chapter four

Nudging an R rating with the very last sentence.

Spike wandered.

He felt light all of a sudden; free. But the weightlessness felt strange, like something had been stolen from deep within him, and he felt so little about the absence of whatever it was that he couldn’t help but be a little bouncy.

He ran at vamp speed till he made it to the first cemetery of the night. He leapt high on top of a crypt to test out the lay of the land; locate freshly turned graves and wandering fledglings. He tested his agility by throwing an axe into the air, allowing it to spin several revolutions, before snatching it confidently out of the air mid-turn, the handle almost returning to his palm like it had been magnetized. Not even a nick on his fingers from fumbles. Everything seemed just perfect…and he felt content.

A frown marred his brow at that. Never in his unlife had he ever been anything so unremarkable as content. But along with that mediocre feeling was the very real sense that something within him was missing.

The local cemeteries had a morbid sense of death about them, and not the punny side of death, but the side that indicated that it had been neglected on patrol for rather too long. Fledglings were out and about, pulling new mates from the ground. The place appeared to be flourishing. It seemed rather unusual that any short absence from patrolling would result in such an influx of vampires.

For a moment all he could do was stand and contemplate his confusion. The part of his brain that would remind him when the last time he walked through was, and what even happened on his most recent patrols, seemed to be in permanent lock down. He was unable to recall anything at first effort, and at second effort his head began to hurt. A tense pressure built up in his frontal lobe as he struggled to grasp hold of some information related to his nightly activity. But truth be told, even though he knew this patrolling was something he did-- and regularly-- he was buggered if he could remember even a single time of doing it.

Odd.

But he accepted and wandered on, entering into subtle kafuffles here and there whenever he came across one of the prolific newly risen vampires that might be a threat to his little group of friends. And that thought caused something strange to twitch between his eyes, but again any protracted thought on the topic had his head pain resume. Funnily enough, as soon as the thought was just accepted at face value, the pain receded to a comfort level even he as used to pain and violence as he was was alright with.

So, without another title to give them, he had to presume he could call the Scoobies his friends. As far as friending humans could go with a vampire. And thus making sure their lives particularly Nibblet’s remained safe, was much more than a duty. It was his purpose. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember having any other.

Anyway, the night was quiet, and for some reason he failed to understand, it felt wrong to be quiet. It felt like he was missing something. But he couldn’t hang on to that feeling without his head attempting to explode, and he gave it up to the idiosyncrasy of the night. His mindless stroll through the night led him to a place hidden by sweeping Willow branches, and as he looked upon the headstone, another stroke of pain arced through his brain. ‘Buffy Summers,’ it read, and confusion compounded with the throbbing in his head as he fell to his knees and struggled to regain quiet.

On all fours, he pushed his way backward and away from the grave, a feeling so overwhelming and painfulin his heart as well as his head that only receded the further away he got. Not understanding much of what he felt this night, he quickly tore through the trees into another part of the graveyard, letting his steps slow and the pain in his head disappear along with the thoughts of familiar.

A few more distracted steps brought him to stand before a vamp with extremely good taste in leather. Spike cocked his head to the side as he swept his eyes from the stranger’s bootscompletely bitchin’ as far as he was concerned to the leather pants and jacket, to focus on the dark hair, eyes and pasty face of Xander Harris.

Spike jerked back with an instant grief, and was speechless.

He lifted a hand and allowed a finger to point at the newcomer’s chest. He worked his lips, pushed them into the beginnings of a sentence-- but no volume escaped. He allowed his ears to search for the heartbeat he was finding it difficult to believe he was desperate to hear, and suddenly felt a dark curl of foreboding settle around his stomach when it was quite definitely absent.

Finally, shock lent him words and he did his best to fumble and fuck them up as they tumbled past his lips.

“You!”

Harris nodded.

“You’re a vampire!”

Again Harris nodded, allowing the head action to be partnered with an evil grin.

“So are you,” was his pearl of wisdom, and it jerked Spike into action.

With a desperate shout of, “bloody hell!”, he hit Harris with a vicious upper cut and took off back to Revello.

When he skidded to a halt within the front door, he was taken aback by a stranger standing away from the Scooby group. She stood strong, but rigid; power surrounding her as well as controlling her. The Scoobies were refusing to take turns in both explaining and yelling their view of something or other. And as he tried to comprehend what they were all in a state about, his eyes slipped again to the dainty morsel of a girl dressed down in army type uniformity that called as little attention to her looks as possible. She obviously didn’t like attention-- as made plain by her skimming the edge of the fiery argument going on in front of her-- but the wicked scar, obviously a battle memento, insured that all eyes would stick on her. He was rather impressed by the disfigurement for the battle she must have gained it in.

He was mystified by it all, obviously having walked in on the tale end of something rather big. There was something familiar about the girl, and more than just the emanating power that was driving his demon wild. He already had his suspicions about the tense situation overtaking the living room, but observing the look of devastation on Dawn’s grief ravaged face, he quickly clued in that the new bird was at the centre of the bother.

“What’s goin’ on?”

His eyes swept from Dawn to the blond something about the stranger continuing to pull at him but a dim ache in his head forced him to not think about it too hard.

“They brought Buffy back!” Dawn almost screamed at him across the room. He was about to ask who Buffy was when Giles, the fatherly calming influence, stepped in.

“This isn’t our Buffy, Dawn. This is Buffy from a different dimension. The dimension Anya created in her last granted wish before that dimension’s Giles destroyed her amulet.”

Dawn looked stunned, and betrayed. “You were planning to bring another Buffy into my home without even warning me-- or Spike-- about it first?”

The Scoobies shared a guilty look. Then quietly mumbled incoherent apologies.

But distraction proved why it was a curse as another voice entered the fray and a stake came sailing at Spike’s heart, followed rather closely by the mostly quiet petite blond. In concert with her move was a panicked, high-pitched scream of fear.

Spike dodged the blond’s initial attack, but she was used to improvisation and ended up behind him with one arm around his neck and the other positioning the extremely pointy stake over his chest. Coming to an abrupt stop and facing him with wide horror-filled eyes was Dawn, great balloon-like tears almost flooding her face.

“Please?” She attempted to pacify the new girl, to appeal to her with her misery, but for the moment she was ignored, though each small step she took forward resulted in the stake pressing closer to pinch the skin over his heart.

“Might be an idea to stop there, Pidge. Unless you want dusty Spike to tuck you into bed tonight!”

Dawn nodded slowly, carefully, the pain of loss all too visible in the stress lines of her young face.

“I don’t know who the hell you people think you are, but you can send me back to that other place right now. You don’t know what you’re fooling with. You left Sunnydale at the mercy of The Master. I need to kill him.”

Her voice sent a barrage of tiny shocks along the surface of his skin. It seemed familiar, but not. Powerful yet dark in its bearing, but innocent in elocution. The need it sparked within Spike made his head ache.

“Actually,” interrupted Anya, “we saved you just in time. The Master killed you in that dimension.”

Spike could feel her stiffening against his back, yet the stake stayed true to destination. He didn’t move.

He couldn’t move. The sensory overload of having her hot body pressed up against his brought something so near to his grasp that he almost fell over with the howling pain that seared through his brain, just barely managing to hold off on impaling himself on her stake. The loss of her heat, of her strength from his knowing was both hurtful and a relief. The pain in his skull receded to tolerable yet confusing levels, yet her distance seemed like a rejection. He felt it personally, down very deep within.

“I understand the confusion, Luv. But nobody here is out to hurt you. Put the stake down, Pet.”

Spike felt a curious lack of fear by her proximity, almost like he was used to this particular threat and had reached comfort with it. He’d surrendered a trust to it. The thoughts had nothing to back them up in his rather lacey memory, and as he was so apt to do tonight, he decided to just let it go before a nice decorative hole burned right through his skull.

She pushed the stake closer to his skin through the thin t-shirt, and he revelled in the collective gasps throughout the room.

“You are a vampire. You’ll hurt me. I don’t need to worry about them. They’re human.”

Spike suddenly felt an overwhelming test of nausea at the thought of doing any damage to her.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Slayer.” He blinked while looking at Dawn, startled that her title had fallen so easily from his lips but prepared to believe it was because he could sense her power.

Which he could.

Of course he could.

“Do you have a soul? Like that one that the other vampires were torturing?”

Spike raised himself up straight, affronted by the comparison of who he could only guess to be Angel, and gasped as the wood formed a groove on his skin.

“Oi, I’ll have you know that my unsouled self is far better at taking care of those he loves than that poncy git ever was.” And he blinked again, not having a clue why he believed that thought so strongly. The knowledge seemed new, recently established and so not connected to his Yoda’s defection just over a century ago. But he had no foundation, no clue to who the great Angelus had betrayed lately.

He shrugged as, in a lightening move, he slipped from her restraint and turned to determinedly knock the stake from her hands. Her eyes grew wide in apprehension and he could smell the beginnings of fear on her skin before she clamped down hard on it and fell into a fighting stance.

He sighed, annoyed, and the Scoobies all came to a crashing halt in their observation, random confusion as to why Spike was not sobbing at Buffy’s feet while thinking all his wishes had come true. His distance, and almost lack of true interest, was distressingly strange.

But the moment was still tied up in the new Buffy, the marked Buffy, the only Buffy that Spike seemed to know of. Dawn only just began to see that Spike had no real memory of whom this woman in front of him was. Not only was he acting non-emotional, but he didn’t even recognise her. The realisation came to her on a giant wave of uh-oh, and she slowly backed up away from the older, more witchy people of the group. Hiding behind Xander and Anya, she felt the first tugs of guilt that maybe her spell…backfired…just a little?

Spike had made no attempt to engage the new Buffy in combat, mindful of the nic-nacs around the place that defined who Dawn thought her mother was. So, instead of antagonising this girl she didn’t look a day over eighteen Spike stood back and just watched her. He wished he could do it with a fag dangling from between his lips. He had to forgo that desire, though; someone had told him he couldn’t smoke in the house. Any effort to try and recall who that actually had been reactivated that pain that was started to bug the crap out of him. Was worse than the bloody chip.

