Meant to Be

Title: Bring Back the Light (Chapter Forty-Two - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)

Feedback: Yes, please NimueofAvalon71 (at) yahoo.com

Disclaimer: All characters belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, UPN, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren’t me. :::sigh::::

Summary: Tara and Willow discover why they’ve been called. Buffy and Spike take on the Master, with a little help.

Bring Back the Light

“Oh Goddess,” Tara uttered as Willow pulled away from the curb in front of the Magic Box and headed the car towards the cemetery. Her face hardened, realizing what she felt she should have known ever since Wesley had ordered them away.

“What is it, baby?” Willow asked, instinctively reaching over and grabbing her lover’s hand. Concern washed over her, feeling Tara’s aura shift from one of mild concern to one of near desperation.

“Cor… Cordelia,” Tara answered, switching into that stutter that now only reared its head when the shy woman was exceedingly nervous or afraid.

Willow raised an eyebrow and tried to focus on both the road and on Tara. “Cordelia? What about her? Where is she?”

“When we… at the mansion. We… Then the Master took me and I couldn’t remember until now. She…” The jumble of words was almost as disconcerting as the shift in Tara’s vibrations. It was chaos. Something Tara hardly ever felt, even in the direst of circumstances.

“Okay,” Willow began again, trying to be as soothing as she could in the torrent of feeling. “Try to remember now, baby. It might help us when we get there.”

Silence. Tara shifted in her seat and closed her eyes. “I know what happened. I… I know why… Why Wesley wants…”

“What?” The redhead asked, trying to remain as calm as possible.

“The Master. While Angel and the others were in the mansion, I was outside holding the protection spell. Angel told Cordelia to stay with me. Then something happened inside and I was concentrating and I felt blood.”

“Are you hurt?” A reflexive question as Willow swiveled her head to look at her lover.

Tara shook her head. “It was Cordelia’s. Then the Master took me and… I saw her, Willow.”

A light bulb flashed above Willow’s head and the pieces began to fit into place. “She was dying?”

A small nod from Tara. “Even if help came… there was a lot of blood.”

“And no help,” Willow whispered under her breath. “And you think…?”

“I think I know why Angel wanted Wesley to send us. And I think I know what this is for…” Tara said quietly, holding the Orb in her hands.

~~@~~@~~

The Master began to glow, a livid red surrounding him as his face contorted into that of the Vampire. Buffy squinched her face at the sight.

“Bugger,” Spike muttered, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the magic in the room began to gather. “Watcher?”

“On top of it,“ Wesley answered impatiently, his eyes slitted as he forced his concentration into his own power.

“He’s nowhere *near* as hot like that,” Buffy sniped, holding the sword across her chest.

Spike turned his head, giving her his patented ‘have you gone completely sack of hammers?’ look and all she could do was shrug. “Well, he was kinda cute in a pretty boy sort of way.”

“That,” Spike began, raising the helm axe, “we’ll talk about later. In the meantime…”

She nodded, bracing herself as the Master opened his jaws and roared into the room. Spike leaned forward, ready. Waiting.

“Watcher?” He called back impatiently.

A pregnant pause before he heard the quiet word… “Now.”

With a flash, a pulse of white ripped through the room, breaking the glow around the Zahn and Spike pounced in like a jungle cat finding the perfect moment to capture his prey. Like an extension of the blond Vampire, Buffy dove in from the flank, keeping her back to the bed to keep her balance intact and give her a less hard wood place to land.

Even without the magic, the Master was old and strong and took little effort batting Spike back with a strong backhand, sending the axe clattering to the floor. Gunn dove behind them, needing to be in the thick of it but knowing he was outclassed from the get go. Still, with a skid across a throw rug, the human grabbed the axe and tossed it skyward, over a ducking Buffy and back into the outstretched hand of Spike.

Buffy rushed in, landing a near miraculous flying kick and knocking the Master back into the wall before she flipped back and rolled away. Spike would talk to her about that, too, later. With one arm already out for the count and *his* tot inside her, the flying stunts should be off the repertoire.

As the Master recovered and growled, throwing himself towards the scrambling Slayer, Spike decided now was *not* the time.

“Heads up,” Spike called as Buffy rolled effortlessly out of the way and Spike swung the axe, catching the Master’s shoulder as he moved with lightning speed. At least it was a hit. “Watcher?”

“Working on it,” Wesley answered as the force grew again, filling the room with prickly static.

