8. Time is inches

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W.H. Auden, “Stop all the clocks”

Heavens! Hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time
When good may have, as well as bad, their prime!
Francis T. Palgrave, 1875
"Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move?”



Had there ever been a moment when this wasn’t going to eventually be part of the “job”? That he would outlive his slayer, perhaps was a given. That he would feel the way he did in recounting her last days, he supposed somewhere it was not an absolute given. Watchers are supposed to maintain some sort of neutrality, some distance from the object of their job. Supposed to maintain a sense of decorum and dignity. Right. They were not supposed to find themselves in a hole in the wall pub, sawdust and sufficient antiquities on the walls (if not in the bar stools) surrounded by those other than human, mourning the loss. Nor were they supposed to be nearly shouting into a cell phone at the time to a vampire.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Giles was aware that there was nothing normal about any of this. There had been nothing normal at all about his slayer. From the beginning she had been a wild card, an unknown. Defying him, defying everything and while not necessarily laughing in the face of fear or death, she’d been damn close to that on occasion. He knew from other accounts, that his slayer was a bit different, but then again, since the onset of the 20th century, most of the slayers had started becoming a bit different. They were beginning to realize that it was the slayer who held the power, not the watcher, and that knowledge was telling. He suspected the most recent of her predecessors had been somewhat of a conundrum for their watchers, but he didn’t imagine any of them had also had to deal with the presence of, and the temperament of, a master vampire bent on protecting what was left behind.

Said master vampire was now agitated beyond what Rupert thought was healthy. If Spike had a heartbeat and blood pressure, Giles was absolutely certain that he’d be hyperventilating and in danger of having a heart attack. As it was, he could see the man pacing back and forth as he relayed the events of the day before. He was going to wear a hole in the floor of the entryway of the Summers’ house, if he didn’t learn to keep still.

A disturbance behind him caught his attention, and Rupert missed whatever it was Spike had just ranted about. “Spike, hold . . . Spike, just a moment. Need to, right, can’t hear so well.”

Giles left his less than comfortable surroundings and wandered out into the early evening. England in July was usually nice, but lately the heat had been literally unbearable. He’d gotten so used to Southern California, where everyone had multiple, if not central, air conditioning and the lack was beginning to tell on him. Not to mention the constant repetition before the Council. Listening intently to the other Englishman on the phone, Giles stopped in his tracks.

“Say that again.” He was silent, waiting for Spike to repeat himself. Then, “did you write all this down? Have you figured out what this girl really is?” Again he held his questions, his patience beginning to wane the more he heard what Spike was saying. “And the girls both . . . right. Neither one heard you.”

A passerby would have taken more than a double take at his next question, but thankfully, Rupert was alone on the street. “What about the hellmouth and the . . . . you think something’s going to happen to the key?” A pause, “Spike, was she talking about people or demons?”

Simultaneously, an ocean and a continent apart, both men sighed and had nearly the same thought. It was Giles who broached the subject though, asking exactly what the other man was thinking. “Do you think someone or something is going to attack the key? And why does this seem directed at news concerning Buffy?”

On the other end, Spike had finally stopped pacing. His eyes stared at the walls of the living room, bathed in early morning light. He’d waited until all the girls were gone for the day before calling Rupert, not wanting any of this conversation overheard. No reason to worry the girls, especially Dawn. Not until they had something a bit more concrete than cryptic warnings and messages from delicate little girls. Damn him, though, Spike thought. Damn Rupert for mentioning her name. His eyes clouded with unshed tears and Spike took another moment before he dared answer.

“Dunno, Rupert, just my sixth sense kickin’ in and tellin’ me something is up with that. Not sure what it is yet, but its something.”

“Right then. I don’t know . . look Spike, I’m coming home. Don’t tell the girls yet why though.”

Spike hunched a shoulder, unknowingly mimicking Rupert’s pose. “‘sthat wise?”

“Probably not, but I think I can manage it. If the Council recalls me, then, I’ll return, but for now I think its best I come home.”

******************************* *******************************

She’d done it. Figured out how to keep the bullhide full of water, by rigging a small frame, kind of like a playpen frame with the bullhide strapped around the top and secured that way.

Actually, that was exactly what she was using. A playpen frame that she’d found in the dump. Coming up with a way to keep the bullhide around the metal pieces had proved just a bit more difficult, but finally Willow had settled on the idea of using clamps like her mother used on their picnic table to keep the tablecloth attached.

Everything was ready. It was all in place. She just needed the key and blood from a woman untouched by man. Tara’s blood and Dawn’s blood. Both girls had to be present.

She’d been wracking her brain, trying to come up with a way to get them both involved without revealing her intent. She expended so much time and energy into research and getting all the supplies that she hadn’t focused any attention onto how to get the girls involved. Until today.

During a trip to the Magic Box, looking for something completely unrelated to anything she was planning, Willow had watched while Anya unpacked the latest shipment of deadly and dangerous herbs, cataloguing everything as she went.

And there it was. The answer was there in front of her. An entire box of Lethe’s Bramble. Used for forgetting and obscuring spells.

It was perfect.

She could use the Lethe’s Bramble to cloud their minds, make them forget who and what they were, get them to the ritual and then, when all was over and done, remove the spell and everything would be fine. And Buffy would be back.

Neither girl would remember.

****************************** ***************************************

Giles hated flying directly from London to Sunnydale. He much prefered a stop over in either New York or Chicago, with a couple of hours in between. Then he could stretch his legs and relax from the stress. But he couldn’t do that this time. The only flight he’d been able to book was London - Los Angeles direct.

Which gave him hours stuck in the same place, with nothing but his thoughts for company. The information he’d been given by Spike had done nothing more than confuse him. While not strictly a prophecy, it had the air and feel of one, moreso than anything he’d run across. It was enough that Spike thought it so.

Despite early misgivings, and his own inherent distrust of vampires in general, Giles had come to trust and believe in Spike. It was not something that he’d ever, in all his life, have expected. They had discovered, in the time they’d shared living quarters, more commonalities than just being English.

They shared a love of the written word, a taste in music that ran from Mozart to General Public, and an understanding of the demonic world that none of the others could fathom.
And now, now that Buffy was gone, the two men had bonded and decided, albeit tacitly and not verbalized, to undertake the protection of the girls and the hellmouth. While he couldn’t contribute nearly as much physically as Spike did, Rupert was aware he was no slouch. They made a fine pair, both ex-patriot Englishmen in a sea of Americans, fish out of water, in more than one way, and yet they were more at home here in California than in England. Rupert had a sneaky suspicion that it was because their hearts were engaged that made Sunnydale more home than either London or Bath.

Spike hadn’t been very forthcoming about life prior to his arrival in Sunnydale, but Rupert knew the last time he’d been in England had been a very very long time ago. So, in light of that, Giles had brought a selection of goodies, including Wheatabix and shortbread. Hopefully that would appease Spike’s hunger. Well, at least one of them.

The other hungers Giles could do nothing about. Spike had been bagging it now for over a year, nearly two, though he still yearned for human blood from the source, Giles as aware his bloodlust was more controllable. Whether it was because he was a master or because he had learned restraint because of the chip, Giles wasn’t certain. Or, on the other hand, it could just be Spike.

Whatever it was, something set Spike apart.

While it confused him, he was still eternally grateful for it. It had brought him to their side, fighting on the side of light.

Giles shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. His long legs ached, cramped by the lack of room and movement. He’d long since come to terms with the reasons behind Spike’s betrayal of all his blood ties.