But in allowing his body to remain in a restful state, he seemed to be able to zero in on her heart-rate this little blond Slayer with the wicked scar feel the subtle pinkening of her cheeks, and caught with a little grin of cocky satisfaction her many darting looks at his face and body.

“Right then. Introductions look to be in order.” Spike thrust out his hand, almost desperate for her to take it so he could see if her hands brought back flashes of recognition, too. But the contact was too brief, though slightly electric. He had the feeling he had received much higher voltage touching from someone else. Again, he just couldn’t remember whom.

“I’m Spike, the resident vamp good for kiddy sitting and demon demolition.”

She smiled at him, and he was struck by a force so strong that he was incapable of deciphering it. It was the sun, though for some reason he saw storms. This girl reeked of power, was physically strong and independent, but Spike found himself picking up on vibes…enough vibes to suspect that she wasn’t as hardened on the inside as she was on the outside.

“My name is Buffy, and I am the Slayer. They’ve taken me from an important battle.” Her small finger had pointed at Giles and Willow, wavering slightly with the magnitude of her situation. Then she appeared to squint, and took a hesitant step closer.

“Don’t I know you?” She looked intently at Giles as confusion marred her brow.

“But I just spoke to you. You’re the reason I came to the Hellmouth. You summonsed me to fight The Master.” She stopped as she internally worried over the facts. Her face easily revealed her struggle with the situation, and finally a hardness eclipsed the uncertainty in her eyes as it masked the rising fear within her.

“What the hell have you people done to me?”

Against her earlier judgement, she shrunk back against Spike in some effort of protection. He felt different to the other vampire that she’d taken a risk on trusting, more needing of the faith in him. Not to mention he was seriously hot.

A room full of alarmed expressions faced her.

“We saved your life. You could be a little grateful.” Anya, ever the blunt one, jumped in with her tactless justification, much to the gasping horror of everyone in the room.

“Ahem, as…apt…as that description might be, we brought you here to be the Slayer.” Giles could barely look at the girl, so close to being his surrogate daughter, yet so very different. Duty warred within him, yet her reaction toward all of them had him re-questioning the motive behind their desperate retrieval of another Buffy destined for death.

“Our…er…Slayer situation here, in this world, is rather complex, I’m afraid.” Giles’s quick removal of his glasses served to both blur the image of this faux Buffy and give him courage for his speech. “Suffice it to say that we are without a Slayer at all in the world right now, and we needed help.”

A round of Scooby nods encouraged him to continue, and so he placed his glasses back on gingerly, cringing at being able to clearly see their newest addition once again.

“The universe you came from was created about three years ago by a Vengeance Demon. Before that, you didn’t exist. And you were about to die at the hands of the Master. We brought you here so that you could have a second chance, as well as gaining added protection for the Hellmouth. Though, it would appear that Spike is suddenly up and about again.” Giles clapped quizzical eyes on the vampire. “You seem remarkably lucid, Spike. And sober.”

Spike glared back at the Watcher.

“And why wouldn’t I be lucid, Rupert? I don’t drink when I’ve got patrol to take care of, as well as the Bit.”

Dawn stepped cautiously back into the mix and interpreted the building of a number of awkward questions about Spike’s sudden change in attitude, and abruptly blurted a change of topic.

“Where’s she gonna stay?”

Willow swivelled her attention to the teenager. “Well, here. She is your sister, Dawn.”

Five sets of eyes focused on Willow.

“No, she’s not!” Dawn spat in utter rage against the presumptuous witch, furious over the lack of thought in announcing her another sister. One who so was not!

“I don’t have a sister,” Buffy denied.

“What sister?” asked Spike.

They spoke together, still standing close to one another as their voices drowned the others’ out. Spike could feel another headache erupting behind his eyeballs as he struggled to make sense of this stranger in the house, one that all the Scoobies seemed to recognise. His struggle increased his pain.

“What the bleeding hell is all this about then?” His voice expressed all the pain, and repressed rage that the headache instigated, which the Scoobies were determined to misinterpret as confused grief over Buffy. Questions were delayed for the night.

Dawn, freaked about being exposed in her magic expedition of the night, rushed in with a suggestion.

“Spike, you don’t look so good. Maybe you should head to bed for a while. We’ll sort this out.”

Spike looked at Dawn, suspicion encroaching on his battle with the ache in his head. But as it added to the rage of hurt, he decided to follow the suggestion. With a mumbled ‘night’ to those expecting it in the room, and a ‘welcome to the Hellmouth’ to the newest member of the gang, he climbed the stairs in obvious discomfort and disappeared behind the closed door of Buffy’s bedroom.

Dawn rounded on the group assembled uncomfortably in the living room, and released her fury. Pointing at the glorified Buffy stand-in, she reigned in the scream clawing to be released and spoke in quiet, but furious bursts.

“She…is not…my sister.”

“Of course,” answered Willow, completely abashed in her lapse of sympathetic grief. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, Dawn. I’m so sorry.”

“It is imperative that we all remember that this is not our Buffy.” Giles’s rebuke was accompanied with a snarl. Willow flinched away from the group, sensitised to the rumbling of disfavour her blunder had instigated.

Nobody noticed the shrinking back of Buffy against the stairwell as the obvious point of who she wasn’t, was emphasised violently.

Tara placed a reassuring arm around the distressed red-headed witch.

“Dawn, we didn’t mean to upset you. But Spike was in really bad shape, and he destroyed the bot. It’s pretty bad out there. Too bad for us to handle on our own. We needed a Slayer, and you know Faith isn’t an option.”

Giles took pity on Tara, knowing that he was the one to give the final approval for the spell to bring the other Buffy to their world. He wouldn’t allow Tara, or even Willow to take the brunt of the younger girl’s frustrated anger.

“When Anya mentioned this Buffy, we thought it was a good solution. I’m sorry that we didn’t consider how you would feel about all this.”

The Scoobies were nodding in agreement, most faces drawn in remembered pain for the real Buffy, while the current one stood propped against a wall feeling lonely and slightly afraid now that Spike had left her to stand on her own against this strange group of people. She didn’t know how to relate, having been on her own fighting evil for so long. She was feeling crowded and misplaced, and as she shrunk back against the stairs, and eyed the closed bedroom door, she wondered how wrong it would be if she snuck up there to him and away from all this confusion down here.

All their reassurance to the teenager, though, was getting on her last nerve. They were all so apologetic to her, sorry that her feelings were hurt by Buffy’s sudden and unexpected arrival. Well, hello. She hadn’t exactly expected her night to end like this, either. In fact, she wouldn’t mind a bit of sympathy. Coming from a soon to be defunct dimension; escaping certain death with her neck still attached. But no, she was ignored-- just the lookalike replacement brought in to take over the Hellmouth so they could all sleep at night.

The youngest one’s voice reconnected in her brain and she heard them mention her name.

“She’s not Buffy,” this one called Dawn continued.

“She is, actually. Just not the Buffy we all know. But she is still Buffy.” Anya’s contribution made the others cringe, expecting an outburst of teenage proportions.

What they received was a grittily determined Dawn, her jaw clenched in raw anger.

“She is not my sister. If she is to stay in my house, then she will go by a different name.”

All eyes turned to the quiet girl who still quietly contemplating the risks of joining the vampire upstairs.

Buffy looked at the teenager—not much younger than herself-- and could see the terror and anguish that her sudden appearance had caused. Though she had no knowledge or details of what had gone on here, she knew that pain. That loss of everything that held meaning. And she compromised. She clashed eyes with Dawn and refused to look away.

“You can call me Anne,” she conceded, and was rewarded with her first hesitant Dawn smile.

“Thank you.” Dawn’s voice shook with her gratitude.

Calm settled on the room and the first tentative smiles were shared between them all.

Then heavy footsteps clunked down the stairs and a highly strung out Spike leapt from a higher step to land at the bottom in a rare display of his vampiric grace. He raised a shaking finger and pointed at Xander.

“You’re a vampire!”

Xander pointed at his own chest, opened mouth, and spoke nothing. He shook his head instead.

Frustrated, Spike repeated, “you’re a vampire.”

Xander straightened and took a few steps toward Spike. “No, I’m really not.”

Spike tilted his head and tried to listen for the heartbeat of normal Xander and became agitated because there were too many for him to single out the one he was searching for. His head pounded with the left over traces of his effort to sort out what was going on after he’d left. He was too tired, confused and achy to work any of it out. But he saw the flush of pumping blood circulate beneath the covering of the brunette’s skin, giving it a lovely rosy flush, and felt tremendous relief at the ‘alive’ part that was Xander.

But then he remembered the other the vampire other and his confusion soared.

“But I saw you. In the cemetery. And you were dead.”

Xander looked at him, spooked.

“What kind of dead? I mean, was I dead on the ground, all bloodied dead? Or an evil bloodsucking dead?”

“Yeah,” was Spike’s succinct response.

Several annoyed and pointed looks encouraged him to expand.

“The undead dead.” He was nodding like it all was perfectly clear, even though he felt nothing had ever been more seriously convoluted and unclear to him in his entire life and unlife combined.

“Uh oh.”

A chorus of groans was the reaction to Willow’s echo of doom.

“What exactly is with the ‘uh oh’, Wills?” Xander stood closer to Spike, closer to the door for escape, thoroughly wigged by the idea of an undead him.

“Um, guys…remember the last time Anya and I did the spell and Vampy Willow came to visit?”

Xander’s eyes shot open as wide as bowling balls.

“Wha…?” Speech was caught up in his panic responses.

“I think…maybe…I mean…it’s possible…”

“Oh, do spit it out, Willow. We might not have much time.” Giles polished his glasses with a pristine white hanky, anxiety making his movements harsh.