“Need your brain,” Spike snapped impatiently, kicking out and sending the Master sprawling into a chest of drawers.

“Wood doesn’t kill it,” Buffy called back, righting herself and spinning under a kick by Spike, landing one of her own on the back of the Master’s knees. “Don’t think any of the normal stuff will.”

“Good beheading should do the trick,” Spike grunted as he again swung the axe and saw a blur as the older Vampire dodged out of reach, swinging a clawed hand out and catching the back of Buffy’s injured arm.

“Ow!”

“Now *that* was uncalled for,” Spike growled, his game face coming to the fore and the scent of his mate’s blood making his own come to a boil. No one harmed his girl and got away.

No one.

“Watcher?!”

Wesley sent forth another pulse of light. “I need you to hold him off for approximately,” he looked down at his watch, “seventy-five seconds.”

“I’ve heard of anal retentive,” Buffy snarked, catching the Master’s jaw with a flying kick, flipping back using Spike as balance, and landing on her knees on the bed.

“Would you *stop* that, Pet?” Spike huffed, rolling his eyes and battering the Master with clenched fists. “Stay on the ground.”

“Only way to get him.”

“Good way to break the other arm. Not to mention….”

“I know, I know,” Buffy whined, feeling the presence inside her. “She can take it.”

“Let’s not find out she *can’t*,” Spike answered, just as the Master knocked him to the side with a wicked right hook to the cheek.

“Hey!” Buffy shouted, distracting Zahn. “I *like* that face.”

“What’s in seventy-five seconds,” Gunn whispered, watching Wesley watch his watch.

A small smile broke on the Watcher’s face. “The simplest of miracles.”

“Huh?”

Buffy swung with her sword, catching the Master across the chest and ripping his shirt to expose an almost oily black skin. “You know there are spa treatments for that kind of thing.”

Spike rolled his eyes and waggled his jaw to make sure it was still attached to his face. “Love, I doubt that…”

“Look out!” Buffy called as the red glow returned and Spike was about to be drawn in. If it was anything like glowy red things she’d seen in the past, that was a *bad* thing.

Spike jumped back and Wesley shot one more pulse of white light into the room, neutralizing the dark magic. The Master roared, lunging at Buffy. Spike threw himself in after. The world became a blur of movement and sound….

Wesley strolled to the window, opening the curtains and sliding the window up, eyes still focused on his watch, lips mouthing numbers into the air. Four. Three. Two. One.

“Now!”

Spike and Buffy both looked at the source of the voice and smiled the same, wicked smiles. It was too simple. Too perfect.

The Master stood still, confused by the cessation of battle and the smiles of his combatants.

“Hope you brought sunscreen,” Buffy quipped, launching herself at the Master’s side, Spike doing the same in perfect synchronization at the other. They pushed forward hard and sent the Master flying through the bedroom window and into the first rays of morning.

With a hiss the Master saw it. The sun. For the first time in several centuries.

As he fell to the earth in a shower of dust.

“Now that just seemed unfair,” Gunn joked, reappearing from a darkened corner of the room.

“Still say we would’ve beaten him,” Spike contributed, panting a bit as he sat down on the bed, pulling Buffy along with him. “You all right, Pet?”

“Fine,” she answered, craning her head to look at the claw marks on her shoulder. “Stupid Vampire.”

“Quite,” Wesley answered, the quirky smile still on his face. The smile began to fade as he remembered the other… situation… that demanded their attention. “But we have work to do.”

Buffy looked up, annoyance on her face. “Hey, we usually get the post battle snuggles…”

“It’s Angel,” Wesley stated sharply. “Or, more precisely, Cordelia.”

~~@~~@~~@~~

Willow closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she pushed the heavy wooden door to the crypt open. The smell of blood assaulted her. Not fresh. Not old. Blood losing its life. Blood already spilled.

Tara held her hand, following her into the darkness, a knapsack dangling from her free arm. “It feels…”

“Wrong,” Willow answered, looking around the room. There was no light at all in the crypt. No sunlight, no candles. No nothing. Darkness.

“It is,” Tara agreed, following Willow deeper into the grave.

“Angel?” Willow’s voice was small. Strained. She heard a quiet choking sound in reply. Barely audible, it echoed through the stone of the crypt. “Angel?”

“I killed her,” the broken voice answered, barely more than a whisper.