Initially, he’d been appalled, outraged and disgusted by the revelation of Spike’s feelings. They’d all been. Horrified and disgusted. Somehow, some bizarre way, in the months following, battling with them against Glory, Spike had proven something. Proven his feelings, proven the trust they’d tentatively placed in him and done everything in his power to prove that his feelings were not misguided obsession.

Never once had he turned his back on them, even after the horrific beating he’d received from the Hell-God. And it had been a beating, had he been human, it would have been sufficient to kill him. Glory had inflicted damage the likes of which Giles had personally never seen on a living (or unliving) body. Both legs had been broken in multiple places, one forearm shattered, every single rib was broken, his jaw, skull and she’d nearly blinded him as well. It had taken him weeks to heal, even with the bagged human blood they’d supplied him with. What surprised them all, since they had absolutely no expectations otherwise, was that Spike had taken all that abuse, and not given up the name of the key. He’d kept the secret. Saved Dawn and, well, temporarily at least, saved Buffy. Made it harder for the Beast to find what she wanted.

And then, the little bugger had gone out, after getting healed up, gone right back into the fray. Stood beside them, knowing intimately how much damage Glory could inflict, knowing exactly what they were facing, without any hesitation on his part. Pretty damned amazing considering he did it without any sort of encouragement, any sort of hope for renumeration or recognition. It had in fact surprised him no end. Later on, when he’d had a moment to sit and contemplate things, Giles had realized this was just another part of Spike, a characteristic of both man and demon. Spike was a protector, he’d done it for over a hundred years with Drusilla, and Giles was beginning to suspect it would have been more than natural for William prior to turning. A small snicker escaped his mouth, drawing the momentary attention of his seatmate. Giles smiled apologetically, turning his thoughts inward again. It might just be his Victorian upbringing, but Giles was beginning to discount that, or rather consider it only incidental as opposed to an ingrained character trait.

It had been entirely too natural for Spike to just step into the role of protector, to slip in and take on a role that almost literally had to have been thrust upon Angel. Giles was convinced that it was the height of idiocy to assume that every vampire was the same. No two people were the same, and even demons of the same species were different, why on earth had the Council ever tried to perpetuate the idea that vampires were all the same. Angel and Spike were so diametrically different from each other that the only things the two had in common was the fact they were Aurelian vampires, both masters, and, ironically, Drusilla and Buffy. It was the last two items that gave Giles pause.

Angel had driven poor Drusilla mad, killing her family, torturing the girl then turning her. Drusilla in turn had picked William turning him. And then for the next hundred ten or so years, Spike had protected Drusilla as well as a female master vampire would allow. But he’d done it.

The hellmouth had drawn all of them, in one form or another, bringing them into Buffy’s orbit. Giles suspected that while Angel had desperately needed something to give him a reason to continue, and since his nature was already obsessive, his feelings for Buffy might have been real, but there was no . . . . longevity in them. Obsessive love tends to disappear with time and distance, and that seemed to be the case with Angel. He was more in love with the ideal of Buffy than the girl herself. Angel had never wanted to see her flaws and faults, never wanted to know that her feet absolutely stank after a hard patrol. But Spike, on the other hand, knew all her faults, all her weaknesses, hell, he’d exploited them on more than one occasion.

And still he had deep feelings for her. She was gone and still Spike stayed.

William the Bloody was more trustworthy than Angel.

William the soulless demon was more trustworthy than souled Angel.

Giles sat dumbstruck in his cramped airplane seat, surrounded by a sea of travelers, amidst the most profound revelation of his life. A chill crept up his spine, shaking him from to the core. He had the sudden feeling that trust and love were all going to be sorely tested in the coming days.

9. Shall raise such artificial sprites.

Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.
Arthur Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paraliponmena, 1851

I’m not dead yet.
Monty Python and the Holy Grail


Coming back hadn’t been a mistake. Hadn’t been altogether smart either, but upon hearing Spike’s concern’s when he’d relayed the prophecy and his unspoken ones, Giles had rushed back. Now, almost a month later, with absolutely nothing more on it, Giles was beginning to rethink the immediacy of the situation.

His arrival had been, as he’d requested, a surprise to the girls. Spike had kept his counsel, and while both Tara and Dawn had been overjoyed at his return, Willow’s reaction had been somewhat different.

Willow was not overly happy to see him. He’d tried drawing the girl out, but in the time he’d been back, Giles had been unable to breach the distance he’d felt.

Had he known that was the last thing Willow wanted, Giles would have been more worried than he already was.

**************************** ******************************

Willow was in a holding pattern. She didn’t dare perform the retrieval until Giles was gone, knowing he would do everything in his power to stop her. Or at least believing it. Forced to wait, forced to keep all thought of the ritual from her mind, lest someone find out, or she inadvertently blurt it out in a mindless fit, Willow chafed at the restrictions. Resentment and anger had begun swirling, finding a focus on the two men. Spike, for calling Giles home and Giles for heeding the call.

She only hoped Giles would return to England and stay there.

*********************** ******************************

They were no closer to understanding the prophecy, well that wasn’t entirely true. Some of it was just way too obvious. The mention of the souled one could only mean Angel. Spike and Giles both agreed to that. What they couldn’t agree on was who the seer was and the yellow one. Spike had a theory the red one was Willow, but Giles wasn’t necessarily convinced. The unspoken hope they both carried but stoically refused to mention was the identity of the lost one that will return.

While it remained unspoken, both men hoped without hope that the lost one was Buffy.

*********************** ******************************

Tara was exhausted, mentally, physically and any other “ly” she couldn’t muster up the wherewithal to remember. Life with the scoobies and Willow was like constantly being on the edge of a knife. Never knowing what would literally, pop up out of the woodwork. But she wouldn’t change it for all the money in the world. She was loved, for herself, accepted and part of something that was greater than herself. The fact that she was currently so tired she couldn’t see or think straight was immaterial.

But that too was okay. Because summer session was over, and she could finally get some much needed rest. Mr. Giles was back home, Spike was guarding over them like a rabid dog, doing the majority of the patrolling without complaint, Dawn was nearly done with her summer school, and Willow. . . . Tara shook her head. Something was up with Willow. It could just be her own exhaustion worrying her girlfriend, which would only make sense, but Tara had this niggling little tickle in her back, just between her shoulders that said it was a little bit more than just a worried Willow. Maybe it was just the exhaustion, maybe it was just the paranoia that had set in after Glory had sucked her brain, she just couldn’t really tell. That in itself was something.

Willow’s aura was off just a tiny bit. . . swirling with a brownish-red color that Tara hadn’t seen before. Again, it could just be the worry about her, since it was something that had shown up during the Glory crisis, even though recently it seemed to be getting stronger.

Catching her image in the mirror, Tara suppressed a grimace. She looked exhausted. Her eyes looked bruised and the dark circles beneath highlighted just how gray her normally healthy skin looked. Lank mousy brown hair hung down past her face, and it was an effort to just stand there. Sighing deeply, Tara turned around and decided that today, she was going to do nothing. No books, no cooking, no anything. In fact, she was going to soak in the tub and then maybe, she’d get dressed.

Two hours later, when Willow got home, Tara was curled up on their bed, a towel still wrapped around her hair and a loose robe around her. She was sound asleep.

Willow felt like she had dodged a bullet.

*********************** *******************************

It was beginning to feel like she’d been in school her whole life. That life consisted of long moments spent inside a building she’d come to hate, interspersed with brief moments spent elsewhere. Moments that used to be full of Mom and Buffy and home and pizza and other good things, like being with Buffy’s friends and sometimes stolen moments with Spike. Now . . . now there were no more Mom or Buffy moments, and bare moments with the others. The best lately had been when Spike babied her, letting her just be. Whatever mood she found herself in, he just let it go, didn’t try to cajole her out of the sulks, didn’t give in when she was wallowing, but shielded her from the over-protective worrying of Giles and Xander. Sometimes it just drove her crazy, the way they treated her.

