Title: Taken (The Evil Within - Chapter 15) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: The Evil finally finds the child. Will anyone be able to help her? Spike brings Buffy home and tries to fashion a way to bring her back to them. Buffy, meanwhile, is in the space between where she is reunited with her mother and also someone else...

Taken

Sometimes, that which is against our very nature is the simplest course of action. Maybe it is because these acts are done without malice of forethought, but rather in the haste of blinding confusion or complete loss of control. It should have been hard, Anya thought, as she looked upon an act that seemed to have happened in the past but that she was, in fact, performing as she looked back upon it. It should have been horrific, even torturous, to hold that innocent in one arm and reach for the dagger with the other. To let the baby nuzzle her hair and softly kiss her cheek as she bent down to another, older child. It should have, it would have, pained her to take Dawn's frozen arm and turn it slowly, letting the dagger pierce the girl. To watch her blood hit the floor. It should have hurt. She should have fought.

But it didn't. *She* didn't.

As the portal opened in front of Anya, and as she stepped through, clutching the child to her chest, the vision of the teenager lying wounded on the floor simply disappeared. Yet one more casualty of fate.

*****

"Mom?" Buffy repeated, half stumbling, half running, towards the tree line. A serene smile broke on the older woman's face as her arms stretched out in front of her. Buffy ran faster, harder, not wanting to lose sight of her. Wanting desperately for this to be real.

"Mom?"

"Buffy," Joyce answered, pulling the girl into her arms, engulfing her tiny frame. Buffy buried her face in her mother's blouse, inhaling the scent of Chanel and vanilla shampoo. Her arms wrapped around her mom, feeling her warmth. She was solid. Real.

It seemed as if she stayed wrapped in her for hours, wanting to stay there an eternity longer. But Buffy knew. She knew there were questions. There might even be answers. And there was a man she had made a promise to and her own daughter who needed to be held.

Buffy lifted her teary face and looked up at Joyce. Her mother smiled, stroking back Buffy's hair. "Mom... am I dead?"

"Nope," her mother answered quietly.

"Then how?"

"They brought us here," Joyce continued. "To the place between."

"Us?" Buffy asked, crinkling her nose, but still clinging to her mother. "The place between?"

"It's not quite life, not quite death. Kind of like the place between awake and asleep. It's a spot where the living still exist and the dead can live again."

Buffy thought for a moment. "So, I'm still alive and you...."

"Yes," Joyce interrupted. "But don't be sad, Buffy. It's nice where I am. You know that."

"Yeah," Buffy answered, blinking back tears. "Kind of like home without all the fighting and massive laundry."

Joyce chuckled, leading Buffy to a chair. It didn't seem odd at all that there was a well-appointed sitting room complete with tea set tucked in among the trees. "You've done a wonderful job with Dawn," Joyce continued. "She's coming up so nicely." She poured a cup of tea and handed it to Buffy. "Decaf, better for..."

"It wasn't me," Buffy confessed. "When you ... left... I fell apart. And then, well I died..."

"Buffy, you don't have to..."

"Spike, he took care of her. Made her do her homework and clean up and... I tried but ..."

"Spike just started you out, Buffy. He showed you what you already knew," Joyce answered. "He's been good for you."

Buffy was silent, toying with the handle of her tea cup. "You know that... that Spike and I..."

"That you live together? That you have a little girl?" Joyce queried. "I can see you everyday, Buffy. I know that Emma is beautiful and perfect and most of all, happy. I know that she has *two* good parents. I also know how she came to be."

"Well, you explained that when I was about fifteen," Buffy quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

"I know that there wasn't any, commitment, when you became pregnant. That it wasn't a ... relationship."

Buffy looked at her knees. Even in the ever after, embarrassing conversations with mom weren't any easier. "No," she finally said. "At least not from my side."

"Yes, I think that he had made up his mind when he met you. But that's all in the past. Things have certainly changed now, haven't they?" Joyce said, smiling that motherly I-Knew-All-Along smile.

Buffy grinned, watching her mother revel in her win. "You always liked him. Never understood that then. But to answer your question, I don't think that it gets more commit-y than the whole One thing."

"And you seem happy, Buffy. I haven't seen you this happy since you were a little girl," Joyce added, leaning back in her chair and curling her legs under her. She stirred sugar into her cup and watched her daughter blush, savouring her every movement. Her every expression.

"It's good to have someone who..." Buffy stopped short, not wanting to say it the wrong way. Not wanting to hurt the one person she had loved all her life.

"It's okay, Buffy," Joyce said, smiling reassuringly. "Who understands you."

"Mom, I couldn't... I didn't expect you to," Buffy answered, fidgeting with her teacup. Joyce leaned forward, setting her cup on the table and settling her hand on Buffy's knee.

"I wasn't meant to, Buffy. If you've learned anything since I've been gone, it's that we all have our place, both in life and in eternity. Mine was to set you on your path. To bring you into this world just like you brought Emma, and to watch over you until you were old enough for destiny to take you. I didn't understand that then, but you learn a lot when you're on the outside looking in," Joyce explained, her voice soft and patient.

"You make it sound so... unimportant," Buffy commented, studying her mother's face.

"Cosmically speaking, it is," she answered, "But to me, it was everything. I can live with that." Joyce leaned back, again smiling at Buffy in the way she always had. That warm, comforting, mom-smile that made everything alright.

"It's really not that different for me now," Buffy said almost shyly. " I mean, Emma, she's..."

"Peace," Joyce interjected.

"It's bigger than me. Than Spike. We're just there to watch her until it's her turn and then.."

"It doesn't work that way for everyone, Buffy. Not for you. Or Spike. Or Emma," Joyce replied, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

"What do you mean?"

"Some people's jobs are not that simple."

*****

The house was dark and silent. Not that Spike was really paying much attention. All he could do was stare into her pretty eyes and listen to the sound of her shallow breath. Feel the emptiness in his arms, his mind, his spirit. Sense his heart breaking. Despair had turned to madness had turned to hopelessness had turned to numbness. All in the course of two miles. Even in his silent, horrified, stupor, he clutched her shell against him, vowing to her over and over that he wouldn't leave.

The door was unlocked. Spike kicked it open with the toe of his boot. He didn't notice that the lights were all extinguished or that the house was devoid of chatter or barking or any noise at all. To be honest, that apocalypse could have dropped in a fiery rain from the heavens and Spike could have done nothing more than to walk, holding her against him, until they were consumed by fate.

He took the stairs slowly, not because of awkwardness or fatigue, but rather because of fear. Some tiny ray of hope kept creeping in, forcing some inane human part of his poet's mind to believe that laying her in her bed, in their bed, and giving her over to her child would save her as it had saved him. 'All wounds suffered in my name,' he heard the Peacemaker's rich, smooth voice echo in his mind. If that failed, he would kiss her and she would flicker to life like a fairy tale princess.

Only this wasn't a fairy tale. And he was a Vampire, not Prince Sodding Charming.

Spike arrived at the landing, rounding the corner to their room. He stopped, closing his eyes, inhaling, as if it took all of his strength to move on. But he stepped over the threshold and carried her to bed.

*****

"What do you mean, it's not that simple?" Buffy asked, her brow furrowed at the though of a forever lack of easy.

"We all have roles to play," Joyce answered tentatively, "and when our role is completed, we are set free. Sometimes it's a very small part. Sometimes a recurring one. And sometimes, the role is the point of the story."

"You lost me," Buffy commented, sipping her tea.

