Title: Ice Cream and Hell (part 6 - New Life)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG - 13

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just Borrowing.

Summary: Buffy finds out that it might just be possible to rescue Spike, but at what cost?

Ice Cream and Hell

It was late. It had to have been midnight, at least, Giles thought as he put the last dish in the drying rack and wiped his hands on the dishtowel. He was trying to help Buffy any way he could. From doing the dishes, to staying in her mom's old room just as a comfort, to settling some nasty debts. That he would discuss with Buffy later. For now, he felt he owed her all he had to give.

"Giles?" He heard in symphony with the door creaking open and slamming

shut. A herd of feet pounded back to the kitchen.

"Y..yes. It's rather late, you know?" he said wearily as Willow, Tara and Anya stampeded into the kitchen.

"Where's Xander?" Anya asked, scanning the room as if Giles might have

hidden the boy in a cabinet.

"I believe he went to retrieve Buffy," Giles responded. "And Dawn's in bed so please try and keep the noise level down."

"Right, sorry," Tara said, gesturing a finger over her lips.

"We have news," Willow said, smiling. "We found Spike."

Giles' eyes widened. "You did? Where did you locate him?" He walked into the living room, three women in tow, and settled into the overstuffed armchair.

"He's in a hell dimension," Tara replied.

"Well, there are several hell dimensions.." Giles began. The three women sat in a line on the couch.

"He's at La Maison Rouge," Anya chirped, matter-of-factly. Giles looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head, and possibly a third. "You know, the Red House. The Red Mansion. Mephistopheles. You can call me Luke...Hell," she gushed.

"Hell?" Giles asked simply.

"Yeah, you know, the regular one," Willow contributed.

"Well, that's decidedly unoriginal," Giles said, wiping his glasses on his shirttail.

"I doubt he was going for points for originality when he ended up there," Willow countered.

"Ah," Giles responded at a loss.

"So, how do we get there?" Tara asked. " I mean without being evil and then dying."

"I told you, Luke's got a strict guest list," Anya interrupted. "You don't just show up at La Maison Rouge. It'd be like crashing Studio 54. Think Luke had a hand in that one too...."

"Who is Luke?" Giles asked, seeing a fourth head pop from the girl's

shoulders.

"Mephistopheles. Come on Giles.." she griped.

"Right," Giles responded, nodding. "So, Anya, since you are familiar with the rules of this dimension, how do we get there?"

"Think I asked that..." Tara said, raising her hand, then lowering it upon receiving Giles's version of the evil eye.

"As I was saying," Anya whined," Strict guest list. You either die, or

you're a demon. Or a blood relative of a demon."

"Blood relative?" Giles repeated. "Seems odd."

"Yeah well, Luke's an odd guy. He's got that 'all about the blood' thing in his head. But he *is* startlingly attractive."

"Well," Giles began, "None of us is currently a demon nor actively dead..." It sounded odd, but in this circle, a prudent point.

"But there is a blood relative, " Willow said, her tone becoming serious.

"Here, in Sunnydale?" Giles asked.

"Yes," Willow answered. "Buffy's baby."

Giles was silent for a long moment. " Willow, I doubt that an unborn child can flit off to hell to rescue its father."

"Her father," Tara corrected.

"Nor do I think Buffy would entertain the notion were it possible," Giles continued.

"But Buffy might be able to go, since the baby is still part of her,"

Willow responded, biting her lip against the tirade she knew would come.

"Buffy," Giles enunciated, biting back his anger," is in *no condition to journey to a hell dimension. She could give birth any day now. Not to mention the fact that we do not know she could indeed make it into the dimension under the rules that Anya so graciously outlined. Nor do we know if her powers will be of any consequence in another dimension. *Nor* do we have a way to get her there even if the rest of the scheme were feasible." His voice rose with every word.

"Of course you can get here there. Dawn's the *Key*, silly," Anya quipped, non-plussed by Giles' outburst.

"So, now you're suggesting we bleed her sister dry to boot? Have you all gone *completely* mad?"

"No, no. Completely dry brings down the walls to *all* the dimensions.

Three drops should cover opening one little portal," Anya responded, either confusing Giles's agitation with excitement or purposely bating him to explode.

"This is ludicrous," Giles raged, slamming his hand down on the coffee

table. Tara and Willow scooted back on the couch like scolded children,

"and if you *ever* breathe a *word of this to Buffy or Dawn, I will..."

"You'll what?" Buffy asked cheerfully, holding an ice cream cone in one

messy hand. Xander stood behind her in the doorway.

"Tell us what, Giles? And could you *make* any more noise?" Dawn asked, rubbing her sleepy eyes from the stairwell.

"Good Heavens," Giles responded, flopping back into the chair.

"Well, go on," Xander said, sitting on the arm of the couch next to Anya. Dawn descended the stairs and hooked her arm through Buffy's.

"Tell us what?" Buffy said, lapping butter pecan as it dribbled down the side of the cone.

"Giles?" Anya prodded.

"Giles?" Tara questioned. "Don't you think it's her call?"

Giles threw up his hands in frustration. "Tell them."

*****



Buffy sat completely still in the chair next to the couch, ice cream melting in a bowl on the table beside her. All eyes were on her. In every way on every word, she was torn. There was no guarantee she could make it into the dimension. There was no guarantee that if she made it there, she could find Spike and bring him back in one piece. Going at all would be endangering her child, herself, not to mention injuring her sister. Still, the chance, even the slimmest chance, to see him again, to touch him, to *say* it...

I love you, Spike

That would be worth the price.