Summer was nearly gone and still she sat inside this building. It was, she had to admit, partially her own damn fault. But really, it was the hellmouth’s fault. When she really thought about it, all the misery of the last couple of months could be laid directly at the gaping mouth of hell. Dawn sat at her desk, absentmindedly studying for the summer-school finals that were scheduled for next week. And oh, boy, was she sooo happy about that. Once that was all over and done with, she would have approximately 15 whole days when she wouldn’t have to actively think about being in school. It so wasn’t enough time.

She wished there was some way she could have taken back some of the dumber things she’d done this past year, especially the skipping classes. Dumb ass, she thought about herself momentarily. A soft sigh escaped her, as she wrinkled her forehead. All right, enough woe is me pity girl. Her lips thinned, determination suddenly bringing her back to the class. Looking around, Dawn realized she didn’t want to do this at all next summer. Making a promise to herself, she resolved that no matter what happened around the hellmouth or the scoobies, she was not spending another summer making up classes.

Aside from spending her days stuck inside, and that every blood relative she had was gone, things weren’t so bad. She had Spike, which made up for not having a dad, and she had Tara. Okay, so neither was her blood, but both were family. And since they were family, Dawn felt safe in admitting that she was a little bit worried about Tara. This morning, before she left for school, she had taken a good look at the older woman and realized that she didn’t look so good. In fact, Tara looked like hell. Dark bruised circles were under her eyes, her hair was all this way and that, and her coloring was just off. She didn’t know what was wrong, but she didn’t like it at all. Tara needed to take care of herself. Dawn made a decision that when she got home, she was going to clean up and take care of Tara, instead of the other way around.

Only one more class to go, and then she was free for the weekend. Making her way through the somewhat crowded hallway, Dawn was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear her name being called, until someone touched her arm. “Dawn?”

Ms. West had concern written all over her features. As far as the adults went, she wasn’t a bad sort, and Dawn got the feeling that her compassion was real and not faked like some of the other teachers. “Dawn, I wanted to ask you how you’re doing. Got a minute to talk?”

“Um, yeah. But I have another class.” Dawn answered while Ms. West pulled her aside.

“Its ok, I just wanted to touch base with you and see how things are?”

“Oh you know, its just . . . hard sometimes. But my sister is, well, she’s doing the best she can.” Dawn shrugged, trying not to let on what was really going on at home. “We’re good.”

There was enough anxiety in the girl’s voice to let the social worker know that while she was telling her what she wanted to hear, Dawn Summers was still trying to come to grips with her grief. And that in itself was a good thing. Grief was something that only time could assauge, and even then, it never really truly disappeared. But moving on was completely natural, even though it was sometimes the hardest thing the ones left behind could do.

The smile Dawn got caught her off-guard, but the next words out of the woman’s mouth really threw her for a loop. “So, how long was your father in town?”

“My father? You met my father?” Dawn was completely speechless. No way had this woman met her dad, because Hank Summers hadn’t stepped foot in Sunnydale in at least three years. And there was no way he would come to town and not see her. Or would he? Did he hate them that much?

“Yes I did. I paid a home visit not long before regular session was over. It was during the day and I must have woken him up. I can see where you get your beautiful blue eyes from, and your nose.”

Dawn’s assessment of this woman took an unexpected nose dive. What kind of ditz was this? Her father at her house in the spring? Nahuh, did soo not happen. And then, listening to her, Dawn realized just who this woman thought was her father. “Your father has such gorgeous eyes, but why on earth does a man his age bleach his hair?”

If she hadn’t been standing with her back against some lockers, Dawn would have fallen over. This woman thought Spike was her father.

****************************** *******************************

It took a couple of days, but once the weekend arrived, Tara was looking and feeling much better. The dark circles had started disappearing and she was actually looking forward to cooking for everyone. Dawn had been wonderful over the past couple of days, really pitching in to help, and most especially not whining when things didn’t go her way. Which, truth be told, she’d been known to do. Poor Dawnie had grown up a lot this summer. Unfortunately that growing up had come at such an awful price.

But time was working in their favor and Dawn, well all of them, were working on getting over the double loss. Because as much as they each had their own mothers, Joyce had mothered all of them at some point. And they all missed her, almost as much as they missed Buffy.

****************************** *******************************

For nearly a week, Dawn had focused on the brief conversation with Ms. West. How weird was it that she thought Spike was her father. What on earth was the woman thinking? Aside from the obvious, Spike being a vampire, he wasn’t nearly old enough to be her father and . . . eeewwww . . . the thought of her mother and Spike was just icky. Coz, like, he was much closer to Buffy’s age – he had to be. Well, he would most likely be if he wasn’t dead. . . or undead. Dawn remembered overhearing him tell Giles that he was turned by Drusilla in 1880, but not how old he was.

Spike was very forthcoming about life after turning, but didn’t say much about time beforehand. Although she suspected that he might tell her if she asked the right way. Sometimes, Spike could get on a roll and not realize just how much he revealed, like when he talked with Giles late at night. Or when his guard was down, Spike could and would talk for hours. Dawn wasn’t sure if it was because he liked the sound of his own voice or that he was just looking for the attention. There were lots of things she had found by eavesdropping. She knew he loved to read, especially the classics, he could quote poetry at the drop of a hat, knew more about history and the demon world than Giles, and had an intense craving for really spicy foods. She knew that he’d liked and respected her mother, that he barely tolerated Xander, that he loved her sister and Dawn knew that Spike loved her also.

Really, that should be enough.

Why now, since Ms. West had talked to her, wasn’t it?

****************************** *******************************

Rupert knew his time in Sunnydale was limited. He and Spike had spent the last month, since his abrupt departure from London, trying to formulate a plan and reasons why his presence was still essential in Sunnydale. So far, the best they’d been able to come up with, was his familiarity with and knowledge of the hellmouth. The Council was well aware of Spike’s nightly patrols, another thing that the Council hadn’t mentioned or questioned Giles on until he’d appeared to file his report.

That had been a particularly unpleasant interview with Quentin Travers. It had almost appeared like a tribunal, with three other senior Watchers, aside from Travers, present and a stenographer. Travers had asked a series of questions, grilling him for nearly a full day, and Rupert had not expected the relentless questioning, nor the tone in Travers’ voice. He’d been more condescending than normal, his tone indicating his contempt for the chipped vampire. When they’d asked him why Giles willingly trusted the Slayer of Slayers, he’d answered unhesitatingly, “my Slayer trusted him in the battle against Glory. Buffy trusted this vampire to protect her sister at all cost. Nothing he’s done in the past few months has led me to believe that will change.”

It had bought them some time, but Giles couldn’t afford to delude himself. He was going to have to return to London, justify his future stay in Sunnydale and get a reprieve for Spike. All in a day’s work. Rupert nearly snorted into his tea. Irony abounds.

His primary concerns were Spike and coming back. And of those two, he’d almost be willing to forego, at least for a time, returning to Sunnydale to ensure Spike’s safety. Yes, irony certainly abounded in his life.

Only now he had to go back to London, and Spike wouldn’t be happy. Unfortunately he couldn’t avoid it.

**************************** *******************************

Willow breathed a sigh of relief once Giles had boarded his plane. She wouldn’t truly relax until it was airborne, but he was gone, and she could now put the plan in motion. Nothing and no one was going to stop her. The potion she was going to feed the girls was ready and Spike would be out patrolling tonight.

The time was now.