“Maybe we brought more than Buffy…I mean, Anne, through the portal. Um, did we forget to clean up the circle before we left? That might not be so much of the good. There was some weird crackly thing going on, like a major infusion of magic in the air…I sort of noticed it while I was walking to the factory. Things might have, maybe, gotten… a little mucked up?” she offered in her little timid girl voice. “Maybe…” She paused, frowning on her over reliance of ‘maybe’ in her fumbling explanation and sorting out of the feasible outcomes in regards to the spell.

“I think it’s possible that maybe something from that dimension slipped through.” She glanced round at the collection of horror-struck expressions giving her all their attention. She responded with a rather nervous giggle. “I think we have a Vampy Xander on our hands.”

“You think,” came a cocky, overtly confident voice from the door. The resultant scream burst from the throat of Live Xander as everyone took in the pasty, leather tasty goodness in the doorway of Vampy Xander.

Before anyone had the chance to act, Xander had Spike’s discarded axe in his hands and had hefted it in a wide arc through the door. It lodged deeply in the doorframe as the dust of an unsuspecting VampXander filtered through the slight breeze to land atop the ‘welcome’ mat outside the door.

Several shocked statue-like bodies took up space behind him, nobody pushing beyond their shock, until Spike burst out laughing.

“Well, that’s gonna be a fucker to fix. Good thing you’re the handyman, Xan!”

Continuing to break out in almost hysterical guffaws, Spike clapped him heartily on the back and nearly knocked him outside, then returned upstairs and shut the bedroom door.

A smile teased the corners of Xander’s mouth and he realised he still held the handle of the axe. He gave a little tug, but the blade of the axe remained embedded in the wood of the doorframe. He gave it another more determined pull, yet still it remained stuck. He shrugged and allowed the newly named Anne to step forward and yank it from the wood. He turned to face the others and the first face he focused on was Anya, his smile reaching beaming proportions.

“Guess this time I did get to kill myself.” As the crowd finally gave into amused snickers, his eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the floor backwards.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~




The force of the passing was deeply felt. Moments of severe pain halted the progress of the desired cloaking. Devastated grief cut into her gut and ripped her insides out, forcing a howl of epic sadness to be released from her burgundy lips. Red hair curtained her face as she fell to her knees and growled and sobbed in terrified loneliness. Her mate was gone, struck down in this new world before their feet could be found. Before their fangs could tear flesh.

Her body was racked with shuddering finality. Their new home was less one member, and with grim determination and an ugly, bitter smile, the vampiress resumed the incantation that would hide her and her Master from the threats of this new world.

Their invisibility would give them time, give them freedom to find the murderer that cut their family to two.

Willow closed her eyes in magical induced ecstasy as she felt the barrier take its place around the mansion, sealing their existence from the outside world. Regaining her feet, she used them to find her Master and collapsed in grief at his feet. He sat in a large chair adopted as his new throne and ran his permanently clawed fingers through the smooth fire of her hair.

“It will be alright, Childe. We will find those who have struck our number down and wreak vengeance. Are the barriers secure?”

“Of course, Master. No one can find us. To the people here, we do not exist.”

The red-head was poised in her power, anxious to already be under way to find those responsible for killing her mate.

“Excellent. Sleep now, I think. And tomorrow, we will start our revenge.”

Willow nodded in perfect supplication, her mind racing ahead to the torture she would inflict on those that had dared to take Xander away from her.

They would pay.

“I will find them, Master.” She lowered her head to the hard strength of his thigh and closed her eyes, her hand stroking the length of his leg between her face and his crotch, brushing a devoted hand over his cloth-covered cock. “I’ll find them.”

Anne had found the comfy spot on the back porch late one night after patrol. Spending six weeks in the company of strangers had given her a need to seek out something of her own, though she suspected even this had been claimed before her. Maybe by the other Buffy.

Her acceptance of the situation she found herself in was sometimes too easy, while at other times she thought she would break with the strain of keeping up appearances. She seemed to have divided the little ‘slayer devotee’ group into two camps. One that seemed to enjoy her company, and made an effort to put her at ease while she was getting used to existing in this new world, and the other that was uncomfortable around her. Sometimes antagonistic.

Surprisingly, she had found that she was developing a bond with Dawn, the pseudo sister who at first was inconsolable that Anne had been brought in as a replacement Buffy. Dawn-- more than the others-- seemed to be able to differentiate between her doppelganger and herself and had reached an easy and calm acceptance of Anne’s individuality. It could have something to do with the name change, and it could also be that they shared a house. Having nothing to see over the breakfast counter but the double of your dead sister would probably inspire you to see difference before insanity took a grip.

Whatever it was, Anne was grateful. Other than the Slaying, all she had to cling to in this world were these people. She found it ironic that a loner in her own world she had become rather reliant on her adopted sister and the resident vampire to keep her grounded.

And here she smiled. Her mission had dictated that she kill all vampires, but in her world she had met one, one who claimed to have a soul and was on a mission of redemption. She thought that had been a load of hooey, but being in the thick of war, she had released him and allowed him to partake in the fight. According to Anya, they both had died. Now she wondered at the ease with which she had given her trust.

But then there was Spike. Her smile grew wider as she recalled his blue eyes, his full soft lips and his lightning white hair. She had never had the chance to be interested or become friendly with a boy; to her, the mission was everything. It was what she had been born for-- to rid the world of demons.

Until her death.

And in this world, her death had come at the age of twenty. In her own world, it had been earlier. But Spike could easily draw her thoughts and fears away from that eventuality, and she grinned at the irony. A vampire giving her hope in her own lifespan. And giving her rather yummy tingles, too!

Her last six weeks had been filled with some wonderful moments with these two. The three of them shared meals, laughed over movies, and talked about things that mattered. Anne could feel the web of serendipity bond her to these two…it was almost like they were a family. The little sister, the big brother that was more like a dad. And her. She guessed she was like a long lost cousin. A close cousin maybe. A cousin by marriage.

Whatever it was, being around them made her happy and secure. But being with Spike-- it made her pause and look at the loneliness she had willingly trapped herself within. He was so warm and caring, eager to share his experiences. Make her adjustment easier. And he was devoted to Dawn.

After a number of nights of getting associated with the evils of alcohol with him and letting her hair down, she thought maybe he might come to be a little devoted to her as well. She knew he would come to her aid, defend her with everything he had now that he had gotten to know her. But she could still sense a yawning gap between how close she was with the vampire, and how much closer she at times thought she would like to be. In her naivete, though, she didn’t think he was giving her any signals. She had time.

As for patrolling, sharing that with him had become something highly charged and special. The fight was what made her blood pump hard and fierce. The fight was who she was, all hard edges and graceful death. She was the general and took no prisoners. The collection of piles of dust spurred her on to more, to let loose with whom she was. And Spike allowed her to be. He gave her the encouragement and space to rediscover her place in these new graveyards-- new streets. She may have been a visitor to Sunnydale in the other world, but in this world, it was becoming her home.

The combination of belonging and being did more than make her blood pump hard and fierce. It tended toward becoming molten in her veins when she engaged in combat with Spike by her side. Each night became hotter, awakening a need in her that she found both embarrassing and enlightening.

Each night ended with them departing from each other at the porch. She would sit, contemplate and allow herself to calm down while he disappeared inside the house and straight to the basement. She was glad that Dawn had insisted that he stay at the house. His presence-- while hell on her hormones-- lent both girls that sense of security that being a mystical key devoid of blood family, and a girl ripped from her world could only crave. He had become their anchor, and yet he was so much more. To Anne, he was fast becoming her everything.

But the other group, the ones mistrusting and distant from her, made her place here more precarious. The red-headed witch had used powerful magic to get her here, yet Anne sensed a dissatisfaction with the result. She found herself on tenterhooks around the woman, fearful that now she was becoming attached to her new situation, the witch might decide it better to just mojo her back to where she came. It was a fear that kept her awake many nights. Like Spike, she found herself sleeping more during the day. When everyone else was occupied.

She couldn’t really blame them, though. The snippets of information she overheard from their whispered conversations was that their Buffy had been very close to them. They were all knocked about a bit with grief. And Anne was so different in character to what they knew that it was probably more difficult for them to embrace her as herself. They had wanted to have a protector for the Hellmouth, but deep down she thought they had really expected to get their Buffy back in some way.

She’d heard snippets of conversation between them that implied that some kind of interest in the former Slayer by Spike had been a cause of concern, but not a single eyebrow was raised in worry about Anne’s prolonged association with the vampire. She wasn’t sure if she was hurt by their complete lack of interest or not, but it did raise questions that she really didn’t know who to seek answers from. She couldn’t ask Dawn about Spike’s feelings for her sister, and the Scoobies didn’t spend more than a few awkward minutes at a time in her presence.

The only one she could really ask was Spike. And there lay the oddness. Whenever she had ventured onto the subject of Buffy, he clammed up. He didn’t act grief stricken like some reports told of how he had dealt with her death. He usually just complained of a headache and then headed off to either kill vamps or return to the basement, depending on where they were.

The thing was, he had acted right from the start like he hadn’t a clue who she really was. He at times looked right through her. Only once had he seemed to look closer, trying to seek under her skin for something. But then his face contorted in pain and he pounced on a rising vamp. She found it sort of creepy.

Though she kind of liked the idea that he had had a crush on her predecessor. That would make things easier for her. But still that blank look whenever Buffy was mentioned by any of the Scoobies seemed to imply that they had been mistaken in their assessment of him. If she didn’t know better, she would assume he had barely known the infamous Buffy, let alone claimed to be in love with her.

But she knew that his strange behaviour had mystified the Scoobies, too. The few questions they asked her about how he was with her, how he had reacted to her being around him now, was enough to raise her suspicions. Something was off with this scenario, but she didn’t have the background to really know what, or whether to do anything about it.

And she had no one to turn to about it.

All she could be certain was that she was here, at this moment, and that the Scoobies were uncomfortable with that fact. Their lack of interest in her was shown in the way they didn’t care about her contact with Spike, as well as the complete disinterest in what she had to report about patrol. It put definite strains on their relationship. Luckily for her, she was used to the loneliness that came with being the slayer. It was what she was confident knowing…so why did it hurt so much?