"Can you guarantee me that Dawn would not he hurt?" Buffy asked, very

seriously. Dawn twitched from her perch on the floor, curled against

Buffy's legs.

"Anya tells us it should take just a few drops," Giles responded.

"Buffy, I want to help," Dawn pleaded, looking up at her sister with wet and strangely more mature eyes. " I want him back," she whispered. Buffy reached down and stroked her long dark hair.

"Have you found a way to make sure that both the baby and I survive her

birth?" Buffy asked, weighing her options heavily.

"Not yet," Giles responded, his attention turning to the floorboards.

The wheels turned in the Slayer's mind. Everything clicked into place like the tumblers in a lock. "Then I go," Buffy responded, resolutely.

"Buffy, are you sure?" Giles's voice was a mixture of frustration and fear. His chest was rising and falling at twice normal speed.

"You can't tell me you can save us, but I might be able to save him. I

think the choice is clear," Buffy replied, warm tears swimming in the backs of her eyes. "If I didn't try, then I think the what ifs are a little more than I could live with."

"Alright then," Giles responded, letting his breath escape in a loud sigh.

"We need to do this soon. Like now. We don't know how long this'll take and I don't know how long I've got before the baby makes a grand entrance. When can we do this?" Buffy was gushing, trying to cover the fear with words.

"We can probably have everything set by tomorrow evening. I would just like to look into a few details before I send you to hell," The disapproval was evident in his tone and in his words.

"Thank you," Buffy answered, pushing herself to her feet. Dawn stood up

with her. "I'm going to try and get some sleep. Please do this for me."

Slowly, she made her way up the stairs.

To be contd...

Title: The Peacemaker (part 7 - New Life)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG - 13

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just Borrowing.

Summary: Spike receives a visit from a ghostly friend. Buffy departs on her journey to find Spike.

The Peacemaker

Spike hung limply against the chains. He was beaten inside and out.

Between the physical punishment, the startling lack of sustenance, and the constant video that Luke now piped in, Spike did not think he could, nor did he want to, make it through another moment. Too bad he was already dead several times over, he thought.

The door at the far end of the room creaked open. Spike did not even bother to crane his head toward the sound anymore. All it meant was more terrible things. He just hung there, staring at the red dust sweeping across the floor.

"Spike?" he heard. A woman's voice. Sweet and rich and melodic. Almost like Buffy's but with the slightest tinge of an accent. "Spike?"

Spike picked up his head and turned his battered face towards the sound. A beautiful woman was standing at the entryway. She could not have been more than eighteen. The girl looked like an angel, almost like Tara had that night; not quite solid, shimmering, glowing. It was as if her body was carved out of moonstone but she moved as if she were made of liquid mercury.

The girl was small and pretty. As beautiful as Buffy, Spike thought. She was built like her. Lean and muscular and graceful with a stature much larger than her size. Pretty blonde hair, high, strong cheekbones, smooth peach skin, coral lips and piercing blue eyes. The girl was a vision, and a good one at that, Spike thought.

"Hi, Spike," she whispered walking towards him. She brushed her hands

against the metal restraints at his wrists and they fell to the floor.

Spike fell limply to the dirt as if the metal was the only thing holding his bones in place.

The girl sat down in the dirt and lifted Spike's head gently into her lap, brushing his face with her hands. "Who are you?" he croaked "You don't belong here."

"I am the Peacemaker," she answered, brushing her hands over his aching

chest.

"The Peacemaker?" Spike asked. "Kind of name is that, love?"

" I have no name. I have no context in your world yet," she answered in

that soft angelic voice. "But you know of me."

"Legend, myth." Spike coughed. The girl silenced him, lifting a cup to his lips. He drank deeply feeling the fluid ignite his veins, awaken his mind. It was not blood nor water, nor anything he had ever tasted. Ambrosia, he thought. This is what Ambrosia tastes like.

"Prophesy," the girl corrected.

"Dodgy prophesy at best," Spike countered, "No real basis."

"Ah, but I am real," she retorted, smiling the most beautiful smile.

"Are you?" he asked, unable to avoid smiling back at her.

"Quite," she answered. " I am the one to bring peace between the

dimensions, to bridge the gap between man and beast..."

"The one to stop the wars..." Spike continued almost by rote. He could not even remember when he had learned the words.

"And you," she said, placing her hand over his heart, shocking him with her touch, "cannot give up."

"Why does that matter?" It almost hurt to look upon her she was so perfect. She was so much like Buffy. So ... light. The ache in his heart was palpable.

"Because you have to protect me," she answered. "You and the Slayer."

"Wha?" he tried to respond, his face blanking completely. The girl shushed him softly.

"No more talking." Her shimmering, glowing beauty mesmerized him. His

mouth snapped shut at her request. "She is coming for you, Spike," the girl continued.

"Buffy..."

Spike was shushed again like a wayward child. "Buffy," the girl said

smiling softly, peacefully. "No matter what is said in this place, or what you see, no matter what happens when she comes, you *must* leave when you have the chance. Even if that means leaving her behind. Do not hesitate. Do not look back. When you see an opening, you *must* take it."

"But Buffy... she can't... I can't... not like that... "

"I will tend to her," the girl assured him. "But you must go. Do you

understand?"

Spike swallowed hard, nodding.

"Now, sleep," she whispered, kissing his forehead. He fell drowning into her embrace and was gone before she uttered another word.

*****

They walked to the schoolyard in silence. All together, as if being apart might break the chain that made them all human. Buffy walked arm in arm with Dawn, stoic and serious and deathly quiet. Willow had told her everything she had seen. Anya had told her everything that she knew. If Buffy could find the red house, if she could find Luke, then she could find Spike. If she found Spike, she would not leave without him. Her determination was evident in her stride.