*************************** *******************************

Feeding the girls the potion along with dinner, Willow was forced to wait until it started working. Everything was ready. The frame and other supplies were all stowed away near Glory’s tower, which Willow had decided was the most logical place. It was where Buffy had disappeared, the last place anyone had seen her alive. Basing her decision on what had happened with Angel’s return, it made perfect sense.

The girls forgot everything, even their names. Leading them out the door, Willow nearly laughed at the simplicity of it all. As long as the rest of the night followed this pattern, she was home free.

Assembling everything while the girls dumped water jugs into the bullhide, Willow stopped for a moment, thinking that they looked like a real-life variation of the Mickey Mouse scene from Fantasia. Giddy with success, Willow did laugh softly. This was gonna be such a walk in the park.

Sprinkling the necessary herbs on top of the water, Willow grasped Tara’s hand. Holding it over the side, she sliced the other girl’s palm open, letting the blood drip down. Chanting softly in Latin, Willow folded Tara’s hand closed, then grabbed Dawn, performing the same motions on the younger girl.

One drop she let fall.

The water began swirling, changing into a dark mist, like the color of caramel milk swirled with gold and silver, moving faster and faster.

Two drops she let fall.

And the words changed, flowing effortlessly from Latin to the original obscure tongue in which they were first spoken.

Swirling more rapidly, the waters lapped against the sides, glowing more silver than gold.

Again the words changed, becoming softer, despite the harsh consonants. The water, opaque now, was caramel gold shot with silver and green.

The portal Dawn’s blood had opened and Buffy’s death closed, flickered and pulsed above their heads, but no one noticed.

Three drops she let fall.

The waters boiled, mist rising and the portal flared on a particular phrase, then sparked, pulsing in time with the boiling water.

Willow’s chanting died out, but the waters and the portal pulsed on. Light flared, distant thunder roared, lightning flashed between the portal and the pool and everything went black.

Three miles away, in the depths of earth and wood, hazel eyes snapped open.

10. That proves the hero born in better days.

The nobly born must nobly meet his fate.
Euripides, Alcheme, fragment 100

The victories of right are born in strife
There were no day were there no night
Nor, without dying, life.
Sir Lewis Morris, The ode of Evil

Wandering between two worlds, one dead
the other powerless to be born.
Matthew Arnold, Stanzas from the grande Chartreuse


No air. No air. NO AIR. Need out. No air. Need out. NEED out. Out out out. Panic set in. No air, can’t breathe need to . . . scared. Out. Need . . . breathing . . . can’t . . . oh God oh god. Can’t oh god.

She could feel a thundering in her ears, harsh gasps filling in the space between. Eyes darted around trying to discover where she was. There no light. No relief from the black surrounding her. No . . . nothing. Too close. Walls too close. On her back, she brought her hands up to push away from the wall in front of her.

Not moving. Can’t move. Can’t get away. Trapped. Oh god . . . oh god. No air. Can’t get out. Can’t see. Can’t breathe. Can’t move. Stuck. Oh god. Can’t see. No light.

Gasping for air that wasn’t there, panic coursed through her. God . . . oh god. Can’t breathe.

Her voice sounded so very small and scared in the tight place. “Help. Please help.”

Tears slipped down gaunt cheeks, sliding into strawlike brown and gold hair. Rapid hard breaths filled the cabinet. Her fingers began scrabbling against the wall in front of her, seeking a way out. Scrabbling fingers scratching against the wall. Ragged nails caught on a soft surface, finally registering the softness of the wall in front of her. A litany escaped from her lips, repeatedly echoing around her. “No please. . . no, not this. Help me. Oh no please. . . no please. Help me.”

But they were just nonsense sounds.

Reaching down deep inside, somehow knowing she did have the strength to fight this she battled against the terror. Harsh breath faded, though the rapid gasping didn’t stop. Sounds subsided into a soft whispering while she tried thinking about what happened. Wait . . . wait, why could wait. Air was more important. Breathing was good. She was back to getting out, getting free. That was . . . “oh god out need to get out.”

Gripping the softness, she pulled as hard as she could, hearing the material rip, pulling away from the wall. Abruptly she realized what it was as it brushed against her dry skin. Satin. She once had a blanket edged in this stuff, when she was really little. Little. Mommy gave it to her. Another harsh sob escaped her, and the tears began anew, falling faster now. “Mommy . . . help me. Please help.”

Pushing harder, her fist broke through the wall in front of her.

Dirt rained down on her face, filling her eyes, nose and mouth. Choking a bit, she screamed.

***************************** ******************************

Spike was having a hell of a night. Word must have gone out down through the demon grapevine that the slayer was gone. Six vampires, two Frelak demons and a single Fyarl, he was shocked to realize it wasn’t even midnight. Bollocks. Stopping in at Willie’s Spike looked at the clock on the wall. Nine forty three. That was the time.

Gulping down his whiskey, Spike glanced around. The place was quiet, almost unnaturally slow for a Friday night in August.

The hair on the back of his neck began to tingle, sensing the eye-of-the-storm calm. His unease began growing. Oh yeah, something was up tonight, and it sure as hell wasn’t anything good.

Before he could think twice, Spike slammed the glass down, calling “Willie.”

When the weaselly little bugger approached, Spike grabbed his arm before Willie could swipe his glass away. “What’s going on? Why’s it so quiet tonight?”

“Dunno Spike, its weird. None of the regulars have been in at all.”

Spike raised a brow. “Too easy Willie. Nice try that.” He gripped harder, risking a headache, but deciding the momentary twinge would be more than worth it. “Try again now. What . . . is . . . going . . . on?”

“Really Spike. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.” Willie tried breaking Spike’s grip only succeeding in hurting his own self. “C’mon Spike, lemme go. I don’t know anything. Really.”

Abruptly deciding to believe him this time, despite knowing the bugger was lying, Spike let go, dropping the little man down. Landing on his knees behind the bar, Willie cursed softly. “Willie, willie, you know that’s physically impossible. But feel free to work on that yourself.”

Slamming out into the night, Spike stalked into Restfield. He wasn’t happy about patrolling this place anymore, even though technically he still lived here. But that wasn’t the real reason why he usually put off patrolling Restfield. The real reason was off in a quiet corner, set really far back, in a part of the cemetery that was full and no longer had active burials.

Most nights he avoided it. That area. Most nights he avoided this whole damn place. But tonight, something was pulling him here. Some sixth sense told him to come here.

Circling around his crypt, Spike stalled a bit, hopefully putting off the inevitable. Leaning against the backside of the crypt, Spike took a deep breath, staring up at the stars. He didn’t want to be here at this moment.

Ever since he’d been confronted by that friend of Dawn’s, Buffy had been on his mind. She was never really far from his thoughts, but lately it had been more like he’d find himself trying not to think about her.

***************************** *******************************

She had no idea what the heck had just happened. Dawn opened her eyes after realizing whatever she was lying on was too damn hard to be her bed. On the ground, she was on the ground. Outside. She was outside laying on the ground. What the heck? She didn’t remember being outside, in fact, the last thing she did remember was eating dinner with Willow and Tara.

Where was she? For that matter, where were the others? Sitting up gingerly, Dawn absently brushed bits of dirt and gravel from her face and hands. Oh god. Every bone in her body ached and every hair on her head felt like it was aching also. Looking around, she finally got her bearings. She was at the foot of Glory’s tower. Now she really didn’t know what was going on and she was starting to get scared. Maybe the last couple of months had been a nightmare and she was the one who’d jumped, leaving Buffy and the others safe. Well that was not good. She didn’t want to be dead. Unbidden tears slid down her cheeks and Dawn stifled a sob. Her self pity was cut short when a groan sounded from somewhere behind her. “Who’s there?”