Willow turned her palm up and chanted a few words, creating a ball of artificial light and bouncing it up to the ceiling. “Tara said the Master did.”

“She was still alive,” the disembodied voice answered. “*I* killed her.”

“She was dying, Angel,” Tara whispered. “And I couldn’t help…I… I’m sor…”

“I killed her,” the voice answered again, choked with tears both shed and unshed.

Willow spotted them in the faint glow of the light she’d made. He was sitting on the sarcophagus, cradling her lifeless body against his chest, his face buried in her hair, rocking. “I killed her.”

Slowly, Willow kept moving, the blood from the original injury coating the floor in a sticky sea of death. “No, Angel. You loved her.”

“I love her,” he repeated, rocking, his arms wrapped tightly around her small frame. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Did you…” Tara began as the two women made it to within a few feet of the pair, “Did she…?”

Angel nodded, understanding the question innately. “She doesn’t deserve this. I… I can’t… I won’t let her… rise… if you can’t…”

Willow nodded, watching him quiver and rock her, tears streaming down his cheeks. “How much time do we have?”

“Sundown tonight. How long has it been?” He asked, trying to look at the girls. Failing.

“It’s just now morning,” Tara answered soothingly, setting down her bag and crouching on the floor.

“It’s been longer. It’s been months. We were alone,” Angel muttered. “No help. I didn’t want to… I can’t lose…”

“It’s okay,” Willow whispered, crouching down next to Tara but keeping a cautious eye on the unstable Vampire and wishing that Spike and Buffy were there. “We’ll help. We’ll try.”

“She’ll miss the beach,” Angel whispered, kissing the top of her head and drawing her closer to him.

Tara felt her own heart begin to break, empathy filling her. What wouldn’t she do to keep Willow next to her always? “You can take her when the moon’s full. It’s almost like sunshine,” the quiet one answered, spreading out the contents of the bag, setting the orb in the center and building a circle around it.

“Not warm like the sun. She’ll never be warm….” Angel answered, lost in his grief.

“But she’ll still have you,” Willow responded quietly, helping Tara set up the spell. “And us. We’re down with the good Vamps.”

Angel chuckled despite himself, closing his eyes and inhaling Cordelia’s fading, human scent. “You can save her soul.”

Willow looked at Tara. Tara returned the stare. “We can try, Angel.”

“You have to. Please,” Angel whispered, dissolving into tears. “Please.”

“Just let us work and hold on to her. Remember her. Everything you can about who *she* is, and hold that, okay? It’ll help us find her and bring her back,” Tara counseled, lighting candles in the dim room.

Angel nodded, thinking of all the things he loved about her and all the things that drove him insane, and all the smart remarks and the kind words and the strappy sandals and the pointed barbs. Holding it. Cherishing them with equal weight in his addled mind.

“Please,” he requested once more before closing his eyes and losing himself in thought.

With a nod, Willow and Tara closed the circle and began the spell.

To be contd.

Title: Scent of a Woman (Chapter Forty-Three - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)

Feedback: Yes, please NimueofAvalon71 (at) yahoo.com

Summary: Willow and Tara do their best to restore Cordelia’s soul. Buffy is told of what likely happened to her her high school nemesis and sometime friend. Spike meets his new family.

Scent of a Woman

Once started, it seemed that nothing could stop the flow. Like blood from a fatal wound, the energy poured into the most unlikely place. Light from Heaven, gifts from the Goddess, swirling about the tombs and the body of a Vampire.

And now seeking the corpse of yet another.

Tara and Willow were one. Hands joined over lit candles, unable to feel the burn of fire as the light consumed them. Lost in a song that not even they knew completely. Words came to them that they had never found in their mortal states.

But they were not mortal now. They were part of Her. Doing Her work.

Angel held her and wept. Wept for the lifelessness of her body. Wept for the loss of her soul. Stared in wonder as the light tried to find her in the white mist surrounding them.

And roared in her pain and his own as it struck home.

Cordelia’s body rose up from the sarcophagus, arching and writhing as the chant continued, head lolling, face contorted in agony. Light pierced her like the sword of God, skewering her mortal body and holding it feet above the ground. Angel reached for her, but his own body burned in the light. His body felt wrapped in fiery bandages, unable to move, to help, to make it stop before this finished her.

A scream changed everything.

The chant stopped.

The light vanished.

The Witches fell back to the floor in unconscious exhaustion.