They arranged in a circle in that spot in front of the jungle gym where

Spike had disappeared. Buffy could still feel him there, like an ache in her bones. Giles reasoned that opening the portal would be most efficient in a spot where it had opened before. No one questioned him. They rarely ever did.

It was dark. Moonless. The irony of opening the gates of Hell in a

schoolyard was not lost. The most dastardly things arose from the most

innocent of places. It never ceased to amaze Buffy how ironic the world

could be. How utterly ironic.

Buffy had made it clear that she did not want to say goodbye to any of them. Good-byes were never good. They tended to mean, in her jaded view of the world, that you were going somewhere irretrievable, someplace from which you could not return. Dawn had curled up in Buffy's bed the night before and that was more than she could bear. The fear was already gnawing at her mind. Still, this had to be done. Speak now or forever hold your peace, she thought.

Buffy nodded and Giles slid a knife from a small sheath at his waist. Dawn looked frightened, but she held out her arm willingly and let her wrist fall into Giles's cupped palm. She had practiced her lines, imagined the pain over and over as if rehearsing for a very dark play. Still, she was afraid. Dawn needed Spike nearly as much as Buffy and she desperately wanted to do this one thing right.

Giles looked at the teenager softly, studying her face. In that moment, she became as old as the heavens, as wise as the Earth, as bright as the stars. He nodded at her slightly. The voice of the trembling girl suddenly became the song of millions of generations. Rich and sweet and powerful.

"Open the portal to the depths of Hell

The gates of La Maison Rouge

Let this traveler pass freely between.

And guard her journey through."

Giles slid the knife across Dawn's fingers. Three drops of blood slid

slowly to the sand, spreading into a vast pool. It shimmered and sparkled, glowing blue with an eerie light.

"Guess this is my stop," Buffy said, looking at Dawn and Giles. "See ya

around," she whispered, stepping into the blue nothingness. And she was

gone.



to be contd.

Title: Three Dog Night (part 8 - New Life)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG - 13

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just Borrowing.

Summary: Luke takes Spike on an adventure, Buffy begins her journey to find Spike.

Three Dog Night

Spike awoke once again chained to the wall. The girl was gone, but he felt her warmth all around him, inside of him, coursing through his veins. The drink she had given him had restored his strength and her words, his fire.

Buffy was coming for him. Spike was a little put off by the fact that he needed rescuing at all, but the sheer pleasure of seeing her face once again was worth a little wounded pride.

Still, he thought, what he had seen here had mortified even his demon soul. It was killing him to think of her alone in that wasteland. Why did they send *her*? She had to be close to delivering the child. Why would they even *let* her go? Spike chuckled to himself thinking, no one *lets* Buffy Summers do anything. Only can watch her and hope for the best. Buffy had made up her mind and come here on her own. Despite the fact he knew she could hold her own, the fear gnawed at him. He could not live with himself if Buffy or the child died trying to save his sorry hide.

The Peacemaker said she would help them, Spike thought. Somehow he believed it.

"Spike!" Luke exclaimed, prancing through the door.

"Bastard," Spike responded, nodding his healing face at the monster.

"Why *you're* feisty today for a little caged beastie," Luke chirped.

"Ready for today's episode of 'Slays of our Lives'?"

"Not much in the spirit today, mate," Spike responded. "What's behind door number two?"

Luke thought for a moment. "Alright," he said suddenly, clapping his hands. Spike fell to the floor with a thud.

"Bloody Hell. Enough with the dropping!" The Vampire whined, rubbing his wrists. "To what do I owe this distinct pleasure?" Spike stood, wiping the red dust from his jeans.

"And *now* for something completely different...." Luke babbled. "Let's

take a walk, Willie."

"Where to?" Spike responded taking a wobbly step forward.

"A little tour of my humble abode. Show you all the sights La Maison Rouge has to offer." Luke hooked an arm through Spike's and Spike tore away, straightening himself. "Have it your way," he said, winking slyly.

*****

The foot that had stepped out of the sand in the playground suddenly

crunched into fallen leaves. Buffy looked down, then up, then spun just as the glowy, bluish circle disappeared. "Oh well," she said to no one in particular. "This isn't *too* bad."

Buffy had found herself in a forest. A dark, overgrown, spooky forest, but a pretty normal sight, all in all. One inconvenience, Buffy noticed while surveying her current situation, was that her sweatpants and T-shirt had been replaced by a little, white sundress and her tennis shoes were gone. "I hate travelling in a dress," she whined, beginning to trek down the path.

Buffy had no idea where she was headed; she was just following her gut.

Quite literally. When the child kicked her toward the left, she veered

little left. Right, right. Center, straight. Seemed as good a navigation system as any. Not to mention that she never lacked direction as the baby had suddenly jumped to aggravated attention as soon as they had crossed the portal.

It seemed like hours that she climbed through the underbrush, jabbing,

cutting, twisting her feet on every rock, twig, and thorn in existence.

Maybe this was Hell, she thought, sitting heavily on a log. She lifted her leg and stretched to pull a thorn from the sole of her foot, finding this task to be Herculean, but successful after several attempts. Buffy sat, staring at the unending woods. "So," she asked the air, the child, whoever might be listening, "where do we go from here?"

As if on cue, the sound of a river came roaring into her ears. Buffy

slapped her hands over them to try and quell the sound, but it was twice as loud in her head. "No need to drop and anvil on me!" The noise quieted to a subtle, babbling brook, sound. "Jeez, if I'd a known it was that easy, I would have just asked you to take me to Spike."