Giles seemed to be the worst, though. For some reason he was even more distant, hesitant even to have anything to do with her, intermingled with bursts of over-protectiveness that just left them both feeling displaced. His weak suggestion of training, offered in a moment of duty to her, seemed to be another sticking point between them. She had refused, though politely, and gone to Spike instead.

The vampire’s lack of nervousness around her bolstered her confidence no end, and as he was the one she patrolled with, she guessed he might be the better-trained and equipped man for the job. It completely weirded her out, though, when she caught the older man out some nights watching her fight, a strange look to his face being leant a sinister air through the tight angry bow of his lips.

“Hey, you’re lookin’ a bit pensive, luv,” Spike called to her as he ambled from the path to the backyard. He paused in front of her, and after a strange moment with many emotions flitting rapidly over his face, he chose to perch beside her on the step. He swept his coat out from underneath him and rested with his elbows on his thighs, arms hanging between his spread legs.

Anne stared at his fingers for a second before chancing a smile. They always seemed awkward. Before coming into this world, she hadn’t been used to smiling-- having fun. Killing demons was what she had been raised her whole life to do. She’d been raised by her Watcher and he had taught her how to seek out vampires and demons-- how to eliminate them. Having crushes, friendships, was something she had never been taught to do.

“Spike, how was it out there tonight?” Her eyes carefully remained shy of his, making sure they never had the possibility of clashing. She stared at his chin, his throat, and felt her blood start to speed up.

“More vamp risings. ‘F I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was trying to raise an army. Seems to be lots more each night.”

Finally her eyes lifted to his in concern. This was Slayer territory, her territory. Thoughts of men and kisses-- first kisses-- flew from her mind as she tried to sort out the threat and determine where it originated. But she wasn’t familiar with Sunnydale in her world, let alone this one.

“What do you think is wrong?” She valued his advice, and though the Scoobies seemed fine with leaving him in control of both her and Dawn, his opinion was often taken and agreed upon but never credited. They seemed both grateful that he took up the slack with patrolling, but resentful as well. The dichotomy of this group and their relationships was too confusing for her when she had no experience even with a friend.

His considering expression had her catching her breath, wondering just what it would take for him to continue looking at her, taking some time to consider her. But he was thinking about her question, not possible romantic moments.

“I’m thinking all this started when they brought you through that portal. We know that Harris’s double came through, so it’s possible there’s more we ‘aven’t seen yet.
Way they tell it, Red came through another time. She’s wily, could be she’s ‘ere, and maybe the Master with ‘er.” He caught Anne’s nod of acknowledgement and got to his feet, ready to turn in for the night.

“P’raps you could let Rupert know in the mornin’?”

“Um,” she started, but nerves cast her eyes back to the floor, and in the softest voice, she continued. “Would you mind letting Giles know? He really isn’t very comfortable around me. And I don’t go to his store very often.”

As a delaying tactic, it worked. Well, if she’d done it deliberately, that is. Instead, Spike reacted to her tone of insecurity.

“What’s the problem?”

“Ah, Giles hasn’t really spoken to me much since I told him I’d learn more from training with you.” Her eyes had slid higher to take him in, and she felt her sense go swimming in the depths of his ocean blue gaze. It never failed to strip her of breath to see his beauty.

He cocked his head to the side, contemplating her words, and trying to suss out the reasoning behind it.

“You didn’t want to train with Giles?”

Instead of speaking, she hesitantly shook her head in the negative.

“Why not, pet? He knows his stuff…and you could benefit from havin’ a Watcher.”

“He makes me feel uncomfortable.” Once the first obstacle was cleared, it all came tumbling out in a rush; her dejection at being supposedly rejected. “They all do. They just stare at me and make me feel like I shouldn’t be here. And they’re the ones that brought me here, you know. If they didn’t want me to replace their precious Buffy, they shouldn’t have done the stupid spell.” Anne jumped to her feet in agitation and not knowing what else to do, she strode across the yard and kicked at a tree stump. Immediately she recoiled and started hopping.

“Ow, ow…remind me to not do that again without shoes. Buffy toes and tree…not the best idea.” She turned, cringing at her slip of name, to find Spike smirking.

“Not mixy then, pet?”

“Mixy huh?” She often found herself confused by the odd valley type talk that these people spoke, and it was another thing that distanced her from fitting in with the new group.

Spike seemed to squint, giving her that alarmed look again before he suddenly moaned and rubbed his temple with his hand.

“Right then, I’ll talk to Rupert for you. Let him know what I think might be goin’ on. Maybe tomorrow we should venture out a bit. Not go staking vamps so much as searching for the root of the problem.”

“Root? What root?” She looked at him alarmed, her cheeks tinged with a becoming shade of pink.

Spike offered her his confused expression, but as understanding started to filter into his eyes, she jumped in with a much-needed distraction. Anything to avoid the humiliation.

“No, that’s a really good idea. Maybe take Willow, see if she can use her magic somehow to see what’s out there…you know…in case we miss something.”

Suitably sidetracked, Spike agreed and then headed inside to his cot in the basement, leaving Anne to count to ten slowly. She rubbed her toes absently, wondering what exactly was the correct procedure to go about getting a guy to show some interest in you. Maybe she should have a talk with Anya. The ex-demon seemed to be the only one who didn’t act uncomfortable around her.

Giving the world around her a final inspecting glance, she turned and made her way up the steps and back into the house. She thought she might as well take Spike’s example and turn in for the night.

With her back turned she missed the subtle shift behind the bushes of a neighbour’s house several doors up, just out of reach of her Slayer senses. Red hair flared under the shine of a muted streetlight, giving the impression of fire.

With the slayer back safely in the house, the vamped Willow stepped out fully into the light, her lips curled in a saccharine smile of evil intent.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the little Slayer far from home. And another little vampire puppy.”

She closed her eyes and hummed, her body shivering in ecstatic participation. She rubbed her hands seductively across her chest, up her throat to finally tangle in her hair, encouraging a young fledgling that had been hiding with her behind the bushes to launch himself at her feet. He rubbed his face over her leather-clad thighs, nuzzling between her legs as she parted them and allowed him the space. As his body rose, the burnished chestnut hair coming into her view as his tongue pushed cold saliva over the curves at the top of her breasts, she raised her foot and kicked him into a tree. He looked at her, shocked, then disintegrated into a million particles of ash.

Her eyes widened comically. “Oops!” she said, quite unconcerned that she had just lost their little army another fledgling, along with another nine that the peroxided vampire had claimed that night. She really must announce that new fledges should be buried closer to home, somewhere new that this do-gooder vamp didn’t know about. There wouldn’t be much of a clan if all the minions were dusted before they were trained. Their army needed fodder.

Her eyes continued to catalogue the surroundings of the Slayer’s house until the back light switched off, and she pouted at the pavement.

“Bored now,” she called to no one and then almost skipped along the street, looking forward to telling the Master about a potential new toy.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The morning found the Scoobies arriving at the Magic Box all fresh and present. Their gatherings had faltered a little over the weeks, varied levels of guilt and concern often held up conversation as pockets of disquiet settled. The group resisted ever inviting Spike to contribute to the discussions that invariably erupted around the table for a number of reasons. The predominant one was because often the discussion centred on him.

As it was on most days when they finally forced the gathering, the first topic on the agenda was Spike’s weird recovery from his suicidal grief and near catatonic acceptance of another Buffy. The appearance of her as he entered the house had raised no look of recognition, no gasping breath of shock and hope, no enlarged eyeball of awe. His reaction was of a man who had just met someone for the first time, not the disbelieving wrench of pain in being confronted with his love whom he knew was dead.

“I guess Spike’s love was really of the kind that lasts, not!” Xander was always the first to start the diatribe.

“I-I’m not s-sure we can blame Spike.”

All eyes zeroed in on an uncomfortable Tara, and while Willow was curious as to why her lover would offer that concession for Spike, she recognised the overwhelming nature of the Scooby attention blitz.

Giles took charge, making the role something he was determined to claim to stave off his feelings of uselessness he had been experiencing lately. Despite what he had expected, the arrival of the doppelganger Buffy, and the recovery of Spike, had not lessened those moments of anguish when he wondered at the fate of them all. Funny how he had expected Buffy to go on forever, even though he himself had asserted her short expected life span so often.

“Spike’s change of heart seems to be a little too convenient and fast to mesh correctly with his behaviour in those first days after Buffy…left.”

Not a one of them could still bring themselves to admit their Buffy the happy, bright and shiny Buffy who had sparkled with her love for them all had died. To them she was just lost.

“I don’t believe he was putting those feelings on. So, as cynical as you want to be, Xander, I am inclined to believe that his feelings are genuine. Which is not to say that I am not a touch relieved that he has seemingly gotten over it, by whatever means was necessary.”

“But Giles, that’s not it. It’s more like he has repressed the memory of Buffy, rather than just gotten over her.” The attention Tara received now seemed kinder, Spike’s strong emotional attachment to the dead Slayer receiving some stamp of, if not approval, then at the very least, weary belief. “His aura is still inconsolable with grief, but it’s underneath. It’s like there i-is this um, curtain over h-his true self.” Tara looked around the table hoping to see a crowd of people with understanding eyes. What she found was another disparity about their everyday lives.

“Do you think it might be a spell?” Giles was cleaning his glasses, this time in frustrated boredom rather than pre-apocalypse anxiety.

Willow and Tara shared a look and finally Tara turned to Giles.

“It doesn’t l-look quite like a-a spell, but it m-must be. I don’t think S-Spike would get over Buffy just like that. And to be confronted w-with A-Anne…” she trailed off, embarrassed that the group hadn’t actually thought about any reaction Spike might have had to being confronted with Buffy’s double. That he hadn’t reacted at all didn’t lessen that sense of guilt.

The group had quieted in contemplation.

“Well, his recovery is good for Dawn, at least. No one has to stay there now. We can all get on with our lives.” Four pairs of eyes stared at Anya, completely dumbfounded at her rather insulting effort to be reassuring. “And I’m sure he is very good for Anne, too. She isn’t as distant with him as Buffy was. I’d almost lay bets that they are already sharing superior orgasms.” Mouths dropped open.