And Angel dropped forward enough to catch Cordelia as she fell to the stone, still screaming in agony.

~~~@~~~@~~~

“So, Cordelia is…” Buffy asked, her voice trembling, as they rode in the back of the car Gunn guided down the streets of Sunnydale.

“If her blood loss at the scene was any indication, I would have to say yes,” Wesley answered solemnly. “But she was alive when we left.”

“And no one took her to the hospital?” Again, Buffy’s voice shook both with confusion and with fear.

“There was no time for that, Blondie,” Gunn answered. “By the time we would have found a way to get her there...”

Spike felt something. A snap, or a connection, or something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He shuddered, staring out the window of the speeding car in order to forget the feeling. To forget what part of him already knew.

“So, Angel took her to find help though, right?” Buffy asked, feeling Spike’s discontent and adding it to her own.

The car was silent in response.

“He helped her, right?”

Spike turned to look at Buffy. Part of what he loved most about her was that, despite all the years of horror and bloodshed, she still believed in the goodness of the World. That there was help for every lost or damaged soul and that help, particularly if it was her or Spike, would always make it in the nick of time.

“Love,” the blond Vampire began, “listen to what they’re saying.” His voice was patient and kind, not his normal drive-the-point-home sarcasm. With a gentle hand, he took hers and held it, waiting. “She was dying, Pet. Near death. Watcher here didn’t even think that she’d make it to help in time.”

Buffy nodded, feeling it, *knowing* it, but not wanting to admit it.

“He loves her, Pet,” Spike continued. “One thing our line has in common, when we fall, it’s for always.”

“Everyday,” Buffy whispered under her breath, tears beginning to pool behind green glass eyes.

Spike nodded his reply. “And he wasn’t ready to lose her.”

Again, Buffy nodded, staring out the opposite window and waiting for the tears to come.

~~~@~~~@~~~

The crypt was dark and quiet. The candles were gone. The Witches were still where they’d fallen when the spell had ended. Angel stirred atop the stone, feeling somehow different, but the pain still ate at him like a frozen dagger.

Cordelia lay sprawled over the sarcophagus, her legs dangling over one side, her head over the other, two fresh puncture wounds healing quickly on her neck. Driving it home to Angel. Making it real.

She was a Vampire.

Angel swore an oath to himself that, especially if the Witches had been able to pull off a miracle, Cordy would never know that life. She’d be the first Vampire who never fed to survive. She’d never know the blackness of being devoid of soul. She’d never have to suffer like Drusilla.

Like William.

If this worked.

If it didn’t, she’d go back to Heaven where she belonged. And he’d be strong enough, this time, to send her himself.

The door creaked open, carefully spilling the sunlight in the opposite direction. Angel almost chuckled. Spike had a flair for interior design. He’d placed his bed so that, when Buffy crashed down his door in the middle of the day, the light wouldn’t have fried him on contact.

It was no surprise that it was the other Vampire who came in first. Who else knew what the scene inside the crypt would be? Who knew that Angel wouldn’t even fight if they tried to send him to Hell right now? He deserved it thousands of times over. But mostly for this. Especially if he’d taken away her soul.

Spike scanned the room and spotted them all. Two girls on the floor, hearts beating steadily in sleep. Two Vampires on the stone sarcophagus. No heartbeat. Only scent.

With a smile, Spike instinctively sensed something that Angel was too lost to recognize.

The smell of souls.

Not that Spike was even *about* to let his grandsire off that easy for this.

With a quick turn of the head and a reassuring nod, Buffy streaked into the room, running for her best friends on the floor. Checking them over without even sparing Angel and his love a glance. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, just that she wasn’t quite ready… there was no way for her to deal with this yet.

Gunn and Wesley followed slowly, like pallbearers at a funeral, walking in and standing on either side of Spike. Studying the scene. Wondering what had happened and if it had happened in time.

With an indrawn breath, Spike stepped forward towards the sarcophagus. Angel growled, gathering Cordelia to him and backing against the wall.

“Easy, poof. No interest in your bird.” Spike was sure Angel already knew this, but the bond between Sire and true Childer was strongest at the beginning.

Angel slipped into game face and watched his elder Childe approach. The growling continued, but was less forceful. More bark. Less bite. The other three humans stared at the scene in fascination.

“Pay attention, Angel,” Spike commanded, chuckling to himself. “Use your bloody sense.”

A cock of his head and Angel sniffed the air like a dog, and Spike stepped closer. “Bit different now, what with the One and being tied up with Buffy’s, but….”