In the distance she heard a roar and an awful crash. The sound made her

instantly cold. Buffy hoisted herself from the log and scampered up a rise and down a bank to a vast river. This was odd, she thought. She should have been able to see or at least hear it well before she did, yet it seemed to just appear in front of her. Poof.

Just as suddenly, a boat appeared in front of her, bobbing lazily on the

shore. Shortly thereafter, a dog appeared in the boat. Buffy looked at the dog curiously. It was large, possibly the largest dog she had ever seen. What was really stood out about the pooch was its two extra heads. "This can't get any weirder," she mumbled, walking towards the boat. The baby suddenly landed a right hook against some imaginary foe and Buffy stumbled.

"Need some help?" a husky, pleasant voice said. Buffy straightened, looking around. "Well, I know you don't belong here, so, I ask again, need some help?" the voice repeated. The dog. To be precise, the middle head.

"Uh...uh..." Buffy stuttered in reply.

"Girl like you in a place like this," the right head commented, wagging back and forth.

"'Specially in your condition," the left chimed in.

"You're gonna need some help," middle head continued.

Buffy's blonde locks bounced as if she were watching Wimbledon. Finally, the middle head addressed her, looking at her dead on. The creature's eyes were strangely human. "Where to, pretty lady?"

"I'm looking for a blond guy. Well, Vampire really. About this tall, " she said gesturing, "Long black coat, talks you to death, English, blue eyes, great cheekbones...."

"Haven't seen the likes of that," right head said. Buffy's heart sank.

"But if he's a demon, probably went a more direct route. Skipped the whole Forest of Despair," left head said.

"How about a guy named Luke?" Buffy asked. "Big red house?" She crossed her arms, tapping her foot as the heads muttered amongst themselves.

"Pretty lady doesn't want to go there. How bout a trip to Purgatory?

Really not that bad this time of year..." middle head said.

"The red place," Buffy insisted. All three heads shrugged on one set of

shoulders.

"Climb aboard," they all said, holding out one enormous paw.

*****

"So, what *exactly* do you plan to show me?" Spike complained, hopping up the steps behind his well-dressed host.

"Oh, all that my little casa has to offer."

"Little late for hospitality, mate," Spike quipped. They reached the

landing and turned right onto a red carpeted hallway. The walls were

mirrored and Spike noticed, as he passed the first wall, that he did indeed have a reflection. He stopped in his tracks looking at a man he had not seen in over 120 years. God, I'm pale, he thought.

Luke laughed, watching the Vampire spin, checking his sides, turning and

lifting his duster, then craning his head over his shoulder. "Yes, you have a lovely arse," the hellgod chuckled as Spike dropped the coat with

indignation.

"I wasn't..."

"Sure you weren't," Luke replied, winking. "Plenty for that little Slayer bi**h to love."

"You should *not* be calling her names," Spike hissed, puffing himself,

stepping toward Luke.

"Please," Luke said. "That's half of got you whipped to start with. The game. The dance. Part of your mating ritual. A little demon in you both if you ask me," he mused. "Not that it matters now since she's about to become very *dead*."

Spike stared at Luke for a moment, his blood boiling in his veins.

"I know she's coming," Luke griped, "I'm not *stupid*."

"You'd be best not to even *try* and hurt her," Spike said, his face

suddenly feeling tight, hot.

'No matter what you see...no matter what you hear..' the soft voice

whispered in his ear. A calm rushed over the Vampire.

"Wouldn't underestimate the Slayer, mate," Spike retorted almost cheerfully. "She's taken out bigger bads than you."

Luke spun on one heel and began again down the long hallway. Spike smiled to himself, thinking for the first time that this just might work.

*****

The boat pulled up against a rocky shore. All red and gray and utterly

devoid of anything remotely familiar. "This is it," middle head said,

lending Buffy an enormous paw and helping her out of the boat.

"Sure we can't interest you in a tour of the Netherworlds?" right head

asked.

"Nah," she answered smiling. "Got work here." She was silent a moment.

"Hey, I don't have anything to give you for the ride."

"This one's free," middle head replied, "but I never want to see you down here again."

"Deal," Buffy said, shaking the outstretched paw.

The boat scooted off the shore and Buffy began to trek up the rocky incline to the equally rocky plain. "Buffy?" left head called as the boat floated off. Buffy turned around toward the boat. "Make peace," it barked. She cocked her head, looking at the creature oddly. The boat disappeared just as strangely as it had appeared.

To be contd.

Title: Door Number Two (part 9 - New Life)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG - 13 - close to R in parts. Please be warned.

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just Borrowing.

Summary: Luke takes Spike on an adventure, Buffy continues her journey to find Spike.

Door Number Two

"Now," Luke began. "Behind each door is a little present for you, Willie. A little gift from my heart to yours." Spike stood still in front of the large red door. "Well, open wide," Luke laughed, lifting Spike's hand and placing it on the golden knob.

Slowly, Spike turned the knob, stepping into the entryway of a beautifully appointed bedroom. It was enormous, with large picture windows and a wall that separated the entrance from the main bedroom. This is how he imagined living. Sharing this room with Buffy would be bliss.

Once completely in the room, he could hear a soft sound around the corner. Rhythmic, quiet, murmuring from the bedroom. It was her voice. She was here. Hope grabbed him by the shoulders and he darted around the edge of the wall and stopped cold. He blinked once to clear the vision from his eyes. When he looked again, there she was. Buffy. Naked. A large reddish demon under her. Spike blinked again, but there she was, her pretty naked back to him. She craned her head over her shoulder and looked at him, smiling viciously. "You're next, stud," she whispered, winking. Her voice. He knew her voice anywhere.

