one had heard-she could quick, duck inside call him back say all was ok-

--“We have to go…”

Illy’s hand covered Buffy’s as it lay on the table.

“I can call him back quick, he won’t come out-“

“We have to go.” Illy spoke louder now so that Buchne and Clarsii heard her. Immediately they moved gently among the other Elfin spreading the word. Within 20 seconds they had left their places and conversations and stood loose on their feet ready to leave. Illyana-alaya had spoken. Very impressive. But of course it was all survival skills, heightened, because of the voice on the answering machine.

Buffy stood along with Illya and spoke quietly to her.

“You don’t have to go you know, he would never-“

“It doesn’t matter what he would do.” Illy spoke a little sharply, and then softened as Buffy winced. “Forgive me, let me speak again, it doesn’t matter what he would do or not do, if he finds out we are here, that we are alive-It. The Other would know too. You think of them being as two separate beings, we know them to be one. Has not William shown this to you?”

Buffy took her hands like a greedy child.

“Will I ever see you again?”

Illy looked surprised and slightly puzzled. “You are my sister now; if you call me from your heart I will hear you. The same is true from me to you. We must leave now. If ‘It’ has a Seer we cannot afford to stay in one place too long. Please Buffy, I love you, let us go, and don’t make me regret taking this risk. Please, tell everyone to say nothing of us, we will be able to... what’s the phrase: ‘go public,’ soon, but not yet.”

“I’ll get a blood oath from everyone.”

Buffy hugged her and kissed her cheek which really seemed so presumptuous-sorta like calling god by his first name. But she did it anyway. Illy turned to leave-.

--“Take me with you.”

“Wil!”

“Willow!”

“No! Wil” and various other sounds of shock and distress.

“Please I wanna come with you. Please take me.”

“Willow, do you know what you’re asking?” This was Giles, concern and hurt and already feeling the pain of yet another possible loss.

“Please Giles, they’re in a hurry, can’t talk or explain, it just feels so right. There’s no body else to teach me, there is no one else to help me--like in that movie ‘crunching tiger, hidden drag.’--If I can learn anything, about what to do with myself, how to be, this is how I can do that. What I did with the slayers, that was the beginning but I need control-“

“You are unstable.” Illy spoke kindly.

“I’m learning how to be grounded, see? Feet seeded like a sequoia.”

Illy looked. Indeed they were.

“You are emotionally erratic.”

“Was Spike any different?”

Zing. There might be something to this girl. Illy nodded to the Elfin. The Elfin sang a single note that felt for all the world like: ‘goodbye.’ They waved, the Scoobs waved back and the Elfin walked enmasse down to the vehicles still parked on the lawn by the road.

“Please take me with you, I’m good with computers and stuff, and…and…I don’t eat much-“

“Can you leave now? Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Willow, we need you.” Buffy was almost crying--not again, not again, not Willow gone, not gone…

Willow hesitated; the old pull of obligation was so strong.

“Buffy. I need this.”

“If you can leave now, right now, then run on down and join Tomi, maybe you can help him with his hard drive problem, this techno magic,” Illy sighed, “How one needs to keep up.”

As she spoke, Willow embraced Xander, Giles, Dawn and Buffy.

“Will you come back?” Buffy whispered into her neck.

Willow stepped back feeling the need to run before Illy changed her mind.

“Who can say?” She answered, smiling, crying and laughing too, she turned and ran past Illy down to the van where Tomi hugged her and helped her inside. Giles spoke.

“You are taking a risk with her, but you know that…”

“As Willow pointed out, it will not be my first, nor, I wager.” She winked at Giles. “My last…”

She nodded to them all, but addressed Buffy.

“You will have to decide completely and forever. You can not ride two horses at once and those two will never run in tandem. When in doubt,” Illy gestured subtly toward Buffy’s womb so only Buffy took her meaning. “Let the majority rule, we are, after all, in America. The pull of destiny is so strong but free will choice is your divine right.” She laughed.

“Until we meet again.”

A horn honked from the Chevy Blazer.

“Oh Clarsii will never let me hear the end of this. Had to honk to get the ole lady going yadda, yadda, I’m going to hear about this for days.”

Illy began moving her arms in and energy sweep, clearing the air and ground of any Elfin energy patterns or Willow traces that could be tracked, as she did this. Her son and honor guard, Buckne stayed behind and spoke to Buffy.

“When I saw him throw that bottle, that way…back then, I knew who I wanted to be.”

Without another word Buckne picked up a butter knife and looking for a target, spotted the pole for the outdoor overhead lamp about 200 feet away in a clearing. He tested the heft of the small blade and then let it fly. Over and over it rolled coming to a slamming stop buried up to the hilt dead center in said pole. Pole-axed.

“Ah Buck, stop showing off, Good bye all-“ Illy continued her energetic cleaning and clearing, Buck tossed a grin to Buffy that looked to be strangely like a Spike smirk and took off in a swaggering run to catch up to his Mother.

They walked to the front of the house and stood watching the vehicles as they pulled onto the road, braced for a moment, everyone held their breath and then the caravan rolled away.

Willow was hanging out from an open window. Strangely not waving, just watching and maybe weeping. It was difficult to tell from so far away.

Morning sounds, little birds in the trees doing their best to galvanize the day. As one they all thought this:

Dear god, how life can change so very quickly. But it is good to know. It is good to know that separation isn’t always caused by death. That sometimes it can be of the good. This is a good thing, isn’t it? Watching the beloved go off to school, our loss is her gain. It’s natural.

“Oh shit, I gotta call Angel. Hey Giles! Illy winked at you! You got a winky. What do you all think? You think Illy likes Giles? ”

Her friends took up the patter and teasing as they began clearing the table. Buffy went into the house so pleased with herself for setting the mid morning entertainment in motion.

The phone.

*

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