“Mine,” Angel growled, looking at Spike with confused eyes, and then looking down at Cordelia. “Mine.”

Again, Spike chuckled. “See you’ve made me a new auntie. Childer too. Don’t do that for just anyone.”

“Love her,” Angel mumbled, staring down at her with yellow eyes. “Loved Drusilla. Loved William.” Drusilla may have made William a Vampire, but Angel had claimed him as his own.

Spike nodded, knowing that somewhere in that sadistic mind of his, he *did* love those he chose to carry on the line. The love was intense and often brutal, but it was definite.

“Spike,” Wesley’s voice quietly asked, “is this… should we be worried about Angelus?”

The blond Vampire cocked his head and studied his grandsire with steel blue eyes. Sniffed the air. Watched the movements. “S’not Angelus. Just a traumatized poofter with something to protect. He’ll come round.”

“Is she...?” Gunn asked, a very Xander-like part of him wanting to believe that the inevitable *hadn’t* happened.

“A Vampire?” Spike completed, seeing the mark on her neck. The one mark that the Vampire would never lose. “That would be a yes.”

“Souls?” Buffy asked quietly as Willow began to stir beside her.

A nod. “Witches did well, Love. I feel two.”

Gunn came over to help Buffy get the Witches up from the floor and onto the couch in the living area, as Spike watched over his grandsire and Cordelia.

“She risen yet, Angel?” Spike asked, taking another step closer. Angel tensed, but didn’t growl again, allowing Spike to work his way over to the stone and lean against it, just in front of the huddled pair.

“No,” was his nearly inaudible answer.

“Sundown, then,” Spike responded. “She’ll want to feed.”

“She’ll never feed. Not like us,” Angel growled, so low that only Spike could hear it as more than noise.

With a nod, Spike understood. He remembered the room of graves that Luke had built for him in La Maison Rouge. What it felt like to gaze upon the thousands of lives he had taken to survive. No soul should ever feel that. “Then we’ll need to find her something.”

“No human,” Angel responded.

Spike chuckled. “What? I’m taking orders?”

Another growl from his grandsire. “Can’t know you’re missing it if…”

“You’ve never drank of the chalice,” Spike finished. “Right then, butcher shop it is.” The blond took a step back towards the door and stopped, turning round to face his grandsire. “You want me to be here when…?”

Angel shook his head, returning to human features. “No, I need to tell her… I need to explain…”

“She’ll likely kick your arse,” Spike chuckled. “And you’ve given her Vampire strength to do it.”

With an eye roll, Angel huffed as Spike spun on a booted heel and collected his troops to go. But part of Angel, just a part, wondered if he should have let his grandchilde stay after all.

To be contd.

Summary: Buffy finally corners Spike about their child’s soul. Cordelia wakes up.

The crew stood quietly in the sunshine outside Spike’s crypt, pondering the gravity of it all. Cordelia was dead. And now undead. The new Master was gone. The Sky Queen had subdued Luke and Draconius for now at least, and they were left standing, in flux.

Again, the world had almost ended, and again they were the only people who knew. What does one do after such an event, Wesley pondered? What do we always do?

“Anyone up for some chicken and waffles?” Buffy asked as they took their first steps up into the bright sunlight. Spike chuckled at his partner’s one-track mind. Well, he thought, it actually has several tracks, but this one is one of its favourites.

“Think I’ll pass, Mighty Mouse,” Gunn answered, yawning and stretching. “I need a nap.”

“We should check on the others,” Wesley commented, a steadying arm still wrapped around Willow and Tara.

“Oh!” Willow contributed. “I kinda locked down the other house. We’d better go let them out.”

Spike pondered, “How ‘bout I take the hungry bird out for brekky and we’ll meet you all back round in a few hours?”

Every clack as the fork hit the plate was like a cymbal crash. She was silent as she ate, staring down at the table in deep thought, a look of concentration furrowing her brow. As if she was thinking of what to say, or at least a way not to explode in the confines of a public diner.

Spike itched for a smoke. His hands patted his duster pockets as he sipped strong coffee and watched her. Waiting. Wondering if this apocalypse could be worse than the last.

Finally, the last scrap of waffle was cleared and she pushed the plate to the side of the table, taking a long draw of water and looking up at him. What he saw wasn’t quite what he expected.

“You going to tell me what happened?” Buffy asked quietly, trying to rein in her myriad emotions and be logical for a moment.