"Buffy?" Spike sputtered, shock seizing his voice mid word.

"Come and get 'em cowboy," Buffy said, kicking the demon to the floor and rolling onto her bottom. He stared at her, blinking over and over, trying to clear it. There was something about her that was wrong. Her eyes. They were yellow.

"No!" he said tossing his hands to his sides. "No!" he repeated turning on a heel and running out of the room. Luke smiled as Spike bolted through the door. "Gotta like that piece," he said, catching Spike's arm and pulling him back.

"It's *not* her," He spat at Luke, pushing him hard against the wall.

"Maybe," Luke chuckled, " Maybe not. Let's try door number two. See if

that puts spring in your step." Luke turned the tables, grabbing Spike by the lapels of his jacket and slamming him hard into the next door. Spike fell through with a clatter, and pulled himself onto his knees. The Vampire caught the scent of blood. Her blood. Quickly, his head whipped up. There was an oddly familiar bed in front of him. Spike scanned the room. It was Buffy's room. He pulled himself to his feet.

There was blood everywhere. Her blood. He knew the scent. As he came

closer to the bed, Spike could see that the white linen bedspread was soaked end to end. She was curled in a ball, shaking, her body covered in claw marks. He stumbled, tripping, trying to get to her. "Buffy?" he tried to scream, but all that he could muster was a retching sound.

Spike grabbed her arm and rolled her toward him softly. Her eyes fluttered open. He remembered that stare. That frozen, swimming stare, just as the world fades off.

"Spike," she whispered, winding her fingers through his. He could feel his body shudder and the tears stream down his cheeks in rivers. Her hands were cold to him. Cold. "Spike, I tried to save you." He leaned down, pressing his lips to her. They tasted like Buffy's lips. "They took her Spike," she continued her lips still against his. "They took our baby. I killed you both." Her eyes drifted closed. He pulled the tiny body to his chest and rocked her, sobbing into her bloodied blonde hair.

"No Buffy," he whispered, "this isn't real. Nothing here is real. Please, love. Please." He sat there forever, covered in her. He had to believe this was an illusion, that everything here was somehow false. Still, he did not know. This could be her. She could be dead. Their child stolen. Even if she stormed through the door this very moment, the memory of this room would be forever... there.

"Now *this* is a Kodak moment," Luke said appearing in the doorway,

clapping. Spike looked up, his chin still buried in her hair.

"Why won't you leave her out of this?" Spike hissed.

"This is Hell, William," Luke responded, obviously annoyed. "You chose to live your life like a human, but you never paid for your good old demon days. So, here you are, in human Hell holding your bloody human wife and wishing things were different. Well, guess what, Willie, you did this all to yourself. Time you owned up to it. Wanna be a human? Never gonna happen. Wanna act human? Need to face your demons. Now get up," Luke said, grabbing Spike's collar and dragging him to his feet. Buffy fell limply to the bed, her hand still tangled in his. "Leave her there. You have more important things to see." The hell god ripped Spike from her and pushed him out the door.

*****

Buffy walked in silence for a few moments before she started to hear the

sound. At first, she thought it was just wind beginning to pick up in the distance. An eerie, far away howl that chilled her to the core. No matter where she looked, all she could see was rocks.

A sudden, furious fluttering above her made her jump. A murder of crows

passed over her like a storm cloud, flapping and screaming. Buffy dropped to her knees, throwing her hands over her head as the birds dove and cawed all around her. As soon as the sound had appeared, the fluttering stopped.

Then she heard the screams.

When Buffy stood again, she saw the faces. Pressing against the rocks from the inside. Pounding, screaming, as far as the eyes could see. She pushed herself to her feet, staring at the stones in horror. Humming, talking to herself to drown out the sound. Still, they screamed on. Her heart was fluttering like the crow wings. No way to make them stop. Please make them stop.

'...and it sounds like rain,' she heard in her head.

She stopped and closed her eyes, listening. Her heartbeat. The child's

heartbeat. Buffy smiled. It did sound like rain.

There was barely a path between the rocks, but Buffy made her way along the edges, trying not to step on any faces. The way was horrible and having no shoes made it that much worse. Her feet burned with every step. A sound distracted her and she looked up, immediately turning her ankle and tripping, landing on her hands and knees in the dirt.

It was then that she noticed that they weren't just any faces.

She recognized them.

The face of every vamp, every demon, she had killed as the Slayer. She

hitched, a scream catching in her throat. Buffy stumbled to her feet,

spinning, staring at the faces. Old and new. It dawned on her that these were all human faces. That they had once been human, had parents, kids, friends. But they were demons when she staked them. Evil, soulless, demons.

Like Spike.

Buffy cupped her hand over her mouth, staring wide-eyed at the trapped souls of humans who had lost their way. A flurry of thoughts raced through her mind. Had she been right *every* time? *Every* time? Could she say that with certainty? She *felt* right. It was her job. The nature of her beast. They were *evil*.

But what if even one of them had been like Spike?

The Slayer backed into a boulder, feeling the stone press into her bare

shoulders. She was choking, weak kneed. This is an illusion, she thought. She did what she *had* to do. A scream rose behind her and she spun toward the boulder. Jenny Calendar. The woman Giles had loved. Screaming, pounding. Buffy knew she had not killed her, but in a way, she had.

Everything she touched died.