Gingerly getting to her feet, Dawn looked around for the source of the sound. Less than two feet away, laying flat on her back, arms outstretched and looking just as battered as she felt, was Tara.

“Tara. Oh god, not you too. Tara wake up.” Reaching out a hand to shake her back to consciousness, Dawn stopped short when an arc of energy crackled between them.

Tara rolled to her side, rubbing her eyes. “Dawnie, are you okay?”

Wiping away her tears, Dawn stuttered out “I think so. I’m achy .. . and I have no idea how we got here. But yeah, I’m better now.”

A loud cracking noise, like thunder wrapped around lightning echoed in the air around them, drawing their eyes upwards. Their simultaneous gasps were frightened.

“Tara. That’s . . . how did that happen? We didn’t dream everything did we?” Dawn voiced her worst fears.

Tara reached out a hand to Dawn, pulling the younger girl into her arms. “No sweetie. This is a new opening.” Looking around, finally getting her bearings, Tara spied the athame and the containers that had been emptied into the . . . bullhide? She looked around wildly, wondering what in the name of Gaia was going on. “Oh goddess above. What . . . shhhh Dawnie, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

While directing her words at the weeping teenager in her arms, Tara kept her gaze focused on the open portal above them. She had no idea why the portal was open, but whatever had caused it couldn’t be anything good. While brushing Dawn’s hair, Tara felt a sharp pain in her hand. That was new. She didn’t remember hurting it at all – but when she looked at it – Tara froze in horrified fear.

Oh goddess, not this. I would not have done this. No reason for me to do this. Oh goddess, how on earth do I fix this? Silent prayers went up into the heavens, beseeching the all-mother for an answer. “Please Mother Gaia, this humble servant seeks your aid. Give me counsel, grant me knowledge to put this paid. Grant me this boon, set right the sun, the stars and the moon.”

Dropping her hand down to rest against Dawn’s, Tara waited on whether the goddess would send an answer. She continued praying, repeating over and over in her head. “Please Mother, grant me knowledge,” all the while rocking Dawn in her arms.

She waited. Long moments passed. Thankfully nothing more dangerous than lightning emerged from the portal. Tara held onto Dawn a bit tighter, bowing her head. “Please grant me this.”

Soft light flashed behind her eyes, a low sweet voice filled her ears and Tara’s eyes snapped open. Dawn looked up at the same instant and both girls gasped. There before them, bathed in white light was an image they both loved.

****************************** *******************************

He wasn’t any happier about being in Restfield. Throwing a punch that only made his opponent pause, Spike was thinking that he had to rethink his strategy. This hand to hand fighting wasn’t working. He started maneuvering the Scriog demon toward his crypt in order to get some weapons. He was covered in goop and bleeding from a couple of cuts on his forearms. This sure as hell wasn’t what he’d been looking for earlier when he’d been grilling Willie for information.

Growling low in his throat, Spike averted his face from a dripping and oozing paw. Bloody fucking hell this was disgusting and he was so glad he’d left the duster back at the house. This shit would never come off of it.

Finally getting a jump on the slimeball, Spike dashed inside his crypt and snatched up a sword. Thanking his foresight in keeping an arsenal inside and at the ready, Spike took a deep breath and went back out into the night to behead the nasty.

It took longer than he expected, but eventually he managed to sever the head from the neck. Leaning heavily on the sword, gasping in sharp breaths, Spike was suddenly struck by the thought of how much Buffy would’ve complained about the slime, the odor and the difficulty in killing this walking bucket of slime.

God he missed her. It wasn’t getting any better. Should have been fading from his mind, should have been able to let her scent go. Should’ve. Couldn’t seem to. . . couldn’t and wouldn’t. Truth, he could admit to himself whenever he was alone, he didn’t want to let any tiny bit of her go. Wanted to hold on forever. To hold tight and never let go. Protect her, hold her and love her until everything else fell away.

He caught a breath on a sob and instead of letting it go and allowing a few tears to fall, Spike growled his frustration then roared it to the heavens. Letting it grow in intensity until it rolled off the marble headstones and echoed into the distant thunder.

******************************* *******************************

Spitting dirt and grit from her mouth was hard. She had no saliva to coat and protect her throat, so instead she ended up swallowing more of it than she knew was good. Her tears had dried up, mainly because there wasn’t enough moisture in her. Pushing through the wood hadn’t been smart, instead of freeing her, it had just trapped her further.

Desperate to escape, she scrabbled through the dirt, pulling at the pieces of wood blocking her way. The dirt kept raining down, covering her face, but she couldn’t stop, she had to keep trying to get out, try to get out of this box . . . oh god. This . . . she was trapped in a coffin. . . Oh god . . . . no no NO.

She was not here, this was not happening. She was not stuck in a coffin, in a grave. Breathing increased rapidly, inhaling dirt and dust she nearly choked again whimpers sounded in her throat and the sound shocked her back into rational thought. Noise. I can make sounds. Taking a deep breath she brushed away some of the dirt from her face. For some reason noises were a good thing. It focused her, made her take stock of what was going on and where she was. Stuck, trapped and inside a small box. Her mind shied away from the other thing, unable and unwilling to admit where she was. Time enough for that later, when she was free of its confines.

Strengthening her determination, something she knew was formidable, she renewed her resolve to escape. Grabbing handfuls of dirt she shoved it down along her sides. Wiggling her hips, she managed to push it further away, down toward her feet. Working methodically, she narrowed her focus even more. If she kept her eyes closed it was easier to keep the panic at bay while she worked.

Her world narrowed down to handfuls of dirt, wiggling it down to her feet and breathing. Handful by handful, the dirt moved. Breath by breath, heartbeat by heartbeat the space around her grew. Counting each breath, each handful she realized memories were returning. She knew. . . things.

It was slow going but she was able to wiggle forward, almost able to raise her head a little. Stretching her arms, she had to lift up her shoulders now to clear more dirt. She tried, but couldn’t, she had to clear more dirt to get her shoulders up, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to escape.

And now she had to . . . had to get home.

****************************** *******************************

Dawn wiped tears from her eyes, not believing the vision standing in front of her. “Mom?” Tara gripped her shoulders painfully, also not really believing her own eyes.

“Mom?”

“Hello sweetheart.” The vision smiled at both girls, but didn’t move from its spot.

“Dawnie, I’m not sure that’s really your mother.”

There was no denial. “Well, this was easiest. It seemed best to pick a form you both know.” Bending down, the apparition caught their full attention. “Listen girls, this is important. The portal has to be closed. This is what you need to do.”

**************************** *******************************

His night wasn’t getting any better. It fact, it was rapidly descending into utter chaos. Some group of veritable fledglings had decided to nest in his cemetery, which just pissed him off. What really set him off further, though, was the apparent lack of respect his presence didn’t invoke. He was still a bloody master vampire, despite his little hardware problem. He could, and still did, wreak hell upon bloody minions which was all these wankers were.

Fifteen idiots. None of whom could hold a candle to him in a fair fight, but by virtue of sheer numbers, just might overwhelm him. Spike growled, ripping the head off the idiot to his right, then focusing his attention on the closest ones. Using their own stupidity to his advantage, he pivoted against one, then swung his left leg out to knock another two down. Twirling the sword in his left hand, he decapitated two others with a single stroke, then stooped down to stake the fallen one. Odds were looking bad for them.

Breathing deeply and now chuckling with the exhiliration, Spike waded back into the fray.