“But…but…as long as he isn’t ga-ga over Buffy, still. Right?” Xander’s complete dismissal of the girl who was Buffy-- just formed from different circumstances-- was a little disturbing to Giles. Though, he felt relief at the prospect of not caring about the romantic interludes of this Anne. In fact, if Spike became interested in this girl, all the better. She seemed to prefer instruction, guidance from the vampire rather than from him, thus relegating him to a superfluous position within the group. Once again, he questioned how needed he was in Sunnydale.

“Yes, well, they seem to have come together in patrolling rather well.” The security felt in this action garnered widespread nods of relief. They felt safe again, for the first time since Buffy…left. It was the pat on the back they all needed to feel comfortable with keeping Anne in their dimension.

But Willow was always left wondering. She had hoped that by saving this Buffy that she might have regained a friend, might have assuaged her guilty feelings of not saving Buffy. But Anne was cold, distant, and unemotional. She never laughed; she hardly ever spoke let alone smiled. She seemed to keep away from them all, only requiring Dawn and Spike to exist in her new life. Other than their feelings of safety, Willow wondered every night when she went to bed if she had done the right thing bringing the girl over.

And lately, every night her head hit the pillow she began to lose breath in the fear that Buffy had passed through the portal and left her soul in some Godforsaken place that she couldn’t escape from. It had been an opening to Hell dimensions after all. It stood to reason that that would be where Buffy was. It seemed more than logical. It was obvious.

The seeds of an idea caught hold of the earth then, and she spent her sleeping hours wondering about the possibilities, the abilities. She was in the process of slowly gathering spells, and rehearsing for the possibility. She didn’t want to tell her friends unless she was sure she could do it. She was only days away from that surety.

The Spike situation bothered her. She agreed with Tara that he had to be affected by some spell, even if it wasn’t immediately obvious. She had spent too much time in his company just after they lost Buffy-- trying to make sure they didn’t lose him as well-- to believe that his about face was anything other than supernatural. As relieved as Giles and Xander were that Spike’s entire personality did a one-eighty, Willow thought she owed it to him to work out what was going on. But first, she had to save Buffy, bring her back from whatever Hell she fell into through her sacrifice.

The concentration of the table had broken off into independent factions, Xander and Anya flirting over the service counter while Anya prepared the till for her expected abundant sales. Giles had wandered off to his desk, muttering quietly to himself, and Tara sat focused on Willow, a look of concern tinting the metallic blue of her eyes.

Willow shot her a smile intended to mislead, and took herself up onto the balcony to do some more research. An hour passed with Xander heading off to work-- starting time late due to it being a last minute fix-up on site-- and the rest continuing whatever had kept their attention for that length of time.

So concentration was at its height when Spike burst from the basement stairs, energy shooting from him and bouncing around the walls of the shop. Though she didn’t have the skill, for a brief moment Willow fancied she could sense the cloaking aura that Tara had briefed them on. But then something powerful kicked in and she could see for one short moment that the soothing forgetfulness might not be the only result of a spell. Suddenly she remembered the mode of his avoidance in all conversations concerning Buffy. It wasn’t done in an offended, ‘can’t live with even the sound of her name’ avoidance. It was more a ‘trying to think about her makes my head hurt,’ kind.

Now that Willow was partially onto the problem, she could see Spike rubbing his temple just entering the shop, as if memories were trying to crack through some barrier but head pain kept them safely at bay. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had done a numbing spell on himself. Further thought along those lines, though, convinced her that the prospect was impossible. Spike was in no fit state to contemplate anything so organised. He didn’t want to exist without Buffy. The memory of her was excruciating to him, but she doubted that he would ever try to rid himself of them. She had never thought to see Spike as vulnerable, but his reaction to what happened with Buffy showed the gang that he was.

But now he was back to the same old Spike, minus the passionate drive to turn their spleens into hats for Halloween, and so forth. Now he acted as though he was their friend, and though Xander especially seemed uncomfortable with that moniker, he wasn’t rejecting the idea, either. Sometime during their vigil over the suicidal vampire, she had begun to care. And, she knew, Tara probably more so.

So, Willow had decided. Once she had sorted out what she could do to get Buffy back, she would try and find out what was off about Spike. He wouldn’t thank anyone later for letting him forget about Buffy.

Spike entered the shop and seemed to hesitate before finding a seat at the large round table occupying one corner of the floor-space. Giles took off his glasses, seemingly exasperated for the interruption to his reading. Researching. As Giles took another quick glance at the page he had been staring at for the past hour, he rose and resumed his earlier place at the table.

“What can we do for you, Spike?” The watcher’s voice was tired, reflecting the weary hopelessness he was beginning to feel by being surrounded by all these children. His impatience could be witnessed in the tightening of his shoulders, the slight hardness of his lips, and the determined but chilling glint in his eye.

“Thought I’d give you a report on patrol las’ night.” The blond shrugged his shoulders, a non-committal gesture designed to irritate the already edgy Watcher into displaying some temper, something that had yet remained too restrained for the Scooby kids to get a gander at.

“So, get on with it then,” was the impatient reply and a number of eyes turned to the two men exchanging a supposedly non-inflammatory conversation.

“Why didn’t Anne come and report?” Willow questioned, and that little twitch itched in her throat that reminded her of Buffy’s daily report of the evils in the graveyards of Sunnydale. The absence of Anne in this capacity was both a relief and alarming.

“Seems she doesn’t feel comfortable round you lot. I’ve noticed that none of you can bear to look at her, let alone speak to the girl. Wha’s the problem?”

Spike picked up an ancient looking book from the tabletop and flicked through it absently, confused by his split feelings about where these confessions could take his happy existence. He was concerned for Anne, worried by her disassociation from these people who could easily be friends…and the thought that it should be so between this particular group of people was starting a throb in his temple. It suddenly seemed too difficult to challenge this status quo and he decided to leave the opening behind.

“Thought I should prolly let you know that the number of fledglings is rising pretty quick like. Somethin’s goin’ on. Seems to date back to when you brought Anne over, and Harris killed his vamp self. Might be possible a bit more came through the loop than you lot bargained for.”

Giles and Willow wore serious expressions as they thought about what Spike was saying.

“I mean, it’s possible, right. We don’t know for sure what came through. Heard mention of Willow’s double comin’ through once before.” Spike looked at them expectant, waiting for them to either confirm or deny. He felt frustrated then when his speech was met with silence, only broken by the quiet swiping of cloth against glass lenses.

“We can only assume that VampXander was not the only one to come through the portal. In fact, going by what we know of the Master’s regime in that other Sunnydale, this trend of increased risings would seem to fit.”

Giles released a long, laboured breath, seeing his escape become possibly distant over this threat. He couldn’t possibly leave the group in the midst of such uncertainty…but then again, the Slayer and vampire seemed to have the situation under control, or at least half-figured out. It seemed he had nothing to offer this version of his beloved Buffy-- this hardened unemotional copy-- and he felt distance was his only option.

“Why don’t you take Willow out on patrol with you tonight? See if she can sense anything?” His tired dejection eclipsed his commonsense concern for the innocent, non-superhero members of the group as his mind firmed on the idea of leaving.

No, he had fulfilled his duty to the last, even getting his Slayer killed. There was nothing left here for him. He had lost most of what was important to him-- a possible life partner in Jenny Calendar, a good friend in Joyce Summers, and finally his surrogate daughter--Buffy. His only recourse now was to return to England, perhaps approach the council to return to his former job, and try and derive some sense of purpose in his life. Without a thought, he relegated those that were important to Buffy to the back of his mind, and mentally embarked on the first plane out of the Hellmouth.

It had been a simple idea, thrown out there by Dawn and latched onto by an inquisitive Anne. So, with an irritation buried under a show of resignation, Spike called Willow and had her agree to meet him and the Slayer at the Bronze.

It seemed like months since he had been in the crowded club, and the mingled scents of lust, fun and beer almost overwhelmed his senses. Instead, it created a miasma of tickling memories that almost crippled him with head pain.

The gang had followed Willow thankfully in order to keep a practiced eye on Dawn and her attempt at non-grief partying. So their table was quickly filled and a sense of discomfort descended just as fast. The sight of Anne, dressed in clothing she’d retrieved from their own Buffy’s closet seeming so wrong, but practical. In any event, the red leather pants, and skimpyalmost vampy black halter top shook their sense of right, for the group decision was that Buffy’s style did not suit Anne.

Tara watched Spike as he allowed his eyes to roam over Anne and her exposed skin-- an alarming amount of exposed skin. She noticed the Slayer shiver and interpreted it to mean discomfort in a disguise that was unfamiliar to her. She had taken on the challenge to replace the former Buffy, not knowing that she would be on display to the whole Scooby gang this time, but eager to show Spike something of what she had been told he had fallen in love with.

Tara saw her displaced efforts to find herself a niche and sympathised with her attempt, if not her direction. The blond witch allowed her eyes to settle on the white-haired vampire once again and winced at his look of pain. It had been a flash before he gripped his head, tears swirling in the glassiness of his eyes before he blinked them away. He had exerted much effort to place the attire barely covering the new girl in the group, and seemed to be suffering the physical effects of it.

Now, more than ever, Tara was convinced that something was wrong here. Once before she remembered Buffy in this very outfit, a time when Spike was passed over and ridiculed rather than asked to join the party. But Tara had always observed, and once his secret love had emerged as common knowledge she had noticed the small inflections of his favour…his tender expressions fixed upon Buffy when the girl was turned away from him, watching her with a look of possession and protection from well across the room.

Emotions like that did not recede and die within days. Not when one was on the brink of self-destruction like Spike had been. Tara took it all in and reached the conclusion of interference. Something prevented him from owning his grief, and that made her feel very sad. It was so wrong to interfere with the natural flow of things, preventing him from reaching a healthy conclusion.