"Oh, God," she screamed, running from Jenny's prison. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." Buffy ran as fast as she could, her bare feet flying over stone after stone, her madness building in her spine like some dragon seizing her body. "Oh, God."

"Doubt he'll be of much help to you here," A voice said. A familiar voice.

Buffy's head swung up and there he was, standing in her path. "Doubt your God cares much about this place."

"Angel?" She panted, shaking her head.

"See you've decided to expand the Summer's clan," he said, looking her over. Buffy self-consciously stared at her stomach, then back at Angel's face. She said nothing. "Who's the lucky guy? Potato boy come back?"

"Angel, I..."

"What, Buffy? Can't admit it? Too embarrassed? Not embarrassed enough if you ask me."

This wasn't right. She knew this... thing. It wasn't Angel.

This was Angelus.

"Spike..." Buffy said quietly, staring at his dead eyes. Angelus blinked hard once. Even for him, even in this state, he had not expected that one.

"*Spike*? Well then," Angelus said, "explains why you are here."

"I need to find him," she pleaded, hoping that she was wrong. That Angel was in there and he would help her.

"Why?" Angelus was laughing. "Better off without our special little

William."

"I love him, Angel." It was a spontaneous confession, but something that she thought would never happen. She would never admit to Angel that she loved someone else. Love someone *more*.

Simple fact was, she did.

"Love," mused Angelus, beginning to walk a slow circle around the girl,

taunting her. "You don't know the first thing about it, *Pet*." Spike's word sounded like blood dripping from the creature's lips. "You *can't* love. Not in the Buffy Summers handbook. You *can't* feel anything that doesn't serve *you* to feel. That isn't *love*. That's selfishness. For God's sakes Buffy, you couldn't even love your *mother* unless it was convenient for you. And Dawn? Why do you think she is going bad, Buffy? No love."

Buffy was battling off the tears that were waging war behind her eyes. Some escaped, rolling down her cheeks in a futile effort to vent her hurt. "Angel.." she breathed, trying to stop her hands from shaking.

"Not that I blame you. I mean who ever loved you?" Angelus continued,

shrugging, circling. " Your *daddy* certainly left in a hurry. Doesn't come around much anymore, does he? Potato boy took the easy way out as soon as things got rough. And God knows, *I* never loved you. Who could, Buffy?" Tears were streaming down her face. He was circling her like a cat circling a caged canary, watching it suffer until he figures a way to break the cage and make the kill.

"Spike does," Buffy whispered.

"Ha," Angelus laughed. "Right. Sure. Forget I've known him for 120

years? Completely lead by the pants, dear. I always preferred torture

myself, but Spike? He liked the thrill of the lay. He wanted it from you. Kill two Slayers, screw the third. From the looks of things he was successful. Well done, William."

"You're *wrong*," Buffy screamed, her hands shooting out and catching Angelus in the chest. He fell to the ground in a heap. "You know *nothing* about love, Angelus," she hissed, planting her foot in his stomach. "I loved you more than I ever thought I could love anything. Guess I grew up. But it's *you* that can't love. You even had the benefit of a soul. Minute you lose it, you're an animal."

"That's right, baby," the beast smirked up at her.

"One I should put down.. again," Buffy spat. Suddenly, she stopped, pulling her foot from him and stepping back. "You know what, Angelus. I feel sorry for you. Old as you are, and still can't figure out how to feel. Maybe the Vampire is only as good as the man. You were pathetic and evil then. The Vamp that turned you was doing you a favor."

Buffy turned away from the creature on the ground beneath her and began to walk along the edges of the rocks.

To be contd.

Title: Weeping Willow (part 10 - New Life)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG - 13 - close to R in parts. Please be warned.

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just Borrowing.

Summary: Luke makes Spike face the repercussions of his ways, Buffy continues her journey to find Spike, and finds something she never wished to see.

Weeping Willow

Luke dragged Spike from Buffy's bedroom with such force that Spike felt his shoulder pull from the socket. It was all seemed so real. Still, somewhere he knew she was alive. The girl in his dream had promised him she'd tend to her and for whatever reason, Spike trusted the Peacemaker.

They were back in the hallway now, the thick red carpeting like a sea of

blood beneath their feet. "You know, Willie, I can make all of this stop. You're a demon, man! You belong here. If you'd just let go of the damn humans, we'd be upstairs playing pool, listening to the Ramones and sexing up the succubae. Whadya say Spike?" Luke gushed, clapping Spike on the shoulder. "Give up the girl, the kid, her little sister, her friends, and get the keys to the kingdom. Humanity's over rated. Bunch of frantic lost pansies doing everything they can to forget they are human. And you *want* that? Come on, Spike. This is the *real* deal."

Spike looked thoughtfully at Luke. It really was not that long ago that

this would not have even been a choice. Love had been rabid and ferocious and insane. Pleasure was everything. Taking was the only aspiration. The demon inside craved that. Every day, craved the kill, the cheap thrill, the untamed lust without the bridle of emotion. Spike had fought the demon for so long now. He thought he had won. He thought he had crushed it in Africa, but there it was, rearing its ugly head again. 'Take the money and run,' he thought. 'Make this stop. Rip my bleeding hear out of my chest and crush the love and get this *bloody well* over with. Buffy'll find her way.'

Buffy.

Her goodness. Her light. Her loyalty. Her beauty. They rushed over him like the tide. Spike felt himself standing naked in her sea letting her warmth rush over him, crash into him, sometimes knocking him flat. But she was always there, rushing and receding like the tide.

"No, mate," Spike said, straightening his shoulders as if willing the demon away, "fraid that time is over."