"OK," Joyce said, readjusting in her seat and taking a long, slow breath. "Take a movie for example. Pick one, preferably one with sequels."

"Um, don't get to go to the movies much. I work nights..."

"Buffy," Joyce admonished.

"Alright, already. How about....'Die Hard'? Xander and Spike both like that movie, even if they still won't sit in the same room to watch it half the time."

"OK," her mother said, smiling an amused little grin. "Think of the writers like... The Powers. They make everything happen. Write the rules. Set the stage."

"Alright," Buffy said, nodding. "I get that."

"Some people are only in the movie for a short time. Like the cab driver or the baggage claim man. They play their part, then never come back."

"So, you're saying that's like you?" Buffy asked, her nose crinkling unhappily at the idea.

"For these purposes, yes," Joyce answered. "Then some people have a bigger role in one movie and might even show up in the next."

"Like the twinkie cop guy," Buffy gushed, catching on.

"Right. Look at them like your friends. Willow, Xander..."

"Okay," Buffy giggled. "Xander does have a thing about twinkies."

"Getting off topic," Joyce warned, stifling her own giggle. "But some people are the main characters. The ones without which the story can't exist. The world would cease to be without them."

Buffy thought a moment. "So, you're saying that Spike and I, and Emma, are main characters in a movie?"

"A big, endless, cosmic movie," Joyce answered. "And it's not just the three of you. There are more. The parts are occasionally re cast, but the characters *must* exist or there *is* no world."

"So, it's never over?" Buffy asked, tensing both inside and out.

"Not unless you lose, or the Powers decide that the movie is over."

"Not much incentive to win," Buffy quipped in reply.

"Except for saving the world as you know it for your children and your children's' children..."

"And for puppies and Christmas," Buffy pointed out.

"That too," her mother agreed. "Look at it this way. At least you'll never be alone."

Buffy was silent, trying to take it all in. To make sense of something so much bigger and so much more powerful than any of them. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. A door which hadn't been there when they sat down. A house that had appeared around them as they had been talking. Buffy jumped nervously, scanning her surroundings. Joyce chuckled, patting Buffy's shoulder as she crossed the room gracefully, heading for the door.

"So sorry to disturb you, Ms. Summers," a smooth, male voice said quietly from outside the door. Buffy could not see him from her position in the room. She craned her head over the back of her chair, but could not get a good angle. "They sent me here," the voice continued.

"You're not disturbing us at all," Joyce said warmly. "I've been expecting you." She moved to the side, clearing the entrance and a figure walked into the room. Handsome and perfect and oddly familiar, even if his hair was a little out of date.

Buffy blinked, the realization hitting her like a tidal wave.

"Buffy," Joyce said, taking the young man's arm and walking towards her daughter. "I'd like you to meet William."

To be contd.

Title: Anew (The Evil Within - Chapter 16) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Anya is taken by the Evil and abducts Emma. But will she have a change of heart? Spike brings Buffy home. Buffy discovers new information that changes the course of her destiny, but will she be able to return to her life? Will she want to?

Anew

Anya walked steadily towards the dim glow ahead of her. It wasn't like any portal through which she'd passed before. No long drops, not fiery descents, no poof and you're there. Just a long, slow, stroll into the heart of darkness, following only a pinprick of light.

Emma had fussed at first, but soon succumbed to the mind numbing automation ith which Anya moved. The stillness of her thoughts, as the woman walked, was unnerving to the child, but numbed her all the same. The baby settled, arms across Anya's collarbones, tiny thumb tucked between little pink lips, chin pressing into the flesh of Anya's shoulder, looking back. Wanting to go home. Knowing in even her toddler mind, that she couldn't. She wouldn't be going back.

For in this dimension, and indeed they had never left, she was still just a child. Defenseless and Harmless, being carried to her fate like a lamb to slaughter.

*****

Spike lay Buffy down on the bed so gently that the tired springs barely creaked against her feathery weight. Buffy's clothes were tattered, skin torn. Lying there so small, she almost seemed like a child herself. She was, really, Spike thought. It was only her spirit that made her a woman. That made her strong.

His first thought upon freeing his arms was to run and get Emma. To bring her in and lay her down with Buffy until the elder girl flickered to life. He spun on the thick heel of his boot, turning towards the door, then glanced back over his shoulder at her. A wave of guilt crashed over him for even setting her down. Spike paused, his mind racing like a frightened rabbit. Get Emma. Don't leave Buffy. Bring Buffy back. Can't hurt Emma. Don't want Emma to see her mum like this. Get scared, the tot. No one should see the one they love so...

Torn.

Spike listened to the house. It was silent save for slow, even breaths. Asleep. The lot of them. He spun again on the same boot heel, regarding Buffy's tattered frame and tears rushed back into his eyes. "I did this," he whispered, feeling the madness creeping back. "I did this."

Slowly, he walked back to the bed, sitting down next to her legs, letting his hand skim over the outside of her thigh. It was real. She was real. The horror was everything but an illusion. And he just let it happen.

Spike leaned forward, unbuttoning what was left of her blouse, wincing at the livid bruises on her pale skin. Purple and black and angry and yelling up at him. Screaming up from her flesh. 'You did this.'

His fingers fumbled against the buttons, his hands shaking. Every inch of skin was a different colour. Carefully, he pulled her up, pushing the heavy duster and the torn shirt from her wounded shoulders. Unclasping her bra in a move that usually made him quiver with anticipation, but now only made him want to sob. To grieve. To go with her. Anywhere so he could feel her warm and alive in his arms again.

Bruises, claw marks, knife wounds, barbs. From the ribs up, she was hardly recognizable. The world had used her for a voodoo doll, he thought. And he just left her there to be used.

Spike managed to finish undressing her, choking back sobs and the urge to be sick at the thought of all that had happened in less than an hour's time. He stood, trying to breathe, taking in her marred, perfect, form. "C'mon, Love," he whispered, brushing her hair from her cheeks. "Let's get you cleaned up so you can visit with the Mite, alright?" With a gentle sigh, he lifted her, carrying her to the bathroom, holding her while he ran her bath, hoping that maybe the chill breeze against the cold walls, or the sound of the water might rouse her. But she lay motionless, her blank stare trained on him.

Even as Spike lowered her into the water, holding her steady with one trembling hand, she just sat there like a doll. Carefully, meticulously, he cleaned every wound. Watching the water turn red, his hands tinting pink with her blood. He tried to look at her face, but every time he met her eyes, an almost retching sob caught in his throat. So he talked. It was more a comfort to him than to her, but it was better than the sound of the water rippling as his hands moved, or the sounds of bubbles bursting as he washed her hair.

"Love, you're gonna hafta do better than this to get rid of us, you know," he began, fighting the urge to break apart. His accent thickened as he spoke. "Not letting some stupid sodding demon make off with you.. You're tougher than that, Love. Said it yourself, you did. Always tell me how bloody tough you are. Going to kick you back across the pond, Spike," he mimicked his voice raising. "Mop the floor with you, you evil, soulless thing." His voice settled back to his low, soft tone. He chuckled senselessly. "And you did. Several times over. So, why's this one any different, Pet? You're a stubborn 'lil bint," he snapped, while tenderly washing her face, carefully keeping the soap from slipping into her unblinking eyes. "Always has to be your bloody way. Your time. So, don't tell *me* that this is the way you wan' it all to end. All roughed up by a hulking great lummox. You gonna let that soddin' bastard beat you? That it, Pet? Well, you got another thing coming," Spike announced, lifting her freshly washed and scented body from the water like a baby from a baptismal fountain.