“You really want to know, Pet?” Spike asked, breathing in sharply as if taking a draw from a cigarette.

She nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to know why you chose the soul of a serial killer, not to mention your ex, for our child.”

Spike closed his eyes. The line was delivered flatly, so if anyone else around could hear, it would just sound like two lovers in a deep discussion. But the venom was there. The sting in the words. The anger.

“S’not Dru’s soul. Not the Dru you or I knew, at least. She didn’t *have* one,” Spike began, taking another sip of his coffee. “The soul is the human girl’s.”

Buffy nodded. “I’ll give you that. But it doesn’t explain why. There must have been a million….”

“Because,” Spike interrupted, “as you know, a soul was already chosen. In order to reverse that, Pet, I had to make a new choice, then and there. I had to find a replacement, and the Sky bint handed me an option on a silver platter. Things started to happen down here and I had to make a call.” Another long breath in and out from his imaginary cigarette.

A long sigh as Spike decided that secrets were not what had gotten them through several years of turmoil inside and out. Another deep breath. “Buffy, you have to understand….”

“Joyce,” Spike whispered, inaudible to anyone but his mate. He stared at the table for a moment, watching ice melt in the glass of water. “Was your mum, Pet.”

Buffy’s head dropped and she stared at a spot on the placemat, her fingers toying with the edges. “She didn’t want to come back?”

“Of course she did!” The Vampire responded, hand shooting across the table to find hers and take it into the safety of his grip. “Had a hell of a time convincing her to give it up. Only reason she did was for you. For us.”

Spike stood and walked around the side of the booth, sliding in next to her and wrapping an arm around her, feeling the weight of her head settle against his shoulder. “Because, Love, those hell gits got to her. Put a mark on her soul, one that’ll fade in time, but it allows them to control her. She’d’ve come back to us and they could have made her do anything. Like hurt Emma or Will. Hurt *us* to get us out of the way. Can you imagine how she could have lived with herself if she’d come back and then….”

Buffy nodded, the tears beginning to escape. “She wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Right,” Spike answered, putting his fingers under her chin and tilting her head up to place a gentle kiss against her lips. “And she didn’t want that, much as she wanted to come back. Much as I wanted her to.”

The Slayer looked up at him with child-like eyes. “Did she really want to come?”

Spike smiled, nodding. “That’s all she ever wanted, Pet. To see you. To see Dawn. Even if it’d be you doing the ordering round this time.”

Again, he nodded his reply. “Sky Queen’s taken a liking to her. Has her living in the palace with her and someone you know fairly well.”

Spike smiled. “Little blonde bint who died back in high school to make way for a Slayer and her pet Vampire.”

“From what I can understand, when you died… well, one of the times… your human self actually did go to Heaven. The human part of your soul, not part of the One. What was left was….”

“Not you, Pet, but the part of you that was a child. The part of you too innocent to live the life you’ve been forced to live.”

“Try having most of you up there for over a century then coming round again as your son,” Spike commented, chuckling and pulling her closer.

Buffy snorted, thinking of the sweet soul of William. William, her lover’s first incarnation. William, her son. “This is all so … weird.”

A pregnant pause before either of them spoke. “So, why didn’t you just pick me, then?” Buffy asked, craning her head to look up at Spike.

He was silent, his fingers rimming the top of the white mug. “Few reasons, I suppose. First off, when I knew I’d have to leave Joyce behind, I didn’t want to leave her alone. This way she still had a part of you to go home to.”

Buffy closed her eyes, tears welling, wanting to see her mother. Remembering years of hugs and hot chocolate and late night talks and love. “I get that.”

“And because that part of you is innocent, Buffy, it doesn’t see, doesn’t remember, any of the horrible things you’ve seen. Doesn’t know this world can be ugly past bad clothes and algebra homework,” Spike continued. “Think your heart has been through enough, without having to show that one part of you that’s left what kinds of nightmares lurk under the bed. Selfish, maybe, but I want that part to be there. To be safe.”

“In case anything happens to me?” Buffy asked, watching him try to hold back his own emotion.

“Something like that. Just need to know that part of you is always safe,” Spike continued. “Even if the part I fell for is the hard headed bint who can kick the arse of demons thrice her size and thinks a trip to a cemetery is as normal as a trip to the mall.”

Buffy chuckled, feeling the first of her tears escape. “Guess I lost some of the dainty along the way.”