"Suit yourself," Luke replied, shoving Spike through yet another door.

*****

Buffy had walked for hours. Still, nothing changed. It was sea of rocks. No big, red houses. Not even a big red shrub. The screaming went on, but she was used to it now as one gets used to a vile smell. Her body ached and her stomach cramped with hunger and fatigue. The baby, for once, was dormant.

"Catching a nap?" she asked the basketball between her hips. "Don't blame you. We need to find a place to hole up a while. Wonder if this dimension has room service?"

In the distance, the farthest distance she could see, was the oddest vision. A tree. An enormous Willow, to be exact, its branches sweeping from the sky and dipping down to kiss the earth. Resolutely, Buffy headed toward the closest thing to shelter that she was likely to find.

It took her a good ten minutes even to get close to it. The branches were so lush and low, she could not see the trunk. Her brow furrowed as a cold chill shot down her spine. She ignored it, knowing that this was the best she was going to do. With a deep breath, Buffy parted the branches and darted under cover.

The first thing she saw was a glimpse of black leather. Buffy slid a branch out of her way and could see a form sitting on the ground, leaned against the massive trunk. His back was to her, but she saw the leather and what she thought was a glimpse of blonde hair.

"Spike?" Buffy almost screamed, making her way to the trunk, rounding the edge. There was no answer. "Spike, is that you?"

Buffy rounded the trunk and there he was, sitting silently, staring off into the distance. Only three wasn't a distance. Just a tangle of branches. "Spike?" she whispered, kneeling down, her knees resting on the leather of his duster. She could smell the smoke and old darkened leather. "Spike?" Tears were creeping into her eyes and the dragon of her fear was coiling its way up her back. "Spike?" she said again, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He toppled onto his side. Frozen. Unmoving, staring into the unseen

distance.

"Spike?" Buffy whispered, tears beginning to fall. She was shaking him

almost violently now. He couldn't be dead. He was already dead. "Spike, wake up dammit!" Her hands were on his frozen shoulders, gouging at the leather, his head lolling with every shake. "Spike, no. Oh God, no," she cried, dropping her hands. Her palm slapped to her moth, trying to stifle the scream. It rose from her throat like a primal roar, shaking the branches of the Willow. The last note caught in a retching sob and she could feel it all again. The playground. Reaching. Gone.

Buffy grabbed Spike's wrists and pulled him upright then over to her, his head resting on her lap. Her eyes were sore and felt as if they were bleeding. The anger and hurt boiled in her veins. Softly, her hands skimmed over his beautiful face. It was sculpted like marble, like a statue, and the sapphire orbs stared up at her quietly. Never to say another word again. The tears. How many could one woman cry? They dripped down onto the smooth plain of his skin like rain.

"I love you," she choked out. "Even when I hated you, I loved you. Always. Every day." Buffy leaned down, pressing her lips to his, breaking down completely when her prince did not magically flutter to life.

She had no idea how long she sat there, rocking, cradling his head in her lap, sobbing, until her throat was sore and her eyes dry, hollow wells. Buffy felt arms wrap around her shoulders. Warm, lithe, strong. The air smelled like vanilla. She closed her eyes and drank in the warmth.

"It's not real, you know," a sweet female voice sang in her ears. Melodic and rich and smooth. "Nothing you experience here is real. Remember that."

Buffy fell back into the girl's embrace, leaning her back into her

chest, closing her eyes. The young girl stroked Buffy's hair and rocked her as Buffy had rocked her lover. "You need to rest," the girl whispered, brushing the hair from Buffy's cheek. "You have much to do."

"Who? Who are you?" Buffy muttered broken heart and soul.

"I am the Peacemaker," the girl answered quietly. "But you know who I am."

Buffy opened her eyes. The vision of Spike was gone. She stared up into a beautiful face, glowing like moonlight. Piercing blue eyes and smooth peach skin, spun silk hair. " I know you?" Buffy struggled to speak.

"You are my protector, I am why you are here."

"Protector?"

"You and the Vampire."

"Spike?" Buffy was far too weary to be adding two and two.

"I will help you," the girls said quietly, " but you must rest. You will have your answers."

"But I need to find him. My love," Buffy whispered, mesmerized by the

beautiful young girl. The Peacemaker smiled.

"Drink," she girl whispered, placing a chalice to Buffy's lips. Buffy drank deep, feeling the sweet fluid course down her throat, light the fire in her veins. The child awoke, kicking with delight. Buffy coughed at the sudden outburst, chuckling softly.

" I guess were both thirsty," Buffy said. "What was that?"

The Peacemaker smiled serenely. "Sleep now," she whispered, kissing Buffy's cheek so tenderly and laying a hand on her belly. The baby instantly calmed and Buffy could feel the child curl into a peaceful ball inside of her.

Buffy drifted off, wrapped in the young girl's arms.

*****

This time, when Spike was forced through the door, he found himself in

nothing even remotely resembling a room. On the contrary, it was a huge

meadow with tall, ancient trees scattered along the landscape. He felt

different. He coughed and found that he had air in his lungs. His heart was racing in his chest. The duster was long gone, replaced by the black silk suit he had worn to Tara's funeral. Everything was different.

He walked into the sunlit meadow seeing thousands of grayish blocks in the distance. Slowly he headed toward the area, feeling the warmth on his face, closing his eyes and noticing the soft caress of the wind on his cheeks, the rustle of the leaves as they blew softly to the ground. The feelings were completely new and completely familiar all at once. This was the world he could not touch. The world that was only a distant memory now. The world where he and Buffy had been together and had been right.