****************************** *******************************

Tara didn’t believe it was this simple. She’d have never attempted it, though, without first getting the approval from the goddess. She had a feeling that Gaia had paved her way, making things easier for her to perform the closing of the portal.

Three drops each. Her blood and Dawn’s, mixed with earth and water. Then sealed with breath and fire.

Three words, three drops. Three by three by three. Nine times around the bullhide and the portal would close.

She felt like she’d been granted an enormous blessing. The visitation alone would have been enough. That the mother had spoken, given her the strength and unconditional support to do what needed doing, she’d never dreamed nor expected such a response to her invocation. Tara was completely awed. Never, ever in her life. Silent tears slipped down her face, but they weren’t sad or uncertain. No, these were tears of just overwhelmed emotions and profound gratitude.

Performing the ritual, Tara caught glimpses of Dawn’s face. She wondered if Dawn was able to get passed the image of her mother to understand exactly what had just taken place. She wasn’t entirely sure she had it all internalized. Tara had a sneaking suspicion that it might take months for her to really understand what she’d seen, and the gift she’d been granted.

Each turn around the bullhide closed more of the portal, almost like stitching up a pocket and pulling it closed, like a drawstring. On the last circuit, there was an audible drawing in of the ends and on the final steps both Dawn and Tara could feel the portal closing. There was a sound between a zip and a ppphhhtttt and then it was gone.

Unfortunately, neither of the girls was any closer to understanding why the portal had been opened in the first place, though Tara had a horrible suspicion. Nor did they know who or what had opened it. Gathering up the containers and the bullhide, they began making their way back to Revello Drive.

Tripping on what she thought was a misplaced cement block, Tara went down on her hands and knees, coming face to face with the unconscious form of her girlfriend.

And suddenly, Tara’s horrible suspicions took form and solidified.

11. Birth and the grave, that are not as they were.

Our birth is nothing but our death begun.
Edward Young, Night, l. 718

They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant,
then its night once more.
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot, p. 57a

The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying.
T.S. Eliot, Ash-Wednesday, pt. 6



Pushing the dirt down was becoming harder. She kept kicking it down with her feet, and she thought there was more room, but she couldn’t get her feet to work properly. Her arms were stretched out as far as they would go, and still she was trapped. There was no choice though, she had to keep going, because staying put was not an option.

There was no air and she had no idea how far she had to go to break free. Trying desperately to keep the panic at bay she managed to get her feet underneath her and struggled up into a crouched position.

It was easier to breathe, but there still was no fresh air. At least there was no pressure on her chest and she didn’t have to strain as hard. It also gave her more room to work with, extending her reach.

Moving the dirt wasn’t any easier, thought it was giving her a sense of accomplishment. At least she was doing something. Once she was free there would be time to figure out what had happened.

******************************* *******************************

Spike was breathing heavily, something he really didn’t need to do, but after getting rid of the nest, he decided he deserved a breather. A low ironic chuckle sounded in the air around him.

Bloody hell that was a good fight.

Once he’d recovered a bit, Spike finally looked around at his surroundings. Fucking hell. He’d really wanted to avoid this part of Restfield tonight. Something kept drawing him closer, more than he’d wanted to admit before this. He might be able to hide from everyone, sometimes even Dawn, but whenever he was alone, with time to himself, he couldn’t hide from the pain. There was no release.

The loss of Buffy was as sharp today as it had been the moment she’d fallen. There was no space between, there was no time between. Her loss was a constant ache, an ongoing pain. Always half expecting her to pop up with a quip and a sharp comment, verbally sparring with him like no other person he’d ever known.

He’d been matched by that little girl in more ways than one and her being gone only highlighted his isolation. Not even Drusilla had been able to keep up with him, her bouts of being less than lucid were always between them. Drusilla had opened doors for him, but he’d soon outstripped her tutelage, making a name for himself separate and apart from her.

But Buffy . . . . Buffy was different. She kept him going, always surprising him, always in step with him. He missed her the way he missed his heartbeat. Knew it should be there, beneath his chest and feeling somewhat lesser for its loss.

Such a tiny thing she’d been, yet her presence filled every room she’d ever entered. Only she’d been able to tap into his boundless energy, matching it with her own.

God almighty how he missed her.

He knew, staring up at the stars, that he’d never really get over her loss.

******************************* *******************************

Tara no longer knew what to think or feel. Bare seconds after falling beside an unconscious Willow, she’d known exactly what had happened. Memories flooded back, like a sick slide show, Willow’s actions and decisions laid bare. Tara’s first thought had been concern, but now, as she and Dawn half-walked half-dragged the dazed girl home, her secondary reaction began to settle in. She was angry. Angry beyond anything she could ever imagine feeling, or ever imagined that she might be capable of.

How dare she? What on earth had she been thinking, what had she thought she could accomplish? On no, Tara knew what Willow had been trying, but couldn’t believe she’d had the arrogance to assume it would work. And why on . . . . her train of thought was distracted by a groan from Willow.

There was no way Tara could ever tell Dawn what Willow had attempted. It would shatter the poor girl. On top of the goddess’ visit, that it had been Willow who played with their minds, trying to play god and bring Buffy . . . . no, Tara wasn’t even going to think about that until they were all safe at home.

She felt weak as a kitten and she wished Spike would swoop in and save the day, like he usually did.

Tara suddenly thought it was the first time she’d actively wished for his help, almost praying for him to show up.

******************************* *******************************

Spike was currently stuck fighting again. This night was turning out to be endless. Nights like this he really regretted being so strong and so . . . nah, that was such bullshit even he didn’t believe it. He lived for nights like this or unlived for this. When the battles were endless and time flew by.

Three more idiot vampires, but at least these wankers knew who he was. They’d still tried to fight and they still ended up deader.

Looking up, Spike realized he was only yards away from Buffy’s final resting place. Finally giving into the inevitable, Spike slowly began to make his way over.

****************************** *******************************

At first she didn’t realize what had happened. Her fingers pushed through the earth, bringing fresh clean air to her starved lungs. Working faster now that she had some hope her fingers started cramping in her haste.

Scrabbling desperately for purchase and using her legs to help push her up, her head finally broke free.

Air . . . . oh god . . . she took her first real deep breaths in forever. Great gulping gasps filled the still air, sounding harsh and small.

Breaking the rest of her body free, the girl finally pulled herself all the way out. Her strength was gone. Every nerve in her body hummed, every muscle screamed in agony. The relief was searing. Her stomach rolled and she panted heavily, her face resting on the earth she’d just escaped. Her eyes opened, blearily taking in her surroundings. She knew . . . . oh god, she knew where she was. . . . closing her eyes again she thought if I don’t look it won’t be real . . . won’t be real . . Don’t look. Don’t.

Turning her head, she slowly opened her eyes and couldn’t deny what her heart was telling her. She’d just crawled from her own grave.

Pushing up on her hands and knees, she vomited up the meager contents of her belly.

******************************* *******************************

They were home, relatively safe inside the walls of the little house on Revello Drive. Tara motioned Dawn toward the couch, where they nearly dumped Willow’s still mostly inert form. Tara’s skin crawled and she didn’t want to be any closer to Willow than was absolutely necessary.

Her mind was still reeling from all that had happened. She was numb, her entire body was on sensory overload. Dry mouth and crawling skin and her ears were still constantly ringing. Maybe that explained why she didn’t react when Dawn started speaking “Tara, what happened? What was all this? Tara?”

She looked at Dawn, pulling her gently away from Willow. “Sweetie, I’m not really sure about everything that just . . .” Interrupting her, Dawn spoke “that wasn’t really Mom was it?” She was beginning to understand, but she still really didn’t believe all that she’d seen and experienced tonight. What she did know was that whatever or whoever had tried opening the portal wasn’t doing it with the best of intentions.