Clean. Born anew.

Spike sat down on the counter, holding her in his lap. He wrapped a towel around her. Gently he rubbed her hair dry with a second. His strong words in stark contrast with his heartbreakingly tender movements. "Not gonna happen. You wanted your bloody normal life and you got it. You wanted your domesticated house pet, and you got that too. And I even got you a sodding pooch to boot. You had to have this *regular* life even though you're the Slayer. Not a regular girl, you. I'm a Vampire. Not the way is s'possed to work, Love. But you got your way. Bossy chit. Now you want to leave it behind? Wanna leave me? Your little girl....?"

The sound of Emma's name slipping over his lips broke his stride and the diatribe stopped. His tone was soft now. Gentle. "You aren't leaving her, Pet. You can do what you want to me, but you aren't leaving her. Alright, Love?" He leaned down, kissing the tip of her nose, feeling the tears start fresh in his eyes.

Spike wanted to be angry. Furious. Slip into a demon rage that would carry him through without... feeling. But all he could muster was a crippling grief. And guilt. He wrapped her in a fluffy, blue robe that smelled like vanilla and night jasmine. It smelled like her. It was impossible for him to move for a long while. He buried his face in her damp hair and let the tears fall like rain.

*****

They stood in front of Buffy, her arm hooked through his in a gesture of polite nonchalance. Joyce was smiling. She smiles... smiled... a lot, Buffy thought. Always with the random thoughts when stressed. William stared at her, cocking his head in a subtle gesture of recognition. Buffy blinked, remembering the move. The tilt of the head. She blinked again.

"Buffy, where are your manners?" Joyce reprimanded cheerfully. She walked to her daughter and clapped her hand over Buffy's shoulder. Buffy stood, staring wide-eyed at the figure in front of her. His mouth broke into a soft grin as their eyes met.

"H... hello," Buffy said, almost shyly. "I... I'm Buffy." She held out her hand. He took it softly, bowing slightly and taking her palm to his, lifting her hand to his soft lips and kissing her as gently as if a butterfly had alighted on her skin.

"Enchanted," he answered, lowering her arm delicately. She clasped her hands nervously over her belly and stared up at him. He looked so much... he was him... really. Except William's hair was chestnut and his skin was tan, muting his eyes to a softer hue. And there were no scars. None at all.

A gentle nudge from her mother brought Buffy to her senses. "Not polite to stare," Joyce whispered in her ear. William smiled as Buffy blushed a deep shade of red.

"It... it's just," Buffy stuttered. "You're... you're him."

"Not exactly," William answered, his tone quiet, his accent closer to Giles or Wesley than to Spike. He barely noticed his own stares. Spellbound by her delicate beauty.

"Well, before..." Buffy countered.

"Sort of," he answered, completing her sentences as if they were his own. "We are different, Spike and I. But somehow the same."

"I... I don't understand," Buffy stammered. "Spike... he has a soul now. How... how can you be?"

"It's not my soul," William said simply. "It's yours. Well, it's not quite that either but..."

"Hunh?" Buffy asked, crinkling her nose and shaking her head slightly.

"Your soul is in Heaven. Where you left it when..." Joyce began.

"Again with the hunh?" Buffy questioned, her face now wholly contorted in confusion. William smiled.

"Way with words, has she?" he said to Joyce, a slight tinge of polite sarcasm lacing his words.

"Would someone mind explaining?" Buffy sighed.

"Which part?" Joyce asked, brushing her child's hair back from her cheeks.

"Start with the soul thing," Buffy began. "Who's soul does Spike have? What happened to mine? "

"Spike has his share of the soul of the One," William answered in cryptic Prophesy-speak. "Which has nothing at all to do with me."

"Nothing?" Buffy asked.

"No," he answered, frankly.

"And me? What about mine?"

"You have your share of the One," Joyce answered. "Which you had all along. Plus a good portion of Spike's."

"But you said I left it in Heaven when.." Buffy yammered, frustrated with the conversation.

"Buffy," Joyce said calmly, trying to counteract the rising anger in Buffy's tone. "Your sacrifice for Dawn ended your life."

"But I came back. I'm a mortal. I have a soul." Always fall back on the basics, Buffy thought.

"You did go back," Joyce agreed, toying with the hair now tucked behind Buffy's ear. "But up until the moment you leapt, there was a choice."

"A choice?" The thought gave her nose and brow another crinkle.

"Yes."

"What choice?"

"Inside of you was the soul of the One, but also the mortal soul of a girl. Buffy Summers. Another bit player, like me. The decision you made the night you jumped was a test. The Powers placed it there to see if you were truly made to be the One. Actually, it was for both of you. Spike tried. He had the courage and the love, but he wasn't ready yet. But you. You leapt. Dawn lived. You chose," Joyce explained patiently.

"Is that why Spike didn't... why we didn't... until...?" Buffy squeaked out, her thoughts as jumbled as her speech.

"Spike was given a second chance with Willow," William answered, slyly smiling. "Of course, the Powers already knew that he was the Vampire for which they had searched. They knew as soon as the other Vampire had abandoned you."

"Angel," Buffy sighed, a note of surprise in her voice.

"Poof," William uttered. It sounded comical coming from his elegant lips in his distinguished voice. Buffy stifled a chuckle. Joyce shot the young man an evil glance.

"When you died," Joyce continued, "You made a choice. The mortal soul of the girl was returned to Heaven. You returned to Earth now carrying only the soul of the One."

"So, there's a me where you come from?" Buffy asked, looking up at her mother in mild disbelief.

"Yes," Joyce answered. "Only she has no memories of the Slayer side of you. She exists as any other mortal who has lived and died. In her memories, she was a high school cheerleader who fell to her death."

Buffy swallowed hard, still staring at her mother. Thoughts flew through her mind like leaves in a tornado. "This... this isn't real. Did Anya grant another wish? I mean the last time there were two me's and..."

"Anya?" William asked Joyce.

"Vengeance demon," Joyce spouted casually to the boy, waving her hand to dismiss the subject.

"Oh," William replied, nodding in understanding.

"I'm afraid not," Joyce said softly to her obviously frightened daughter. "If that were it, then this would be easy to undo."

"Simple?" Buffy muttered. "Undo?"

It was Joyce's turn to swallow deeply. "Buffy, the In Between is not just some dimension you can pop into and out of at will."

"What... what do you mean?" Buffy questioned, leaning her weight against the back of the chair as if bracing herself against a swoon.

"Leaving this place is easy for us," Joyce said calmly, evenly. "Because we are going to Heaven. It's kind of like an open border once you've been admitted. Like paddling down stream."

"Returning to your time, against the stream, is much more... involved," William added.

"Involved?" Buffy repeated, fear and anger rising in her voice. A sudden, terrible desire to get home poured through her. She had to get back to Emma. To him. Her him.

"I'm afraid so," William answered, looking away from Buffy's tortured face.

Buffy was silent, taking a deep breath as if readying herself for battle. "What do I do?"

"There's not much you *can* do," Joyce replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "There are only three options, and only one is even partly in your control."

"What?" Buffy asked, annoyance rising. "What do I do to go back? What are the options?"

Both William and Joyce remained quiet, staring at each other in a silent understanding. They knew that what they had to offer was not going to please a Slayer who had grown used to control. "The first," William began, "is blood sacrifice."

"What?" The girl gasped, spinning towards William with an almost preternatural speed and grace.