Spike came closer to the speckled horizon and noticed that the blocks were not random boulders on the English countryside of his youth. They were stones. Headstones to be exact. At least a thousand of them lined in neat, well kept rows. He smelled flowers. In his hands were clutched two bouquets. One large arrangement of white lilies. One small collection of tiny daisies. A shiver spontaneously crept up his spine.

He came upon the stones and looked down at the first row. Name upon endless name. Date upon endless date as he walked the rows. None of them meant anything to him. Just names and dates and angels and crosses and little trinkets left by those who loved the departed. And then he came to the large Rowan tree.

There were two perfect marble stones, side by side. One larger, one

smaller. Spike kneeled between them before he even realized what he was

doing, settling the flowers in their proper place. His eyes focused and

what he saw was too much to bear.

"Buffy Anne Windsor. Beloved wife and mother. Dear friend and

Savior."

Spike scanned right at the smaller stone.

"Emma Joyce Windsor. Beloved daughter. Miracle."

His eyes filled with tears. Even if this wasn't real, it would be. This was his future. He had always known that living with humans carried the most painful price of all. One day he would bury them all. He would bury his beloved. He would bury his child. He would tend to their graves until the world ceased to exist, but would never lay with them.

Spike fell forward onto the grass, bowing to the Earth. Begging her to take him back, to let him live like her and die like her and never have to tend another grave again. To never have to read his daughter's name in marble, for it is so unnatural for a parent to outlive a child. To give him another chance to make this right. He begged the soil, the tree, the marble, the sky with every tear he had left. But she would never make him whole. He was a demon, wasn't he? Not to be given the grace of a God he had been forced to reject. He begged all the same.

A hand rested softly on his shoulder. Spike lifted his head, his face

covered with tears and chiseled with grief. An withered woman stood behind him, stooped with age and lined with wisdom. "You loved them," the woman said, kneeling down next to Spike as if in a pew at church. "You still love them."

"Every day," he whispered, his voice breaking, the tears stinging his skin.

"Grief is what makes us all alike," she said, holding his hand in hers. She was kind, he thought.

"I suppose it is," Spike answered, his hand brushing over the headstones.

"That's my son over there," the old woman said, pointing at a cross a few markers away. "He was 18 when he died."

"I. I am so sorry," Spike muttered, feeling he actually meant it. "That is so young to pass. How did he die?"

The old woman looked at Spike softly, compassionately. "You don't know

where you are, do you?"

Spike thought for a moment. In all honesty, he did not. "No," he answered simply.

"This is yours, Spike. You made this."

"What do you mean?" Spike asked, fear gripping him. The old lady's hand

tightened around his, not in a threatening manner, more as a brace against a storm.

"The stones in this garden," the woman said softly, " are lives that you

took. Except for these two." She gestured at the marble stones in front of her. "They were taken from you."

"Wha?" Spike stuttered, scanning the field. There were thousands of

stones. Thousands.

"Every stone, every marker, represents one life that you took in order to survive. Each one you drained the life from. Including my son." The woman stated simply. Spike pulled his hand away in disgust, not with her, but with himself. He stood, staring, spinning, looking at the sheer number of markers in this place. The magnitude of lives that he had taken. He began to shake, to panic, his human heart pounding into his ribcage.

The old woman stood again, her eyes looking directly into his. "You killed my son," she said calmly, her hands on his shoulders. "You took him from me. " Spike was puzzled. She was not angry, she was not yelling. She just told him. Somehow that was worse.

"I..." he stuttered. He wanted to scream, 'I didn't mean it'. But he had. He wanted to say that that is what vampires are supposed to do. But he knew now they didn't have to. He had killed him, he killed all of them, because he *wanted* to. Because he could. Because he was a monster.

"Madam, I am sorry," Spike said, mustering whatever dignity he could. "I have no excuse. I am sorry I killed your son. That you are here. That you are feeling... this."

The woman's face softened. "You loved them," she said again, gesturing at the stones.

"Always."

"They changed you."

"Yes."

"Are you truly sorry for this?"

Spike thought for a long moment. He had never really thought too much about it. He killed to eat. Like a hunter. He didn't kill to torture, to hurt anyone's mother or wife, or husband or child. That was the problem. He hadn't really thought at all.

He closed his eyes, imagining the countless times he fangs sank into human flesh, stealing its essence and making it his own. Leaving the body where he had found it. Then he allowed himself to think of the person who found the body. Had they reacted like Buffy when her mum died? Had they hurt like he had when he saw her body on the pile of rubble? Did they die as well like Willow had done when she buried her lover? He multiplied every life he took by those he destroyed and the weight nearly crushed him. Tears streamed down his face.

"I am truly, deeply sorry," he whispered, his head dropping back to the

ground, his face feeling like it might drown in the tears, his head explode with the sudden magnitude of what his unlife had amounted to.

"And this girl, she loved you knowing this?" the woman said, nodding at

Buffy's headstone.

Spike nodded. "She did," he said. "She knew and she loved me. In her own way."

"And you child?"

Spike smiled. He wasn't sure how he knew. "She adored me."

"She forgave you." The old woman said. "So have I."

Spike stared at the woman quizzically. "How in the world can you forgive me? How can anyone forgive me for this?" he screamed, spinning, his arms out to his sides.

"Because she did. Because people change. Because forgiveness is all we have to bind us. Forgiveness and grief. The question is, can you forgive yourself?" the old woman said, running her whizzened palm along his cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered, the tears streaming fresh on his cheeks. She

patted her hand against his face and smiled.

"Make peace," she whispered, and walked away.

To be contd.