“No sweetie that wasn’t your mom.” The two girls were now standing in the kitchen, their heads close together while they whispered. “That was Gaia, the mother. Dawnie, I have to tell you something.” Sensing this wasn’t going to be easy, Dawn slumped onto one of the stools. Tara didn’t want to be the one to bring it up, but for Dawn’s protection she had too. She owed it to the goddess, to the memory of Buffy, but most especially to the girl in front of her. “Dawn. It was Willow. She tried doing something she should never have attempted.”

Dawn slumped onto one of the stools, her head dropping. Before she spoke she took a deep breath, then said what she thought. “It was Buffy, right? She wanted to bring Buffy back. That’s why she hid everything from us.”

She wasn’t going to lie to the teenager. Not now and not ever. It was no way to keep someone’s trust. Something Willow had obviously forgotten – but Tara couldn’t focus on Willow and what she’d done right now. She had to focus on Dawn and what she needed.

Later, she would worry about Willow and her inexplicable actions later.

“That’s what I think. . . yes, Dawnie. She tried and she failed. I’m so sorry sweetie.” Much sorrier than she would ever be able to express. Despair unlike any she’d felt before filled Tara, along with the growing anger at Willow’s hubris. How dare she toy with them like this? Tara could almost feel the pieces of her heart falling away, but again she couldn’t and wouldn’t focus on that.

Dawn’s tears caught her attention and Tara gathered her into her arms. “I’m so sorry Dawnie. Soo sorry.”

What Willow had done hurt more than it helped, completely destroying any progress the last Summers had made in the grieving process. Just another nail in the coffin of her feelings for the redhead.

******************************** *******************************
She’d vomited up all the dirt she’d accidently swallowed during her crawl upwards. Trembling violently she could barely push herself up. She couldn’t control her muscles enough to get to her feet and even if she could, she still wasn’t sure where she was or where to go. She had no idea how long she’d been gone or who was left.

The inscription on the marble stone in front of her gave her some information, which in turn gave her more vague memories. Reaching out a hand to trace the letters, she remembered her name. Buffy . . . that’s what she was called.

Sudden tears coursed down her cheeks.
She had a name.

She was Buffy.

It was enough for now.

******************************* *******************************

Despite his heartfelt misgivings, Spike followed his feet toward the place he’d been on a collision course with all night.

Something had been drawing him here, no matter how hard he’d fought against it. But here he was, twenty feet from it. His eyes trained on the headstone, he stopped short. There was something at her grave. At first glance it looked like Dawn.

“Nibblet . . . you shouldn’t be out here.” A cautious step forward and Spike caught a whiff of something . . . It was the scent of decay.

Whatever it was on top of Buffy’s grave wasn’t Dawn. The figure scrabbled away from him, almost curling in on itself, huddling down against the headstone. Spike halted his approach, realizing whatever it was, was more scared of him than anything else. “All right then. I won’t hurt you. My promise.”

A couple more cautious steps forward brought Spike to the foot of the grave. His senses went berserk, every nerve end screaming. The way this creature . . . looking down at his feet, Spike finally noticed the disturbed earth beneath his feet.

Oh fucking . . . no. . . fuck . . fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Crooning nonsense words now, Spike took a few more steps closer. Crouching down, resting on his haunches, he reached out a tentative hand.

“Pet. Its me. Its Spike, love. You’re safe now. C’mon Buffy love, its me.”

Wild hazel eyes met his blue ones and Spike had to swallow his anger and despair. She needed him, not his emotional outburst.

Even so, he couldn’t stop the tears flooding his eyes, when he looked at her.

“‘lo love. Remember me? Remember Spike?”

Leaving his hand extended, Spike relaxed his muscles one by one, since his first, last and every instinct was to snatch her up into his arms, crushing her in his embrace, never to let go. She was scared, skittish and she didn’t know . . . Didn’t recognize him yet.

Too scared to move, too hurt not to, she couldn’t make her muscles respond. His hand was solid, steady in the air before her, and oh, how she wanted to reach out and touch him, make sure he was real and she was safe, but she couldn’t force herself to move. Not yet. She still wasn’t certain of who he was, but some memory triggered in her jumbled thoughts. Spike. Safe. Protected.

“C’mon pet. My promise to keep you safe.”

To his absolute and utter surprise, he watched when understanding and memory returned to her frightened eyes.

Her lips formed his name, but no sound emerged. A tiny hand reached out, grasping his fingertips.

And Spike couldn’t fight the tears any longer.

12. Pale despair and cold tranquility.

Ill met by moonlight.
Midsummer Night’s Dream, act 2, sc 1

And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Princess

Beside a dead person is a living ghost.
Chinese proverb



Inch by inch he moved closer, afraid to scare her by moving too fast. Spike could smell the fear rolling off her and the last thing he wanted to do was add to her trauma. Better than anyone else, he knew exactly what had happened, what she’d been forced to do. He remembered his own journey upwards. It had taken him years to get over his terror of small confined spaces. Wasn’t going to be any easier on Buffy.

Keeping his mind deliberately blank, Spike refocused all his considerable attention on the battered girl in front of him. For once in his undead life he was going to be patient and wait. Even so, keeping his mouth silent wasn’t part of the equation. He didn’t know if he would ever be capable of silence when he was nervous or excited – and this moment definitely qualified under both those categories. So he kept up his calm litany of words, trying to draw her closer.

Only their hands touched, now palm to palm, fingers meshed together. He could feel the tremors ripping through her muscles, could feel the shivering that was her response to bone and soul deep fright.

Her eyes never left his.

She knew him. Remembered his face, his strength. Knew she could trust him to protect her even . . . He would protect her at all costs, even if it killed him. She knew it. Just didn’t know why or how. Knew he’d help. So she tried. Soft words, bare hints of a whisper, more like thoughts on a breeze sounded from her. “Help me Spike.”

His eyes closed in silent thanks, tears sliding down his cheeks. She might not be whole, but she knew. “Always pet. Never leave you.”

Abruptly her body gave out. Her last reserves had all been expended and even bravado couldn’t stop the collapse. Buffy crumpled into a heap, all sharp angles and bones, but before her head could hit the ground he was lifting her up into his arms.

Too stunned to move, Spike rocked back and forth, his arms tightening around his broken girl.

******************************* *******************************

Tara hadn’t wasted any time getting things under control. Calming Dawn hadn’t proven nearly as difficult as she’d expected. Sensing how close the explosion of Tara’s normally placid temper was, Dawn made no issue of cleaning up and then fetching whatever Tara asked her.

Drawing on the words of Gaia, who’d praised her, Tara set about finding some way of binding Willow temporarily and extending her current state of insensibility. It was easier to focus on keeping her contained and keeping her quiet than it was to face what would happen when Willow woke up.

She couldn’t make any rational decisions about Willow right now. Actually she wasn’t sure when she’d be able to make a rational decision. Still reeling from all the psychic upheaval, Tara was constantly fighting nausea. If she moved too fast her stomach rebelled. Every sense was buzzed and she doubted if sleep was ever gonna come tonight. At this rate she wouldn’t need caffeine for a week.

Hiding her smile, Tara caught Dawn’s equally goofy expression. “You too huh?” was Dawn’s comment adding, “I’m so buzzed.”

“I know sweetie.” Growing serious, Tara figured now was as good a time as any. She and Dawn had worked quickly and all was in readiness for the sleep spell and the temporary binding. “Dawn, there’s something . . . I have to make sure Willow can’t . . ” oh sweet mother she didn’t want to explain this, explain what she was prepared to do to her girlfriend. She wasn’t sure herself. If what Gaia said was true, and she had no reason to believe that it wasn’t anything but the unvarnished truth, they had to keep a close eye on Willow.