William was taken aback, not used to the feral side of a woman. This woman. It was exciting, but terrifying. A creature as pretty as the sunrise and as dangerous as the Powers themselves. He swallowed, then continued. "If, while your heart still beats in your chest, a blood sacrifice is made in the name of your child, you will be returned, unharmed."

"What kind of sacrifice?" Buffy asked, fear replacing anger.

"The Fates will choose. One who was present at the First," Joyce answered.

"Back up," the Slayer snapped, her head jerking back to her mother. "The First?"

"It's a long story, Buffy," Joyce responded kindly. "But for now, just think of it in terms of the Prophesy. The First was when the Powers split the soul of the One."

"O...OK," Buffy answered, her hands fluttering nervously around her waist, her face growing more pale and solemn by the word.

"The Fates will choose a sacrifice," Joyce repeated. "It could be anyone present at the first except for Spike. His death will simply reunite the One in this dimension. The One united cannot be denied passage between the worlds. So, it has to be another. And they must sacrifice themselves willingly."

"Die," Buffy said, bluntly. "To save me?" The tears began to build behind her eyes.

"Not just you," Joyce said. "All of you. Spike, Emma..."

"What?" She blinked away the angry tears and glared at her mother.

"Spike," William said softly, diverting her gaze to him. "Cannot save you from this place. Even if he were to cross into this place, he cannot remove you, and he could not stay."

"But if someone does not sacrifice," Buffy stuttered, "he's in danger? Emma?"

"It's more human than you are thinking," Joyce replied warmly. "He will live, but only for Emma. When your body dies, he will inherit your half of the One. Spike is not equipped to handle that. You could not have for much longer. That is why the Powers divided the One at the First. The burden of the soul, and the weight of his heart for causing your death, will eventually kill him. He will take Emma to maturity, then let go. Without you, and without Spike, Emma is defenseless."

Buffy stayed quiet, the thought of leaving them there, of Spike thinking that he let this happen, crushing her. Her hand fluttered to her cheek, brushing a tear from her skin. William hesitated, reaching towards her pale face almost instinctively, but pulling back mere inches from her cheek. "So, what else?" Buffy asked, taking a deep breath.

"You can choose to remain here," William answered. "In the place in between until your mortal body dies. The demon that attacked you did far more damage than intended. Without your spirit, your essence, your *will*, your body will give up fairly quickly." His voice was sweet, rich, sorrowful. William could no longer bring his eyes to meet hers.

It hurt Buffy to hear his voice. A pang of loss shot through her once again.

"We can stay with you," Joyce said quietly. "Either one of us. Or both of us, to make it easier. Until it's over."

"It?" Buffy snapped, spinning towards her mother. "You mean me?"

"Buffy," Joyce sighed. "*You* are here. What is left there is a shell."

"But you said before that if my body dies, then Spike will inherit the whole soul of the One, and that it will kill him."

"Yes,' William answered. "But if you choose to stay, your sacrifice will make it possible for Spike to carry the burden alone. The whole soul, unharmed. But it is the choice, your choice, that makes that possible. Without that, it will kill him."

Her mind was now a frenzy of torment and loss. "What's the other choice?"

"Emma," William replied. The way he said it. She could hear Spike. Feel him. They were so different, but so much alike. The tenderness in William's voice. Buffy closed her eyes and saw Spike in her head, but could not reach him. The loneliness was overwhelming.

"Emma?" The name slipped from her mouth as if it were magical. Simply put, it was.

"Just as with Spike, she can retrieve you. Heal you in her name. However, to do this, she must be near you. She must be able to touch your mortal body."

"Like with Spike's sword wound?" Buffy asked, her voice now almost childlike.

"Exactly," he answered, smiling softly at her.

"Well, Spike would think of that. He knows. He was there. "

"He does remember. He knows..." William stumbled.

"Then why am I still here?" Fear coursed through her like a river raging over rocks. She flailed her arms as she asked the question as if batting her wings might carry her home.

"Because she's gone, Buffy," Joyce answered softly. William's eyes dropped away once again. Even Joyce could barely look at the range of emotions passing over Buffy's pale face. The mother's hand fell to the small of Buffy's back; steadying her against the weak kneed shudder she knew would follow.

Buffy's eyes flew open and she grabbed the chair white knuckled. "Gone? What?"

"Draconius... Quentin, has her," Joyce continued. "And she cannot be saved by anyone but you. And you cannot be saved by anyone but her."

"So, I die," Buffy gushed, beginning to sob. "I leave them behind or someone dies for us?"

Joyce nodded quietly. Solemnly.

"That's not a *choice*," the girl screamed, bolting from the room out into the sunlight, running full speed into nowhere..

"Buffy!" her mother called desperately, beginning to jog after her.

"Please," William said, catching Joyce's wrist. "Let me talk to her."

Joyce looked at the young man, his eyes soft and pleading. She saw it too. That little glimmer of Spike. Or maybe it was the little glimmers of William that she'd seen in the Vampire. But she nodded at him and watched him lope though the door, calling Buffy's name.

To be contd.

Title: Seaside (The Evil Within - Chapter 17) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: William confronts Buffy in the In Between and tells her things about her life, and Spike's, that changes her views. Spike finds out that there is something more amiss in their home. Anya delivers Emma to her final destination. What will it take to save the girls? And does Spike have anything left in him to save them?

Seaside

He found her sitting in the white sand on the edge of a cerulean sea. It was tranquil. Peaceful. Doves bobbed and flitted in the air. Out of place but somehow perfect against the powder blue sky and fluffy white clouds. The white-tipped waves spilled lazily to the shore, kissing it tenderly in a rhythmic symphony. It was paradise, really. More perfect than heaven, William thought, as he slowed from his striding lope to a hesitant walk at the sight of her. If only she thought so.

Buffy sat in the soft, white sand, knees pressed against her chest, toes just barely wetted each time the sea kissed the land. Her pretty hair was windblown and wild, but shone like spun gold as the rays of light splashed against her. She rocked herself, clasping her legs, her head buried against her knees. Fear and sorrow radiated from her. Out of place, William thought, but strangely fitting.

William stepped slowly from grass to sand, pausing long enough to remove his shoes and socks, laying them neatly on the edge of the grass. There was something about the feel of sand against skin. Irritating but cleansing. A dichotomy of the senses. Just like the creature before him: beautiful and deadly, compassionate and cruel, innocent and sexy and everything that his outdated Victorian sensibilities had once told him to be frightened of. But one's growth as a spirit did not end in death. He had learned from watching his body go on and had realized that what was behind her pretty eyes and primal soul was a beauty of which he could have written his truest epic and that stirred his very heart and soul.

"Buffy?" William said softly, politely, when he stood a mere five feet from her huddled form. If she had noticed him before that moment, she had not let it on.

The girl's head lifted and heavy, almost golden eyes stared up at him. Wet, sad eyes and tearstained cheeks. She was silent, but her childlike face spoke volumes. Those endless green-gold eyes pierced him and he felt his own tears build.

William was not Spike, but he had shaped him. Spike's human memories, preferences, sensibilities, his softer side, was William. When the demon had forced his soul from his body, it left the imprint of the rejected, sensitive poet who had gone before. So no, they were not the same. But it was the William in Spike that had loved beauty. This beauty. It was the man that William had left behind that had made Spike worthy of the One.

"Buffy," William said again, his eyes trained on hers. It came out almost as a sigh, an escape of air as he lowered himself next to her. "We should talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," she replied weakly, her eyes wandering to the gently rolling sea.