“And some of the snob,” Spike continued. “But I love them all the same.”

Another long, pause as they both thought. “So tell me about her. Tell me why you chose Dru,” Buffy finally queried. “Is it because you miss her?”

Spike thought for a long moment. Did he miss her? Did he have a right to, as he was the one who… sent her away? Some part of him did. She had given him this life, and accompanied him through close to a century of existence, showing him things that he’d never seen. Some of which he’d never wanted to. Some of them beautiful beyond all comprehension.

“S’a bit of a question, Love,” Spike said quietly, his arm dropping from around her shoulder. “If I told you that I did, I think you’d take it wrong, as it’s not for the reasons you think. But I can tell you I didn’t choose Dru’s mortal soul because of it.”

Buffy looked at him for a long moment, wondering which part of that to tackle first. Did he regret…. Would he rather have been… ? “You do miss her.”

“Sometimes,” Spike began, hesitantly, “but not so much because I miss her company, more that as it’s hard to say goodbye to someone you’ve loved.”

She thought for a moment on that, remembering all of the goodbyes that she’d said in her day. All of the funerals, all of the people walking away, all of the helicopters, or at least the one, flying as far away as they could get. “I think I understand.”

“She made me, Buffy. She was utterly sack of hammers, but she knew enough to know I meant something, and, for the most part, stayed by my side for a hundred years. And if she hadn’t done those things, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Spike finished, trying to be nonchalant as the thought of her disintegrating into dust by his hand tore through his memory. “If she hadn’t been who she was, and done what she did, then there would be no One, there would be no Emma nor Will, nor the next in line. I’d have died before the turn of the century of some sickness or other, alone and untalented, with nothing to show but…”

“You were beautiful then,” Buffy said quietly, taking his hand. “Remember, I met that you. We brought that you back.”

“We did,” Spike answered, hanging on to her hand. “But that me would never have met you.”

Another tense lapse in conversation before Buffy thought of what to say. “So why, Spike? Why did you pick her? You said it wasn’t because you missed her.”

“It isn’t,” Spike answered simply. “To be honest, I don’t even *know* that her. I never knew the girl before Angelus took her life and tortured her into insanity. I had heard stories of a wholly different person. Quiet and graceful and good. Not the Dru I knew. “

Spike sighed, closing his eyes. “Because when the Joyce understood what was at stake, and chose, of her own free will, not to come back, I was left with having to choose another. The Sky Queen came down with this little girl and she was… She looked so alone, Buffy. So quiet and shy and alone.”

“Brought her down on that great winged beast of hers,” Spike continued, hoping the rest of the diner couldn’t hear this story, lest they call the men in the pretty white coats.

“Long story, Pet,” Spike continued. “But suffice it to say, I felt that Queenie brought her along for a reason.”

“Like maybe she’d be important to the fight?” Buffy asked, not sure what to make of it.

Spike shook his head. “Think it’s the other way round, Love. Like maybe we needed to pay a little back. Maybe we’d be good for her. She had her life taken away in the cruelest of manners by my lot, and maybe it was time to make up for it.”

Spike nodded. “The one that the human girl deserved. So Emma and me… we made a choice.”

“Emma promised that we’d take care of her. So I ….” He stopped, toying with the corner of the napkin placed under his mug. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

Buffy sighed, her hand over the growing bulge in her belly. “I’m not sure how I feel about it yet, but I trust you, Spike. I know you did what you thought was right.”

She giggled in return. “No, you and plans are still kinda non-mixy. But if you think you did what you were meant to do, and Emma was in on it as well, then I guess we get to try and show this one the life that she never got to live. And do our best to make it work.”

He turned his head, studying Buffy’s face before planting a kiss on her lips. “What happened to you?” He asked, lips still grazing hers.

A lascivious grin crossed his face. “That I *can* do. By the way, is there a tomorrow?”

Sunlight faded from the one small window at the top of the crypt, pulling back its rays across the stone floor until the room was nearly black. Only one rose-gold tip of light remained, dancing below the window like the flame of a candle flickering out.

He closed his eyes and waited, huddled between the sarcophagus and the wall, his beloved still cradled against his chest. Holding on to what was left. Holding on for what was to come.

A low, feminine growl started deep in her chest. A rumble. A purr. The feeling of lifeless life flowing into the limbs stretched out above him. With a blink, he opened his eyes, and stared down at her. Waiting. Watching.