The night was not about Spike, however. Nor was it about Anne. Instead, her lover was to venture into the dangers of the night and spy inconsistencies. Alarming trends had been instigated around the cemeteries of Sunnydale, and if Spike was unable to locate the instigator, then Willow owed it to them all to help.

It was what she would find that worried Tara most. Like everyone, she had been shocked and frightened by the existence of Xander as a vampire, and the idea of facing the evil twin of her lover gave her chills. But then the idea that there was an evil machine out there organising an undead army froze her blood straight in her veins.

Tara looked out onto the dance floor and pinned her gaze on the barely swaying form of Dawn. She was dancing amongst a group of her friends, making a valiant effort to act normally, be friendly. But all Tara could see right then was the young teenage girl that Buffy had chosen to give up her life in order to save. Willow had added to the protection of the girl by returning a slayer to the Hellmouth. And Spike patrolled in order to keep her alive.

So, at this moment, Tara supposed that it was all about Dawn. Spike’s memories of his love for Buffy might have been stolen from him, and her lover might be venturing out into danger, but it was to keep young people like Dawn and her friend’s safe. It’s what Buffy would have wanted.

The thought of Buffy brought a frown to settle between her brows, and she scanned the dancing throng for the current slayer. Anne swayed with the crowd, her inherent gracefulness saving her from embarrassment, but her face and movements still belied a sense of discomfort within herself that Tara felt she could easily identify with. This girl might be Buffy, but to this crowd of Scoobies, she was an outsider who didn’t even have the benefit of relationship with the true Buffy to pave her way to acceptance.

Whatever the signal had been, Tara missed it, but she recognised the moment for what it was as Anne came off the dance floor, her aura flooded with relief. Anne fell in close by Spike as he stood beside the table, his eyes scanning the swarm of young people for any threats before he left his precious Nibblet behind. Willow also took to her feet, but suddenly her focus shifted and she found her eyes fixed on the form of someone familiar.

Her rigid lock on the events that were unfolding across the room drew even more attention from the Scoobies still residing at the table.

“Isn’t that that Warren guy? You know, the one with the robot fetish?”

The events at the bar suddenly became the top focus as visions of robot fetishes flashed across minds, dirty and clean alike.

“Hey, what’s he doing to that girl?”

Everyone turned the way that Willow pointed and observed a very slimy Warren use some sort of funny ‘in your face’ moves that had the previously hostile girl swooning in her seat.

Spike snorted, and all eyes swung back to the white-haired paradox.

“And why are you all with the humour, snickering at that poor clueless girl with the nerdy types who can only get it on with robots.” Xander was slightly envious, having inspired such hostile looks most of his adolescent and adult life, but only once managing the swoony look, and that had been Anya eager for sex.

“Who are the guys with him?” Anya’s invective was like a bucket of frosty water and all of a sudden the debate that had risen while they scrambled to place the two stragglers to the robot guy, came to an abrupt standstill.

But Harris, not having seen anything worth finding humour in, couldn’t let his previous charge go.

“Hang on, bleach boy…what were the snickers for?”

“Easy to see you lot aren’t with the vampire twitchy senses. The guy’s a vamp, and so are his two mates.”

Xander’s eyes goggled. Willow gaped. And Anya and Tara looked vaguely interested.

“So, are you saying once you’re a vamp you suddenly can get all the chicks you want? Cos, that Warren guy, so not with the good looks.” Xander’s voice was heavy with resentment.

“Ah, I guess you haven’t noticed that I’ve not exactly been loaded down with the ladies. In fact…” Spike suddenly looked pained and began to rub at his temple. “I’m almost certain that I have been…interested…in someone recently and not gettin’ the girl.” His blue eyes dimmed with confusion as the pain escalated.

The Scooby eyes suddenly crossed the table with looks filled with confusion and concern, as Spike suddenly collapsed into a chair and held his head. After a moment he lifted it, and retrieved the conversation without any more allusion to Buffy and his professed love for her, and their bewilderment deepened.

“Nope, bloke must be using thrall.”

“Thrall! Holy Moley, Batman. Can you teach me that?” Xander almost begged, only to receive a very sharp jab in his ribs as his girlfriend made a big show of moving away from him.

“What do you need thrall for, Xander Harris? Aren’t I enough for you?” The hurt on her face brought the thoughtless words back to mind and Xander scrambled.

“Of course you are, honey! I just meant it would be a good trick to have in the old arsenal, for…if we ever need to thrall somebody.” He smiled in relief as her smile brightened and she moved back to the comfy protection of his side.

“Anyway, can’t teach you. I don’t do thrall. Dru tried to teach me, but I’m not fond of parlor tricks. Prolly could learn, tho. One thing the Master contributed to the family.”

Spike’s statement hung guiltily in the air as the implications dawned on them, and they clashed in their hurry to gather together and watch the men across the room. Well, boys really as the childish giggling of the skinny blond one reached their ears. The girl made to leave with the dark-haired Warren and Anne, Willow and Spike left the group with warnings to keep Dawn in sight.

The cool night air blasted them in the face as they left the Bronze and followed the trio with the slightly dazed girl. None of them spoke as they attempted a stealth that was automatic to Spike, and Willow found herself feeling a little envious. One of the good and interesting vamp traits, she humphed.

The path they followed was a convoluted one, with Spike and Willow often choking a muffled laugh before the bedazzled vamps ahead could catch onto them.

“We should take her back to the lair,” the short brunette told the other two. He sounded like the voice of reason, the stickler for right, no matter which side he played for.

“That’s Jonathan,” Willow suddenly spoke in his head and he whipped around to glare at her. She gave him a little cheesy grin and apologetic shrug as the three of them cramped down behind a hedge, watching as the trio argued about their best course of action.

“But if we go back to the lair, then we’ll have to share.” It was the blond one whining now, still yet to grasp that they were intending to split the meal three ways so were already sharing. His voice held an automatic pout and Spike felt himself roll his eyes to his companions, feeling his spirits lift when it was returned.

Anne answered him with a squeeze through his leather-covered arm and for one immobilizing second he felt himself freeze. The world slowed to a stop, the bickering three incompetents slowed to quiet and the stillness of his world began to frighten him. But all of a sudden, words reached his ears and he could feel the world spinning at the usual rate and he mock breathed in relief.

“I am not sharing the taste of my disloyal bitch of an ex-girlfriend with the Master.” Warren Mears allowed his strong voice to lash against the uncertain quality of the other two before tugging on the girls arm and they all moved on.

Spike held the girls back for a moment, contemplating the information they had just gathered.

When he spoke, he felt unease coursing through his body, some kind of familiar tugging at him to rise and play nice. “Looks like the Master came through your pearly gate, too, Red. Not too bright of the little wanker to try and keep things from the Master, either. He won’t last long if he’s tryin’ to climb the ladder. Things are looking a little worse than what I was hopeful for.”

“And that would be your first correct assumption for the night. But Puppy, they’re gonna get a lot worse for you.”

Willow and Anne jumped at the unexpected intrusion, and Willow shrunk back against an almost resigned Spike, hoping that she would be safe with a vampire and a slayer to keep her company.

It wasn’t quite like looking in a mirror, but for Willow, the seeing of herself in the whorish and gothic get up managed to throw her just as far as it did the first time she encountered her vamp equivalent.

The two sides of one coin, Willow stood tall and almost without knowing drifted to stand less than a metre away from her double. The curling discomfort in her stomach disagreed with her confident stance. The shaking of her insides marched her along with the experience until she was so close to biting distance. But that overwhelming curiosity she had felt encased in the last time swept her normal caution away and she looked herself in the eye.

“Why are you so evil?” popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. “I mean, you’ve got all the cool sexiness, and the power and…and the grace and stealthiness…why do you have to be so evil with it? I-if I was a vampire, I bet I wouldn’t be so evil.”

Willow couldn’t help but flinch when she saw lips so like her own, but dark deadly red, part and release amused trickles of laughter. She felt crushed in her naiveté, bewildered by her sudden desire to show herself up. And she felt pure, burning jealousy of the power harnessed by her double.

Her inattention left her vulnerable and she realised that she was being circled by the other Willow, making her feel like she was on show and judged just like when she was in high school.

“I see my wardrobe improved,” the other taunted as she circled round again, making Willow feel like she was teetering on the edge of dizziness and falling off her feet.

“You mean, all I have to do to look like Willow the Whorehound is to get vamped? Might just pass on that one,” she reacted. Willow the Intelligent was wigged to the max and was feeling slightly woozy with the toing and the froing…until she accidentally caught Spike’s worried eye and the super-beings came to her rescue.

One minute Willow had been the centre of attention, the next she was so far on the fringe of not important that she actually felt the impact. She stood, lonely and useless as Spike and Anne engaged her vampy double--who had the benefit of three dweeby vampires for back-up.

Two against four ordinarily would have been lousy odds, but as soon as Anne was about to dust Warren, she was pushed to the side and the four escaped--vamp Willow a little more casual about her departure as she wiggled her fingers in a parting wave and a knowing grin on her mouth.

“Later, puppy,” she called, her eyes locking with the wary blue of Spike’s, and she was gone.

Anne panted lightly as Spike and Willow stood together, Spike offering reassuring smiles to encourage Willow back from Wigworld. The red-head hefted a few sighs of relief and then felt anger at herself rise within her. She was a witch, a mightily powerful witch, what with the sending Hell gods into outer space and stuff.

Yet she had allowed herself to take root in the ground, too terrified to launch any fight against herself. Her double. Her skanky ridgey-faced double. With fangs. And did she really tell her other self she wouldn’t be so evil if she was a vamp? Didn’t she remember what happened to Jessie? Did she really think she would have control over the person she would be as a vampire?

Her eyes fell on Spike and she couldn’t help but wonder at the vampire he was now. He’d shown up, strong and powerful sure, a master even, but his objective had been the same as any other vamp to kill the Slayer. Only when he was disabled did he stop from being a true vampire. First in his wheelchair though his habit had only changed in diet, he still lived and breathed the vampire world. Not until the chip and his own feelings of inadequacy did he find a path to Buffy and possibly salvation.