"There is, Buffy," he answered slowly. "And you need someone." The words came out cautiously, but he could feel her tense.

"I *need* Spike," she snarled, her jaw clenched, making her cheeks hard and smooth as stone. "And you are *not* him."

"No," William answered simply. "I don't suppose that I am. But I *am* part of him. And I'm all you've got."

The words hit Buffy like a hurricane. Flashes of peroxide hair and a flurry of leather spun through her mind as the words triggered something, some memory, inside of her. She could hear Spike uttering the phrase. Back when he thought she didn't listen. Buffy turned her head towards the man next to her and studied him closely.

Beautiful blue eyes, a colour somewhere between the sea and the sky. The razor sharp cheekbones, carved into the marble polish of his strong face. He looked so much like Spike. Only without the scars. She found herself wondering if the other Buffy looked like an unmarked version of herself.

It occurred to Buffy in a brief moment of clarity, that it was the scars that had shaped them both. The zig-zag in his eyebrow, the scars on his legs from the organ, the fine slice along his ribs. The cut under her ribs, her few tiny stretch marks, and the bites on her neck. The scars inside them both. They spoke to who they were and who they had become. Like roadmaps from the William and Buffy of heaven to the Spike and Buffy who had joined.

"C...can you help me?" Buffy asked, pleading with the man next to her on the seashore.

"I don't know," William answered quietly, holding his hand towards her, palm toward the sky. She stared at his wide palm. Even his hands told stories. Broad and curved and smooth. Softly, she let her hand drop inside his palm. It was more a gesture of understanding, of friendship, of acceptance, than one of love. But it slowed Buffy's mind enough to think.

"Do you know what's going to happen? To me? To Spike? E...emma?" Buffy asked. William stared off at the sea, tossing a pebble into a wave with his free hand.

"I know that you won't like this," he began, "But it's up to Fate and the Powers."

"You're right," Buffy said, frankly. "I don't like it."

William was quiet, listening to the lapping sounds of the waves and feeling her small warm hand in his. "I believe," he said, finally turning back to face her, "that we all must succumb to Destiny. However, I also believe that we can effect what Fate wants for us. What she chooses, by how we act and what we believe."

"What do you mean?" Buffy asked curiously. William studied the way her nose crinkled when she asked a question. The way her eyes softened when she listened.

"My... situation," William said. "I was weak, but I was also destined to become a Vampire. Still, I didn't even fight it, Buffy." His face looked tortured, thinking about it. Buffy watched him, tracing his features in her mind and the million expressions he could make with just his eyes.

"I was so desperately unhappy with my life that I practically threw myself at Destiny's feet. Once the demon took me, it was as if I could watch my life, or at least my Vampire life, as one would watch a play. The interesting part is that time has no meaning in heaven. I can watch 1892 and 2002 simultaneously."

"You can?" Buffy asked, quirking her lips and furrowing her brow in an expression that made William smile.

"Yes, and it's rather enlightening. But back to my point. The One was in flux for thousands of years. You had been chosen long ago, and a Vampire as your mate. The two to reunite the soul. It was supposed to be the other one. The dark one."

"Angel?" Buffy muttered, her eyebrows arching.

"Yes," William answered. "Don't ask me why. Notice I haven't seen Liam's human soul floating round the Heavens."

"William?" Buffy interrupted, stifling a grin. It seemed that a dislike of Angel was a trait William shared with her version. He settled down, giving her hand a little squeeze.

"Right," William said, nodding. "But Spike, who did not have the same... advantages... as the other, still had decided that he loved you and that he was the one that was best for you. He believed it in every fiber of his body and spirit. Even managed to convince his demon of his love. He of the Heart. The Powers took notice. They also took notice that Angel thought it best to abandon you so they changed course. In the blink of an eye, and ancient prophesy was no more. The Vampire with a Soul became the Vampire with a Heart. Fate was redirected and your destiny joined to his."

Buffy looked back at the sea, then up at the clouds. "How can you know that?" she asked. "How can you know what the Powers wanted or what they did?"

"Information is not a prize in Heaven, Buffy. We don't really need it. That's the glory of the place. Rest. Answers. Peace."

"I remember," she whispered, looking back at him. He caught her gaze and kept it, searching her sad, lost eyes. William had been given instructions by those that sent him to the In Between. What he could and could not say or do. As he had told Buffy, time was meaningless in the Ever After. The future was as handy, if not as clear, as the past. Still, watching her heart break through the stained-glass windows of her eyes... Rules are meant to be broken. Maybe there was a little of Spike in him after all.

*****

Spike collected himself, sucking in his breath and letting it out in a long, smooth sigh. He wiped his eyes almost absently with one hand. The other held Buffy in his lap. She was almost like one of Dru's dolls. Pretty and still. Except most dolls didn't come beaten to a bloody pulp. Although some of Dru's dolls had ended up that way.

Carefully, he slid from the counter to the floor, slipping his free hand under her knees in the same movement. She was supple, her body still clinging to life, but her spiritless eyes were haunting. It had never occurred to him how utterly accustomed he had become to slipping into her mind and wrapping himself in her warmth. They'd learned the little trick, and played with it regularly, in the course of their more intimate adventures. But, over time, he had found himself slipping in just to feel what it was like to be her heart, to see with her eyes, to feel her joy and anticipation and fear. She had done the same. They used it to say the things that just couldn't be spoken, and feel the things that could not be explained. It had become natural. Unconscious. And now it was gone. More than any other moment in his long memory, he felt alone.

Isolated.

He carried her back to their bed, sliding back the downy, cream comforter and laying her in the ivory linen sheets. Spike pulled the blankets to her chest and propped pillows behind her, sitting next to her. At first, all he could do was sit there and hold her hand and stare at her mottled, purpling face. It wasn't enough. Never enough.

Spike stretched out next to her, his face against hers on the pillow and tried to reach her. Extended his mind to hers and wandered, searching for anything. Any trace of her to cling to. Nothing. He let his face fall against hers and stroked her hair, waiting. Building up the nerve. Somewhere believing that one true kiss would bring her back, but afraid to try. Afraid to fail her yet again.

It was barely a sound, but it was enough to startle him out of his grief induced languor. A long, slow rumble from the next room. Not a human sound, but the only sound in the house other than the steady rhythm of breathing. Spike picked up his head, his hand still clasped over Buffy's, and listened intently. He heard it again. Almost a growl.

The puppy.

Spike looked over at Buffy and brushed her hair from her cheeks. "Be back in a flash, Pet. Just need to go check on Emma. Not going anywhere. Alright, Love?" He leaned down, pecking her cheek, and slid quietly off the bed, padding out into the darkened hall.

Emma's door was closed and the lights out. Should be, he thought. Tot should be well into dreamland by now. But the long, low growl started up again, followed this time by what sounded like a whimper. A human whimper.

Trying to keep his frayed wits about him, he took another deep breath. Probably Dawn dreaming and the dog reacting to the sound, he rationalized. The noise wasn't hurried or frightened. Just stay calm, he thought. Can't be worked up round the mite. Need to be the strong one. Another deep breath slowed his heart and steadied his wobbling legs. Spike leaned forward and opened the door.

The metallic smell of blood assaulted him as soon as he crossed the threshold. Panic started anew. The room was pitch black, save for the reddish tint left by the full moon shining just above the window. The smell. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Spike fumbled against the wall, searching for the light switch and tripped over something soft and warm on the floor.