“It’s okay. I understand. It’s to protect all of us. Even Willow.”

Well. Sometimes people were just full of surprises Tara thought, but if any night was gonna have more, it was gonna be this one.

****************************** *******************************

Cradling her in his arms, Spike was horrified at the changes. She was literally nothing but skin and bones. He’d seen starved vampires and holocaust victims and right now his poor girl wouldn’t look out of place with either group.

He needed to get her home, cleaned up and something in her system. “All right pet. Gonna take care of you. Gonna get you home so we can see what’s what.” Little whimpers sounded against his chest and her hand tightened around one wrist. “‘s’ok love, its where we belong. Won’t leave you there alone.”

The death grip loosened which Spike took as a positive signal. Getting to his feet with an armful of kitten weak slayer was a little problematic. He managed though, somehow managing to also scoop up the sword he’d dropped earlier.

He’d no idea how long he’d crouched down, figuring it had to be a good while, because his muscles were all stiff and sore. Then again it could have just been all the stress and tension of the whole night. His sense of unease from earlier hadn’t been wrong. There had been something going on – he’d just never have expected this.

Pausing to glance once more at his precious burden, Spike set off in measured steps toward the haven of Revello Drive.

******************************* *******************************

The lights were all ablaze as he made his slow way up the walk. His first thought was that Buffy’s return wasn’t the only thing weird about tonight. Spike cursed a blue streak in his head, mindful of not startling the girl he carried. Whether it was exhaustion or the let down after the scare of a lifetime or the security he’d imparted or even some combination of the three, Buffy had relaxed enough to fall asleep somewhere between the cemetery and here.

He really didn’t want to wake her.

Nearly doing exactly that, Spike fumbled not to drop her when Tara opened the door before he got to the bottom of the steps. But it was her words that had his skin really crawling. “Spike, what . . . oh dear gods. She did it.”

Spike stopped in his tracks while Tara froze in the doorway. A tear slid from her left eye, riveting his attention. Her whispered voice quavered then fell. “It was Willow.”

At first he didn’t believe it, but then it all made a sick sort of sense. She’d rushed him out the door tonight, had been happier than a clam once Rupert announced he was leaving. Bloody bitch. “Where is she?”

“Out cold. I’m keeping her that way. I didn’t know, Spike, I swear it.”

“Know that. Isn’t something you would do.” Spike took a deep breath. “Lemme get her inside and cleaned up a bit, then we’ll talk.” Another thought struck him. “Where’s Niblet?”


“I just got her settled into bed. She might still be awake – should I?” Tara was flustered, unsure of what she should do first.

He thought for a second, thinking of Dawn’s first reaction. It might not be pretty. “Let’s get her cleaned up, then we can get her in to see Dawn.”

That made sense. They were both covered in a mess of goop and dirt and gods knew what else. Had it been any other night and any other circumstances, Tara might have been tempted to hose them off outside before she’d even think about letting either of them in the door, but this wasn’t an ordinary night. “I’ll get the shower started.”

Dashing up the stairs ahead of them, Tara breezed into the bathroom, pulling out towels and robes. Unsure whether Spike would leave Buffy alone or expect her to help the slayer bathe, Tara turned on the water then went to find something clean for them to wear.

The Slayer was curled so tightly in on herself that Spike couldn’t imagine how terrified she might be. Her whimpers started up again when he started to put her down, her bony fingers pinching him where she clutched his wrist. “All right pet, just need to get cleaned up. Not going anywhere.”

“Spike, I’ve got clean clothes for her. Do you want me to get yours?” Tara’s voice was soft, as always, but Buffy still cringed against him.

Those heartbreaking whimpers increased, focusing Spike’s attention. “Just jeans is fine.”

Settling himself down on the side of the tub, he tried undoing the snaps and laces on his boots without jostling the girl in his arms too much. “Pet, gonna have to let go. Tara’s gonna get you cleaned up. Remember Glinda love? Red’s bird she is. Right lovely too. Been keeping house for all of us. Taking good care of the Niblet too.” He kept up his litany of sounds for Buffy hoping something might spark a response.

“Gonna get you all cleaned up. Lots of soapy bubbles. Then maybe some soup and after that we’ll get Dawn up and awake. How’s that pet? All that sound good?” waiting a beat for a reaction Spike kept right on talking. “Knew you’d like that. Lots of soap and water. All right pet? In you go. Tara’s right here.”

He tried. He really did. But the slayer had other ideas. She wouldn’t let go of him, wouldn’t release his hand after he’d placed her in the shower, under the water’s spray. Instead her fingers tightened more, threatening to break his wrist, while the other hand fisted in his shirt. Renewed fear rolled off her in waves.

All right then. Change of plans. “Okay pet. Lemme loose so I can kick off m’boots. Then we’ll both get cleaned, yeah?”

Tara watched from the doorway. “Maybe I should warm up some soup and tea?”

Throwing her a look over his shoulder, Spike nodded his agreement. Boots discarded, he climbed into the tub behind Buffy fully dressed. Adjusting the water temperature, he called out to Tara before she left the bathroom. “Glinda, get something sweet. It’ll help with the shock.”

“Right. Soup, tea and sugar.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone with a terrified soaked slayer.

******************************* *******************************

Giles looked at his watch that still reflected California time. He’d promised Spike and Dawn he’d call as soon as he landed, which had just taken place. He’d promised. Knowing Spike he was just getting in from patrol, deliberately timing it so that he’d be home in time for his call, and waiting impatiently by the phone.

He glanced down at his watch again. No reason to put off the inevitable. Flipping open his cell phone, Giles hit his automatic dialer and waited while the bloody machine did all the work for him. Not surprisingly the phone was answered on its first ring. What did surprise him was who’d answered.

“Ta. . tara?”

“Hi Mr. Giles. How was your flight?”

“It was uneventful.” Giles was unable to hide his utter confusion. “Tara is everything all right?”

The hesitation was just a tad too long. Just long enough for him to start worrying, which wasn’t assuaged by her response. “Maybe.” Tara wanted to smack herself. How was she supposed to explain all this? Over the phone no less.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Spike?” Easiest way to get an answer he thought, was to ask Spike. “He’s in the shower.”

Tara’s voice squeaked when a pale hand reached around to grab the phone from her. Giles heard the rumbled “sorry pet” from the other man, and prepared to listen to some truly disastrous news.

“Watcher” and “Spike, what’s wrong” sounded out at the same time, but Spike’s next words shut up the other man completely. “Rupert. Listen carefully. ‘M not sure of all the details yet, so just hear me out and then get your arse back here next flight.” Not waiting for Giles to respond, Spike continued. “Dunno how she did it, but Red brought Buffy back.”

Breathing heavily, he went on, “she’s not good. Had to crawl out. She’s not speaking yet.”

“Oh dear god.” Rupert was very still almost afraid to move in case this was a very sick twisted dream. “Oh dear god in heaven.”

“Watcher” Spike’s tone indicated it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get his attention. “Right. Right. I’ll be back sometime later today.”

“Good. We’ll wait on answers until then.”

Spike disconnected the call, walking back into the bathroom, dripping water from soaked jeans as he went. In the time he’d been speaking to Rupert, Buffy had started crying, though Tara had managed to keep her mostly calm. Getting her out of the tub and into clean dry pajamas was difficult, since Buffy kept fighting her in her confused and dazed state. At the sound of Spike’s voice, her struggles stopped and Buffy shifted her face to look at him. “Giles is on his way back.”