Willow knew she thought of Spike and his journey in more liberal terms than possibly the other Scoobies, well, the male Scoobies at least. Other than Tara, though, she considered herself reasonably empathic. No one could have passed by Spike when Buffy had died and deny he was a creature in severe pain.

So, the verdict then was that what she had told her vamp-self was foolish and dishonest. She knew that becoming a vamp would rid her of everything good in her, make her crave the evil and power that vamp-Willow had sucked up lustily.

Spike had been given opportunity, and it allowed something so far repressed to filter through and grab a hold of him. Maybe it was the chip; maybe it was love for Buffy. Whatever it was, Willow didn’t care. It was special, he was special, and she would end up being a garden-variety evil vampire. Death sure did suck!

Anne watched the caring way Spike comforted Willow and felt jealousy nudge at the high she’d gained from the fight. Slaying was her life, made her the woman she was, but Spike was beginning to add a whole dimension to her take on womanhood. The close proximity of him to the witch that she didn’t trust gave her needle-sharp little pricks on the inside of her skin, and she felt frustrated tears begin to well.

Shoving the inappropriate emotion down, Anne walked to the pair and joined them in talking about the events that led them into the fight.

“So, I guess we know where we stand now. Red, you brought the Master and undead Willow and Xander to this world when you got Anne. Bit of a loophole there!” The censure in his voice was slight, but it had a major impact. “How many bloody times do I have to tell you lot that magic has consequences? Its not to be played with.”

Willow lowered her head, momentary shame keeping her tongue in check. But then anger at her powerlessness during the fight had her raising her head in irritation-- and her eyes fell upon Anne. Her eyes narrowed as all her resentments gained momentum and she felt the pain again of losing Buffy. Every time her eyes fell on the blond girl’s face she knew that her friend was gone, forever leaving those she loved behind leaving them to cope in a cold hard world with nothing to guide them to happiness. Even Spike had hurt so bad he’d resorted to wiping out the memories of Buffy to stop the suffering.

The craving to have Buffy back was almost debilitating, but she was making headway in her plan and soon, hopefully she could make everyone’s pain go away.

“Well, it’s not like I can just send them back, is it?” Her voice was cold, angry and just plain reactionary.

Anne gasped and began to walk away backwards, her eyes seeking Spike’s in such a force of panic that he rushed to her and then stood awkwardly by her side, offering her gentle but determined pats on the back in reassurance and support. Even the tingle of excitement she felt at his touch wasn’t enough to calm the agitation she felt in the presence of the redheaded witch.

“She didn’t mean it like that, pet. Did you, Red?” He looked at the witch with hard glinting eyes of blue ice, and she actually felt a shudder as she tried to work out what he meant.

“Mean what?” Willow asked, feeling suddenly weak and subdued.

“You’re not sending anyone back. Are you?” His determined stance cut through her haze of indifference and she saw the look of terror on the imported Buffy’s face.

Willow shook her head, bewildered with the sudden turn of events. She thought back over what she’d said and cringed at the poor choice of words that might have made Anne think they would get rid of her.

“You don’t want me here. I see it in your face every time you look at me. It’s the same with the others. Only Spike and Dawn try to make me feel like I could live here.”

Anne had strength in her voice, but it was only just holding back the tears. Willow could see the fear that ravaged her face, and felt so horribly guilty for her own selfish want of power and control.

Consoling Willow, genuine in warmth and care surged into the empty cold space between herself and the Slayer and she dived forward to give her a hug. She patted Anne awkwardly on the back before stepping back and offering a warm, reassuring smile.

“I’m so sorry you thought that. I wouldn’t ever send you back. It hurts, you know. Buffy was my best friend. It just really hits me sometimes that you really aren’t her.”

Willow looked over at Spike who only nodded for her to continue, though his face was contorted with a pain the Scoobies were finally beginning to understand. Any mention of Buffy caused a tearing confusion in his brain.

When her eyes caught those of Buffy’s twin, she found the cheeks to be glistening and wet with shed tears, and the lump in her own throat almost strangled her.

“Where we brought you from, well, you die there. We saved you just before the Master broke your neck. Maybe I did think I might get my friend back by bringing you here, but I would never send you back to that. You might not be my Buffy, but you’re still Buffy and I would never let you die.”

Both girls stood close to one another, tears falling within a sympathetic rhythm until finally they embraced and crossed that threshold of difference that had held them at bay.

Although the lips trembled, Anne cried and smiled just like Buffy, and Willow felt a warmth of relief flow through her veins as she changed a little of the cold night. As their reassurances were felt and confidences accepted, they turned to Spike. He was on his knees on the ground, clutching his head and growling softly, his own tears glistening as they pooled and dripped from his chin.

They let silence fall around them, none knowing the best form of confrontation, so waited. When finally Spike made it to his feet, Willow watched in wary concern, starting to notice a trend. And it seemed to be a rather painful one. Memories of Buffy hurt. For Spike, apparently suppressing them hurt just as much, he just didn’t know why. It was another topic for a Spike-absent Scooby meeting.

After moments of recovery, they turned their bodies toward Revello Drive, eager for the night to be over. It didn’t take long, being that they’d followed the trio of goofs almost half the way before they had been set upon by Vamp! Willow.

Real Willow rushed forward the last few steps to preceed them into the house, leaving Anne alone with Spike for the first time that night. Feeling emotionally needy, she reached for his hand and felt a fast burn scorch her palm and heat flood through her body. She felt flushed with meaning, with destiny and began to smile at the relief she felt for finding this out.

For having feelings supported with physical affirmation.

Her foray into anticipated bliss came abruptly to an end as Spike jerked his hand away from her, his howls of pain renewed and even more tortured. Her heart squeezed in on itself and she felt something hard and awful fall within her. He wasn’t feeling it; he didn’t make the same connection. Whatever it was that shone for her fell upon him with a black ugliness that caused his demon to surge and his teeth to snap as he fought like an animal to escape her. He flung himself to the front steps, pulling himself upwards and through the door before disappearing inside.

As walls crumbled and turned to ash within Anne, she choked on hysterical sobs and collapsed on the turf outside the house. She could hear a door slam and knew he had retreated to the privacy of the basement, and she had gained a knowledge that could only alter her path of happiness in the most destructive and hurtful way.




~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The master stood alone in a room curtained off from the rest of the factory, drawing physical as well as metaphorical lines between his power and leadership, and the weak, stupidity of his minions.

He sat in a large velvet chair, the red of it bleeding into the atmosphere of the room as a woman with long brown curls hung from chains in the corner. Blood flowed from her throat and her colourless complexion was more than enough to show the lack of life she possessed.

Quiet surrounded him as he remained in the chair, long taloned fingers tapping on its arm as he licked his lips clean of blood. His eyes were thoughtful as he allowed his essence to travel, to seek out his new home. His new world.

The Master’s favourite child, Willow, came respectfully through the curtain and bowed slightly before him, her cheek rubbing against his thigh.

“I seek out my blood, and all I can feel is William. What can you tell me of the state of this world?” His nails caught in her hair as he wrapped thick strips around fingers and pulled. He directed her face closer to his crotch and began to purr as she rubbed against his hardening length.

“William is our new puppy. He helps the Slayer and kills our minions. There is some kind of magic surrounding him; it is very intriguing, Master. Can we catch him so I can play?”

The Master cupped her face, drawing her up and slicing a narrow line down her cheek, quickly hypnotised by the sight of her blood dripping down her face. He pulled her roughly closer, and his cold tongue chased up every drop. Willow shuddered against him then stood, shedding her clothes and straddling his lap. Pulling his fangs to her breast, she released the clasp of his leather pants and stirred him for action.

“For you, Childe, anything. Make plans for his torture as soon as you like,” and he groaned as she sank on him and fucked her way to evil heights.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


A few weeks later…..

Willow paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room of Xander’s flat, waiting for her friends to gather and calm. She had called everyone together under the pretence of an informal Scooby meeting, and in fact it was exactly that--just not so much of the demon fighting or researchiness their usual meetings consisted of.

Xander sat a large bowl of crisps in the middle of his table and plopped himself in an armchair, Anya making use of his lap as she too got comfortable. With Tara not having moved from the lounge since they had arrived, Willow remained the only obviously uncomfortable member in the room.

Her agitated strut didn’t take long to attract attention, but she still found it difficult to find the words. What she was about to propose had been weighing heavily on her mind for months now, and the researching, the planning and the confidence she now felt in being able to go through with it was something she felt she wanted to continue to hold close in secret. But the time was fast approaching, and to be successful, she needed the support of her friends.

“You look kinda juiced on the caffeine, Will. What’s with the nervy pacing?”

Xander sat back and eyed his friend. The redhead’s preoccupation over the last month or so had been pretty obvious to her friends, but no one had as yet approached her to find out what was going on. The look on her face now--caught somewhere in between that deer-in-headlights and smug achievement--had him scrambling for a reason to cancel the Scooby talkiness for the night. He had a heavy feeling that this meeting was going to be laden with the not-so-pleasant topic matter.

Willow forced herself to stop moving, to stand and look at her friends. She felt infused with hope, and all of a sudden it shone upon them from her smile.

“I’ve been doing a lot of research,” she began hopefully, the questioning style of her speech a lilting pre-confident Willow that hadn’t been seen in a while. “And I know I can do this. It won’t be easy, but I’m sure.”

The three in the audience looked at each other warily, none so attuned to Willow and her thought processes that they could even offer a way-off-base idea of what she was talking about.

“Willow, honey? Why don’t you come sit down and tell us what it is you think you can do.” Tara patted the soft cushion of the sofa beside her and Willow hesitantly made a move to occupy it.

Having a feeling that the two women wouldn’t share the same urgency of her plan, Willow allowed her eyes to fasten hold of Xander’s and she lost focus of all but his friendship. They were a triangle--Willow, Xander and Buffy. If the only one to understand refused his support, then the pain and hurt of Buffy’s death would just go on forever. Unaware of everyone watching her, Willow released a soft sob. She pulled herself together quickly in determination. She would make them understand.