The light flickered on and Spike's heart stopped. He was standing aside Tara, his bare foot caught in her loose skirt. She was crumpled in a silent heap next to the door. His eyes flitted in terror to the crib. Below it was the dog, teeth bared at a charred patch of carpet. He was pulling himself toward it on stiffened front legs, growling, dragging frozen hindquarters behind him.

And then there was Dawn. Eyes shut tight, the Niblet whimpered, rolling her head back and forth, but otherwise utterly still. A pool of blood spread around her from a deep wound on the inside of her forearm. She cried out. The dog barked. Tara stirred slowly beneath him.

Emma.

Spike bolted towards the crib, tripping across the room as he ran. His hands touched the dark wood of the side of Emma's bed and he knew before he even looked down. She was gone.

Gone.

Spike's heart shattered into dust as he dropped to his knees on the floor. He tried to scream, but it caught in his throat. He retched, turning his head away from Dawn and vomiting onto the floor. Everything went silent and colourless and numb. Not even the raging demon stirred inside of him The tears could not come. Nothing.

His baby. His own flesh. He failed her too.

Many times had Spike thought that he could take a stake to the heart and explode into dust, leaving the world a better place. Never had he felt that he would spontaneously turn to dust from the weight of his own heart.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans, letting his hand roll over the smooth wood of the stake he carried on patrol, thinking about the dust. Instead, he ripped his hands from his pockets and grabbed the side of Emma's bed, banging his head, forcing his fists and skull into the cherry wood until he felt the dull throb of pain. Anything was better than the numbness.

Then she screamed.

Dawn's eyes flew open and a horrid, pained, yelp escaped her lips. Her arms and legs jerked to life and she began to gasp for air like a fish caught on shore. Something in Spike snapped, realizing that he couldn't let another one die. He spun on his knees, grabbing Dawn's shoulders and pulling her head onto his lap. She was hyperventilating, crying, nearly insane with grief and rage and pain.

Spike looked at her terrified eyes and it occurred to him that she had not been asleep. She had seen this happen. She had seen Emma taken and she felt the same guilt that he was feeling. The same helplessness. She could do nothing to stop it.

"Shh, Niblet," Spike whispered, stroking her hair. She looked up, catching his eyes.

"S...Sp...Spike. Emma. I tried.... so hard..." she broke into sobs, clinging to Spike's legs, sprawled out on the floor. Spike's tears found him again and they began to drizzle from his eyes like rain. He stared at the girl, her arm still bleeding out into the carpet. Carefully, he freed his hands and slid off his t-shirt, wrapping it tightly around her arm, trying to slow down the blood.

More blood.

"B.... Buffy. She... so mad... me...." Dawn choked, her voice sounding like someone freezing to death in a blizzard.

"No one's mad at you, Nibs," Spike said quietly, stroking her hair again. Her shaking was violent, her face pale as snow. "And Buffy is.."

"Buffy is what? Buffy is what?" Dawn babbled, panic taking control. The madness in her voice struck him nearly dumb.

Spike swallowed, trying to figure a way to say it without sending the girl over the edge. He felt as if he stood atop a precipice, holding her steady, and a wrong move would send one or both of them flying over the cliff into darkness.

"She's hurt, Dawn. Badly. So are you. We need to get the bleeding stopped, Pet."

"I...I'm fine," Dawn muttered, her teeth chattering in her head. "How bad? Buffy? How bad?"

Spike's eyes closed slowly. "Badly," he repeated. He wanted to explain, but there were no words. He opened his eyes again and looked at Dawn. "Badly," he repeated. She understood, nodding that she would ask no more of him right now.

There was a creaking on the staircase, then Cyrus appeared, stumbling in the doorway. His eyes were bleary and he wobbled as he stood. "The child? Is she alright?" He leaned against the doorframe to steady himself.

A switch flipped in Spike and unfathomable anger joined his bottomless grief. He spun his head and stared at Cyrus. "They have her," Spike said, crisply. "And you *will* help me find her. I *won't* lose them."

*****

There was a snapping noise. A sickly, squishing, pop, as if one forced their way through a door made of Jell-O. Anya blinked, the complete darkness now shattered by an orangey glow. Her mind was still, devoid of both thought and emotion. Registering only what assaulted her senses. Like the feel of the cold, gelatinous door, the glow of the far off fire, the feel of Emma being lifted from her arms.

A pang of loss came over her as the baby's breath against her cheek disappeared. A wave a panic when she felt the tiny arms let go of their hold around her neck. A hurricane of guilt as she heard a whimper and "Mommy" slide from innocent pink lips. The spell shattered as Emma was taken and Anya fell to her knees on the cold stone floor, the horror of what she had done rushing into her as if a dam had broken in her mind.

"Emma!" she screamed into the darkness. "Emma! No!" She was sobbing, whimpering, unable to move. "Emma! Please!"

But there was no answer. Silence.

Anya rocked back on her heels, then fell with a thump onto her backside. The sobbing was harder now, faster, racking her. She'd all but killed the baby. It may have been Buffy's, Spike's, baby, but Emma had been a part of them all. Anya loved her as if she were her own flesh. Now she'd killed her.

A strange sensation came over the dark, silent room. Stillness, as if the world had been paused for just a moment. Anya lifted her head from her knees, heavy, wet eyes scanning the darkness. "H... Hello?"

"Anyanka," a familiar voice stated, firmly. No compassion, but no ill intent, evident in its tone. A form shifted from the shadows themselves.

"D'Hoffryn?" Anya answered, disbelief clouding her vision.

"Yes, child," he said in the same, flat tone.

"W..why are you here?" Her voice was shaking, trembling almost at the same rate as her pounding heart.

"To make you an offer," he answered, moving closer.

"I... I told you. I like being human now. Even if they have stupid rules. I don't want to go back."

"Suit yourself," D'Hoffryn said, in an almost casual tone. "But one would think that you would at *least* hear me out. Especially since my offer might save the child. But if you'd rather have her dead, no skin from my teeth." He began to stalk back into the shadows.

Anya swallowed. She knew that whatever D'Hoffryn had to offer would end her mortal life, but could she live with herself knowing that she had delivered the baby, not just any baby but Peace itself, into her own death? These were not decisions she was equipped to make.

"D'Hoffryn, wait!"

To be contd.

Title: Human (The Evil Within - Chapter 18) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Giles is confronted with the one horror he hoped not to see. William explains the real reason she should return to her time. Spike discovers that no one else can save his girls.

Human

Giles was beaten. At least that is how he felt, hanging there, waiting for something to happen over which he had no control. The Witch and Quentin had left him there, hanging, thinking. pondering things that no mortal man should ever have to consider.

His limbs were numb. The only part of him that seemed to be in working order was his head. He could still smell the wretched decay, although he had almost become used to the stench. The sound of the fire crackling and popping, its orange flames lapping the dense air. The feel of the cold, slimy stone against the back of his neck. Worst of all, the horrid, spiraling thoughts of what was yet to come.

Footsteps clicking against stone broke his thoughts and forced him to lift his tired, sagging head. Quentin strode though the doorway, confident and almost chipper, puffing at another cigar. Maybe lung cancer would kill him and save us all the trouble, Giles thought.

But the snarky quip disappeared from his mind as the raven-haired beauty appeared on Quentin's heels. In her arms was a bundle of pink, fuzzy, footie pajamas and a tangle of golden ringlets and huge, blue eyes. In the bundle's pink fist clung a furry, stuffed rabbit. One that Giles had given her before he left.

Damn them, Giles thought, fury boiling in his once numb veins.

The child's head turned and caught sight of Giles. Emma's eyes grew wide and more terrified, her arms reaching towards the Watcher. Giles swallowed, looking away, blinking back the onslaught of tears. Those big blue eyes. Her father's eyes. She wasn't scared for her own safety. She was scared for his. The thought wrenched his gut.

The pair, Quentin and his Sorceress, walked right past Giles, slowly, deliberately. The baby caught his gaze again, her concerned blue eyes locking on his. It would have been easier if she'd been screaming 'Help Me!'. If she had been begging Giles to save her. But the concept that she was terrified that she could not help *him* made his heart break in two.

"Daddy help," the baby whispered, as she passed inches from Giles' face. He looked at her oddly for a moment. It was not a confused plea, rather a statement of fact.

*****

"Buffy," William began softly, his words hesitant, his eyes staring out over the sea as if asking for guidance. "I find myself wishing that you would stay."

She looked over at him, her hand still locked inside his. His honesty was almost painful. But it was Spike's voice. Spike's thought. Buffy nodded her understanding and looked away again. "So, you are what Spike was so afraid to let us see?"

William chuckled. The sound was like music in the crisp air. "Don't quite fit his style"

Buffy smiled, still staring out at the horizon. "You are more his style than he'd like to admit," she answered. "You are what makes him a good father and a patient friend and a sweet lover." William blushed. In his human life, his abilities in that realm had remained untested. But he was somewhere pleased to know that Spike had learned to use his body, and his mind, well.

She let her hand fall loosely from his. The movement left him somehow... empty. "But the demon is what makes him a fierce warrior and protective ally, and..." Buffy did not continue, thinking that William's head might explode if she assaulted him with their more aggressive intimate behaviour. "I need both," she said instead, realizing in that moment, that it was truth.

William looked back out over the water, squinting at the sun dancing in the surf. "I know," he finally answered, his words soft and sorrowful.

"I need to get back to them, William. We still have work to do." She studied his profile. His chestnut waves blew into his eyes and he brushed them away with the back of his hand.

"It's not just about the work, Buffy," he said quietly, turning his face towards hers. "Were it only about saving the world, I would spend more time convincing you to stay."

Buffy was silent, watching his eyes. "I'm not sure I know what you mean?"

"The Powers, Fate, even your human guides, have spent so much time telling you that it's your Destiny to save the world and protect Peace, and fight the good fight," William spouted. Buffy was surprised by the agitation in his gentle voice. The little lines around his eyes and mouth were more defined in his frustration. Softly, she took his hand in hers once again and, like Spike, he settled. "You're human, Buffy."

"I... I know," she answered, crinkling her nose. He shook his head at her, trying not to smile at her furrowed brow and cute, crinkled nose.

"I don't think you do. You carry an immortal soul and you have a job to do, a Destiny to fulfill, but *that* is not the reason you need to go back."

"W... What is?" Buffy asked, shifting her weight so that she was facing him, her legs tucked under her. She looked young and coltish.

"The reason *is* your humanity. You need to go back because you love Spike and you love your daughter and you still have experiences to sense and beautiful things to see and books to read and things to learn," William gushed.

Buffy cocked her head, staring at him. This was new, she thought. Not 'Go back and complete your mission, Buffy', but 'Go back and live your life.' "You think I should go back just to be human?"

"I would if I could," he said sharply. Her head dropped at his tone. William sighed, catching her chin with three fingers and lifting her eyes to his. She glowed in the sunlight. Like an angel, he thought. "I'm sorry," he said, very calmly, sweetly. She blinked up at him with her big, doe eyes. "I just want you to go back for the right reasons."

"Saving the World, protecting the Peacemaker, aren't the right reasons?" Buffy asked. It wasn't snarky, but an honest question. Her face was puzzled, afraid.

"They are. I mean to say that they are noble and valiant. But Buffy, fight for what's in here," he whispered, pressing his hand against her temple, "and in here," he continued, pressing his palm against her heart. "And in here," he said cautiously, letting his hand fall against her stomach. Buffy's hand closed over his and she looked down at their entwined fingers, then blinked, and looked back up at William's face.

"You have more reasons to find your way home than you know," William said, smiling softly, watching her face. Her eyes steeled with resolve. She was so beautiful. How he wished that she would stay.

*****

They were quiet, setting about making things right. Spike had explained what had happened to Buffy. He was short. To the point. But he could not hide the sorrow in his voice when he spoke, and the tears in his eyes when he tried to look away. He dispatched Cyrus to figure out where the Evil would have taken Emma, asked Tara to fetch Xander and Willow, and set about tending to Dawn himself.

The teenager shook as Spike stood behind her, holding her up between himself and the marble, bathroom countertop. Gently, he cleaned the slash in her arm. "We need to get you to hospital," Spike muttered, working around the edges of the wounds of another Summers girl. Two in one night. His anger boiled as he thought that there had better not be so much as a mark on the little one when he got to her. Bad enough these two were so torn.

"I want to stay here with Buffy," Dawn replied, wincing as the soap trickled into the wound.

"You need stitches," Spike said quietly. Dawn swooned and he caught her with an arm around her waist and kept her steady.

"W...Willow can do it," Dawn answered, her voice hazy and surreal.

Spike thought for a moment. He didn't want to separate them any more than he had to, but the wound on Dawn's arm was fairly deep. "It'll leave a scar," he cautioned.

"We all have scars," she answered, flatly. Spike had no response to that. They made him who he was. Reminded them of where they had been.

"Alright then. Red can stitch it," Spike consented, gently spreading Betadyne on the wound and beginning to cover it with gauze. She was facing him now, staring up at his eyes. She won't be looking up much longer, Spike thought. Way she's growing.

"Tell me what happened to Buffy, "Dawn said solemnly.

"She was fighting a demon and got hurt," Spike answered, giving her the same speech he'd given to the rest. His hands wrapped gauze around her arm. He didn't look at her.

"No, Spike. What happened to her?" she pried, her hands forcing his face to hers. He sighed. So much like her sis.

"It's hard, Niblet," Spike said softly.

"I need to tell you about what happened... in there," she said, nodding towards the baby's room.

Spike sighed again, knowing he didn't stand a chance. "Fair's fair," he muttered, hesitantly. So he told her the story. That they were on patrol and Xander came to find them and told them about Willow. Just as he and Xander started back to the house, the demon appeared. How he was so torn, but Buffy told him to go. And how he knew that Buffy could handle herself where Emma could not. So they left, leaving Buffy alone to fight the demon.

When he got back, it had been too late. She was... as she was now. He skipped the part about witnessing the final blow. About slaughtering the demon in a fit of rage. About feeling her spirit get swallowed by the stars. By the end, he was crying again. Slow, gentle tears. He didn't even realize that they slid down his cheeks until Dawn, of all people to comfort *him*, brushed them away.

"Spike, it's not your fault. Buffy would have made you go protect Emma. You *know* that."

"Great job I did 'a that," Spike whispered, almost laughing senselessly at his failures.

"You did everything you could," Dawn replied, laying her hand on his damp cheek.

"Does that make *you* feel any better?" Spike snapped before he could think about what he was saying. About who he was saying it to. Her head dropped in shame and tears began to slip from her own eyes.

Great, Spike thought. Let two go and break the last one's heart. "Niblet, I didn't mean..."