“Buffy,” she almost let drift softly on the air. “I know how to save Buffy.”

Her statement was met with silence.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Giles sat, a tumbler of quality high shelf scotch in one hand while he contemplated the photograph he held loosely in the other. His blurry eyes caught on the sheen of highlighted blond hair, and he shuddered his horror. It had been over a month now, probably even two as time had become so wrapped up within itself that it had lost him long ago.

Even now he half expected Buffy to come bursting through his door, fuming about what current stupid/evil thing Spike had done now, or to relate the events foretelling of another Apocalypse. God, how he missed her. His heart twisted with it.

He felt the stirrings of hate well within, bunching and squeezing him until he could do nothing but bellow in agony. It was that stupid, selfish vampire’s fault that he felt this now, felt the grief so raw that he felt the tearing of veins and tendons, and skin from his body. Giles was on the brink of pleading for death, anything that could make the pain of his loss, of his failure recede again to his background. He could cope while Spike needed their attention, needed their devotion to keeping him undead. But since the little upstart did an about turn, no longer seemingly even concerned about the loss of the girl he proclaimed to love, it left Giles nothing to do but slip through in imitation.

The Hellmouth was killing him with its never-ending supply of evildoers, the too numerous memories, the Slayer’s friends and, by default, his charges. And now they had added more with the girl, Anne. The one who looked so familiar but behaved so differently.

Giles had made the rudimentary offer to train her, but even she could see his heart wasn’t in it. He’d been slow in enthusiasm, and quick to agree with alternative arrangements. It had been a relief that she would rather spend time with Spike. Ironic, really. That this time he would wholeheartedly support the vampire’s contact with the Slayer. Buffy had not received that much neutrality.

While bringing Anne into this world had been the right decision, he had not as carefully thought out his reaction to spending his day to day beside a girl who was his Slayer, but not. The tightly plaited hair, the dark eye make-up and the plain, almost army like quality to her clothing pointed out the severe differences easily enough. Her battle-scarred lip even more so. This girl had been through so much, yet her wounds seemed physical, rather than the emotional ones his Buffy had borne.

Just saying her name hurt, the way his British accent altered the ‘u’ bringing such a wrenching sense of nostalgia that it just dropped him deeper in his state of loss. He couldn’t let go of the feeling that he could one day just turn and see her bouncy and enthusiastic in his doorway. But reality quashed those notions and he took a large gulp of the alcohol. It was the last one as the glass was drained for the sixth time that night.

Anne! He found it rather easy to call her that, not even occurring to him that they might be stripping a little of herself away by demanding she be less who she is. In his tipsy state he found the situation comical. Until the tears swept away his vision and he collapsed in his hands and sobbed.

There was really nothing left that he could tolerate being around anymore. The Scoobies just tore at the wound every time he saw them. They were coping together as an evil fighting unit. They may be as remote to the new Slayer as he had been, but perhaps given time Anne would become a vital member of their group. He personally couldn’t see a friendship developing between them all-- Anne being too reserved. But maybe with Tara? She could help breach the gap.

They didn’t need him, barely coming to him anymore with demon dilemmas. He was really just wasting away with nothing but a shop he pretended to run--Anya having profitably taken over the majority of responsibilities long ago-- and a grave that many found to be a good visiting place. He was finding the popularity of Buffy’s final resting place rather a burn to his need for private reflection and wallowing.

He needed to go home.

That decided, Giles fumbled to his feet and moved toward the stairs leading to his bedroom. Taking a look around the flat that had been home for so long now, he shut off his emotions and took out a suitcase and couple of carry-on bags. Reaching his closet, he began to pack.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Xander was so stunned he almost believed his eyelids had been glued open to his eyeballs. The wide stretch hurt.

“What’s that, Will?”

He felt mesmerised as he watched her body lift and shift under her as she dragged in a gasping breath for courage.

“Buffy jumped through a portal to a hell dimension, right?” Willow paused and waited for the affirmative nods that would justify all her hard work in finding a solution to Buffy’s death.

Once received, she felt her enthusiasm become buoyant, filling her voice with enthusiasm as she outlined her plan.

“S-so you think B-Buffy has been lost in h-hell, all th-this time?” Tara asked, concern evident in the furrow of her brow as well as the sad echo of her voice.

Willow nodded, bouncing in excitement. It was off-putting and disrespectful, but all Xander had buzzing cartwheels in his brain were the words “I can save Buffy.” He didn’t even question the validity of Willow’s beliefs and assumptions. When had Willow ever gotten it wrong? She was the researcher, the brain of the group, and if she said Buffy had spent all these months in hell…Xander felt sick, and without warning he dumped Anya to the floor as he raced for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet bowl before wretching violently. Tears stained his face and he sobbed, grief stricken yet surging with hope.

“You can bring her back?” he almost whispered, but his voice hung in the silence like a clanging bell.

Willow didn’t speak, just allowed her head to nod and a happy smile steal away upon her lips.

“Do it,” he threw into the room, his voice hard and almost angry.

Again the third friend nodded, her smile widening almost catlike and making her girlfriend feel uneasy. Tara shared a look with Anya and recognised that she wasn’t the only one concerned about Willow’s plan.

“Can we see the spell,” Anya asked baldly, not even blinking at the sudden flash of annoyance she received from Willow.

“Of course,” was the tempered reply before Willow, once again confident and powerful in herself, found her coat and shrugged it on. “All my research is at the magic box.”

As a group they fell in together, leaving Xander to lock up his apartment and follow the women out to his car.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Their entrance through the door-- announced with the tinkling bell-- was rather more subdued as the gravity of Willow’s plans began to sink in. They followed the redhead to the training room and watched as she pulled her bag of folders, books and papers from her ingenuous hiding spot beyond the mats. She glanced at the group a little guiltily as she brought her cache to them to study. She’d been careful, knowing that her work would eventually be scrutinised, and so made sure that anything untoward or borderline dark was eradicated from her notes. These notes were her public copy; the alterations establishing truth existed elsewhere.

They made their way back into the comfort of the store, Anya and Tara taking up chairs as they began to look over the spell and determine Willow’s intentions. Xander paced around the room, his slightly softening frame a walking dynamo as he wrestled with his feelings of hope, and unease.

Half an hour found Tara and Anya finding nothing unusual about Willow’s calculations. Yet, Anya knew too much about raisings and the consequences and conditions related to such events to trust Willow carte blanche. But she could see the glitter of life back in the chocolate depths of her man’s eyes and she sighed in relieved agreement.

“It all looks fine, Willow. When do you think it is best to try it?”

Willow watched the blond shopkeeper, startled a little by her easy acceptance of the plan, but not wanting to argue with the gift, she shared more information.

“The final thing I need for this to work is an urn of Osiris. Would you be able to get me one, Anya?” The green eyes were pleading, almost desperate for everything to be finally settled. The end was so close; she was so near to having her best friend back in her life that she felt frantic about the possibility of things going wrong now.

“Yeah,” Xander seemed to echo her internal desire. “We need to get that urn, Ahn. Can you imagine it? Our very own Buffster back on the Hellmouth, saving lives and stopping the funky quasi-dating efforts between Captain Peroxide and Anne. There’s just something wrong about Spike crushing on someone other than Buff.”

Willow and Tara shared a startled look.

“I don’t think Spike is interested in Anne,” Tara offered gently.

“Anne is definitely interested in Spike, though.” All eyes turned incredulous to Anya. “Hello, gorgeous vampire living right underneath her bedroom. She’s not blind, people. Just young and inexperienced. But I think Tara is right. Spike isn’t interested. Which just goes to show that if he is under a spell to forget Buffy he either really loves her deep down, or doesn’t care at all and so isn’t falling for Anne.”

Tara smiled. “I-I think it is that he l-loves her so much subconsciously.”

Anya returned the smile and began to walk toward the front desk, intent on locating her order book.

“I will start looking for the urn tomorrow,” she told Willow with a quick glance as her hand lifted the book.

An envelope caught her eye, addressed simply to ‘The Scoobies’ and she quickly tore it open while continuing in her conversation.

“I don’t think it will be easy, though. Pretty sure they are kind of rare…oh no!” Her alarm carried through and landed at the feet of all those present. Such an exclamation these days left room for nothing but expected devastation, and they hardened themselves for whatever news Anya was about to impart.

“It’s Giles,” she said after she finished scanning the letter. “Dear Scoobies,” she read. “I have been rather absorbed in myself recently which has allowed you all to develop into a very potent evil-fighting operation. I feel very proud of you.

I am saddened to tell you all that by the time you receive this, I will be on a plane back to London. There are no words to express my feelings for all of you, just know that I will miss you dearly, and am only a phone call away should you need my help.

With the loss of Buffy, I found there was really nothing left for me in Sunnydale, and I hope you can all find it within you to not condemn me too harshly for deserting you to the fight. Spike and Anne will be there for you. Keep the lines of communication open.

Take care.

My love to you all,

Giles.”

The young people sat in shock, words defeated before they could even be uttered. The last dependable adult in their lives was suddenly gone, without warning or good-byes. For some it created a sense of anger and resentment, and Xander felt the acute sting of abandonment by his only decent father figure.

“Well, I guess that tells us where we stand,” Xander told the room, voice surly as he got to his feet. “Can I give anyone a lift home?” he offered, not looking at anyone as he led the way back out of the shop, only waiting for Anya to close and lock up behind them.

After a silent drive through the streets of Sunnydale, he dropped Willow and Tara off at Revello Drive before returning back to his own place with Anya. For the four, thoughts were high of resurrections and those now missing from their group. It left a sense of melancholy that Willow felt-- a little resentfully-- took over her monumental achievement.

Willow went to bed angry that Giles’s leaving had stolen her thunder, but relief that he wouldn’t be there to watch over her shoulder everything she had to do to get Buffy back.

Because nothing would be held back if it was needed to return her friend home.

Next