"No, you're right," Dawn whispered, looking up at him with heavy eyes. She told him the story of Tara coming into Emma's room and just... freezing her. About not being able to move or to speak, but being able to watch. To watch her attack Anya and then crumple to the floor. Then to watch Anya just take Emma without even a fight. To feel the dagger's blade, but not to be able to scream. Watching the portal open and wanting to grab her niece and run away, but being trapped. Helpless. There *wasn't* any more she could have done. And no, it didn't make her feel any better.

Spike tucked the sobbing girl against his chest, stroking her long, dark hair. There wasn't anything to say. No promises he could make. No 'Everything'll be right as rain'. He didn't know where Emma had been taken. He didn't know where Buffy was. But he knew he wanted them back. Where there's a will, there's a way, he thought. Sodding cliché-ridden poet.

"Look, Dawn," Spike said, pulling her gently away, "Not that I'm not enjoying our soggy share time, but if we want them back, we're going to have to get on with it. Be strong, alright?"

Dawn nodded, cracking a halfhearted grin. It was the best she could muster at the time. "What do you want me to do?"

"You," he huffed, sliding an arm underneath her and picking her up. "Need to rest a bit. Lost a lot of blood."

"I need to *do* something," she whined as he carried her across the hall and towards her room. "At least let me stay with Buffy." Spike thought about it a moment, remembering Buffy's battered and nearly unrecognizable face.

"How bout this?" Spike began, settling her down on her bed. "You get some rest and let Willow fix you up a bit better. Give Tara and me a chance to make your sis a bit more comfortable, then you can stay and watch out for her, alright?"

Dawn stared up at him, wanting to object but his tired eyes pleaded with her to make this easy. "OK," she hesitantly agreed. "But can Pony stay with me?"

"Pony?" Spike asked, his voice rising in confusion.

"The puppy."

"You named him Pony?" Spike asked, pulling her blankets up to her neck. The dog hopped up on the bed with her.

"Buffy sort of did," Dawn said, smiling. Spike looked down at her and the giant, slobbering pooch. "It'll be OK, Spike. You'll get them back."

"Get some sleep," he whispered, kissing her nose and flicking out the light.

*****

"So, what did you find out?" Spike asked, walking into the kitchen, both hands running nervously through his hair. Cyrus was hanging up the phone as Spike came in. The Vampire had changed, putting on a blue T-shirt with his black jeans. There was still blood splattered on his pants.

"Not much, I'm afraid," Cyrus sighed.

"Don't tell me not much," Spike said flatly, his tone even but his blue eyes flashing gold in the dim light of the kitchen.

A wave of fear came over the Watcher. "All I could discover is that Buffy, if she is still alive, but... gone... as you say, is most likely in a place called the In Between."

"What in bloody hell is that?" Spike snarled, kicked the leg of a stool with the toe of his boot. Cyrus backed up, positioning himself behind the counter, a safe distance from the overwrought Vampire.

"The place in between life and death. Akin to a waiting room for the Afterlife," Cyrus explained slowly.

"Well," Spike sighed, choosing to just accept the answer. He was too tired to fight over words. "How do we get her out?"

Cyrus backed to the sink. "We don't," he whispered. "We can't."

"*What?*," Spike snapped, moving towards the alarmed Watcher with lightening quickness.

"We cannot remove her. No mortal can go there and retrieve her. It simply is against the rules," Cyrus stuttered. "But we may be able to get you to her. There are spirits, William," Cyrus was talking faster by the second, hoping to buy time with the Vampire. "Spirits that pass between the worlds. They may know a way..."

Spike stopped his advance. "So, you're saying that we pop in and ask for directions?"

"Y...Yes," Cyrus answered. "Well, you do. Since you are joined to the Slayer, you should be able to trace her more accurately than any of us. The In Between is fluid. Different for everyone. Only joined souls would share the same experience. Only you could find her straight away."

Spike's hands dropped to his sides and drummed against his jeans. "How? How do I find her?"

"I know a spell. I just don't have the power. The Witch can do it though. She can help you to the Slayer."

Spike thought for a moment. "If Tara helps me find her, I can get her back?" Spike asked. "I need to know, mate. I need to find them both. I can't waste any time..." His head dropped. There was nothing he wanted to consider less, but it was possible that while he searched for one, the other would die. They were both still alive. He felt it. But if he chose incorrectly... He would have failed them again.

"Honestly, I don't know," Cyrus sighed, giving up. If Spike was going to attack him, there wasn't much he could do to stop it. He had a feeling it wouldn't come to that. "But she may have learned something. A way home, perhaps. But William, it's important that you remember that if you find her, you won't be able to stay and you won't be able to bring her back. You will have to leave her there. You would go only to find information. To see if the spirits can tell you a way to bring her back."

Spike shook his head, his hands sweeping nervously through his hair once again. "I thought you were locating Emma," he said, dejection lacing his tone. He looked tired, Cyrus thought. Spent.

"I need some more time," Cyrus answered softly.

"We don't *have* time," Spike snapped, kicking the chair and making Cyrus jump. The front door creaked open in the hallway.

"Spike," a sweet voice called in. For a moment, his spinning mind thought it was Buffy and he spun on a heel. "Spike," it said again. Tara.

"You're going to explain the spell to Tara," Spike said, inhaling a large, shaky breath. "And then you are going to get back on the phone or to your books, and you will *find* my daughter by the time I get back." He glared at the Watcher for a moment, but it wasn't aggression Cyrus saw in his eyes.

It was fear.

Cyrus took a deep breath, slowing his heart, and straightened his suit. "Think," he whispered to himself. "Think, you immortal, git." Another deep breath and he walked out of the kitchen and into the fray.

*****

As Cyrus prepared Tara for the spell to guide Spike to the In Between, Spike spoke to Willow and Xander. Tara had told them both what had happened, and they dared not press Spike for details about Buffy. The Vampire was at the very end of his rope, pacing as he spoke, tugging at his clothes, rubbing absently at his blood stained jeans. His voice was thick, his accent heavy.

"Red, need you to take care of the Niblet, a'right? She won't leave, so do what you can here."

"OK," Willow agreed tacitly. "I... I'll do the best I can."

"Good girl." Spike looked down for a moment and then raised his eyes back to the girl. "Willow, I'm sorry for..."

"Spike, don't..." she interrupted, laying a hand on his arm. "Already forgotten. Let me go get Dawnie." Spike simply nodded, grateful for her understanding.

Xander stood in front of Spike, his own eyes frightened and wet. "Harris," Spike said gruffly, trying to sound far more in control and unaffected than he felt, "Seems I've got some runnin' round to do. Need you to watch out here. Make sure that nothing happens to Dawn. To Buff..." His words trailed off and he felt his eyes fill with tears. Spike swallowed, not quite ready to turn into a blubbering idiot and lose what was left of his dignity in front of Xander Harris.

Instead of laughing, or making some insulting remark, Xander surprised him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I'll watch out here. Just find them, ok?"

Xander's eyes were close to spilling as well. Spike sensed that he wanted to say something else and cocked his head, questioning the boy. Xander looked at him, trying to figure out how to say it.

"Spike... you know she didn't... that Anya didn't... Just, if she's there and you can avoid it..."

"I won't hurt her, Mate," Spike said softly. And he meant it. Unless there was no other way, no one would die tonight.

Tara approached Spike, wearing a warm, comforting smile. Spike found himself wishing he could bottle that and save it for horrid days along with Buffy's scent and Emma's soft kisses. "You ready?" Tara asked, laying her hand on his forearm. Spike nodded, laying his hand on top of hers. "Let's go find her," Tara said encouragingly, leading him up the stairs.

To be contd.

Next