Chapter 10:

*****

California

October, 2000

            <Pacing is highly underrated,> Buffy thought as she walked the narrow room.

Beneath her feet, the carpet squished wetly, making her wince with disgust. She spoke out loud as she paced, counting her steps.

 “One, two, three, four, hit wall, turn, repeat.” The motel room was closet sized and smelled of stale sweat, old sex, and carpet cleaning solution. She hadn’t expected any better from the look of the dilapidated building, or from its location. Luxury hotels didn’t exactly flourish on the outskirts of Sunnydale. Who’d want to vacation on the Hellmouth’s suburb? Expecting a hovel or not, the roaches that scurried for cover when Buffy opened the bathroom door made her wish she’d chanced being recognized and gone with Spike into town.

“Of course, it doesn’t help that he’s…” she checked her watch, “over an hour late. He knows I’m sitting here, freaking out with worry, and does he even call?”

She kept pacing, taking comfort in the soothing rhythm of her steps. The knot of worry that had formed when Spike left to kill Ben had grown into a full-fledged tangle of fears and anxiety. Trying to calm herself, she kept talking.

“I should’ve stayed home with Hugh. Let Spike do all the work. Why not? It’s not like I’m such a huge help, staying here. Pacing like a freak…. talking to myself… oh yeah, definitely should’ve stayed home.” 

<Or maybe we both should’ve stayed,> she thought, her shoulders slumping. <The other Buffy… she could’ve had some peace. Death isn’t so bad… it’s… > A shudder tore through her as her mind filled with the image of Spike from her nightmare. <Monster-faced, growling, and the blood… Dawn’s blood, all over his hands>.

“Shush, Buffy,” she told herself, not wanting to think about death, good or bad. “Think about the jungle, about good, alive things.  Hugh, cooking breakfast, wearing his pink apron. Spike, naked, covered in mud. Alive equals good.”

She whipped around as the door to the motel room opened suddenly. Spike rushed in, shutting it behind him. He leaned his forehead against the door, breathing heavily.

“Hey!” she said, moving towards him. “You’re okay?”

He nodded, and slowly turned to face her, but did not meet her eyes. Tensing his jaw, he said, “Ben was an easy kill.”

<Because he was trusting. He was… he was decent,> she thought, but forced herself to harden her heart. “Glory’s taken care of. We can go home now.” She held out her hands for his, but instead of taking them, he brushed past her into the room towards the kitchenette. “What’s with the bad mood?”

The tiny refrigerator shook as he slammed it shut, a mug of blood in his hands. Patting his jeans pocket, he pulled out a tiny flask and spiked the blood before downing the entire cup in three desperate gulps.

“Spike? What happened? You… you’re an hour late. We said we’d meet at eight o’clock. I was scared.”

Tossing the mug aside, he swept towards her. Without a word, he gathered her in his arms, holding her face against his neck with one hand around the back of her head. “Buffy,” he said, the word mumbled into her hair. “God.”

Rubbing her mouth across the breadth of his collarbone, she breathed in his scent. “You are okay, right?”

            He nodded, hugging her closer.

“It went down all right? With Ben… Glory’s really taken care of?”

Nodding again, he buried his hands in her hair, kneading her scalp.

“What is it you’re not wanting to tell me? What’s wrong?”

Taking her shoulders in his hands, he pressed her down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Pet…” Biting his lip, he lowered himself to the mattress beside her. “Well… it’s not… it’s not simple, you see…”

Color rose in her cheeks, contrasting the paling of the rest of her face. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she glared at him. “Tell me. It can’t be that bad. Whatever’s wrong, it’s just couldn’t be that bad. Tomorrow morning, we’ll be on a train back to the jungle.”

“Well, love… well, no, we won’t be heading home tomorrow.”

She grabbed his hands, squeezing them. “What? Don’t say that. We’re going home. I have our tickets, our bags are packed...”

“No. You won’t want to after I tell you… See, I’m late because I had to scope something out… a gut feeling of mine. Things… in town, I mean, they just felt… off. The streets were full of road pirates, demons on motorcycles. They tend to show up when a town is wide open for the taking. I went to the Bronze… it was demon central. No humans to speak of, just pirates and vamps and the like. I poked around a bit, asked a few questions.” Looking down at her hands, he hesitated. “They told me the Slayer hasn’t been seen out of her house for over a year. Not since… not since your… I mean, her mother died.”

“Huh? No.” Tossing off Spike’s comforting hands, Buffy jumped to her feet. “No, my mom didn’t die then. It was later… it wouldn’t have happened yet.” Realization washed over her, making her sink back down onto the bed. “Oh God,” she whispered, staring at Spike. “You think that I did this? That my being here screwed things up?”

“Unless your future included total chaos in the streets?” His voice sounded almost hopeful. “I… I’m sorry, love. Didn’t want to tell you this. But… it’s bad out there. Those road pirates… they’re nasty blokes. Smash and burn, that’s their way. They eat up whole towns and spit them out before moving on. Not safe for humans, not even safe for lesser demons.”

            “But… but we tried so hard to… we were so careful not to let anyone see me. Two years in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere…saying goodbye to my whole life… and for what?”

Stricken, he flinched as though she’d slapped him. “What for?” He took her shoulders in his hands and drew her towards him, pressing his forehead against hers. “For this, Buffy.”

She exhaled heavily, staring into his eyes with tearful intensity. “Spike…” 

“For our life. Yeah, the life in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere. Weren’t you happy there, with me? I know the Brownie is a bit of a poofter, but you two get on okay. And you have your garden… and… well, me.” He shook her once, forcefully. “You *were* happy.”

            She closed her eyes, hiding the shining tears that filled them. Dropping her cheek onto his shoulder, she nodded. “That’s what makes it so terrible. Don’t you understand? All the time I was down there, happy, with you… all that time, I’d left this huge mess behind. I caused all this pain, and all that time, I was happy.”

Stroking her hair, he said, “So was I. First time in my whole sorry existence, I had something good and clean. I wish we’d never come back here, never found this. Be better that you’d never known.”

She considered this, his words an enticing hum in her mind, but knew the truth. “I could’ve lived out my whole life there in the jungle. I could’ve been happy forever there, with you. But knowing this… I can’t just pretend it’s not true.”

“We’re going into town, then?”

Standing, she straightened her shirt and finger-combed her hair, forcing calm into her body with the familiar rituals. “Yeah. Carefully, but yeah. The demons you talked to could’ve been wrong about Mom. I don’t want to mess things up any more than I already have, but I need to see what happened, what exactly it was I did to mess up the timeline. Maybe I can still fix it.”

Off his skeptical look, she bit down on her lip. “Somehow. Or… or at least, I can take care of those demons. Kill them off and give the other Buffy some slack to work with.”

Pulling a packet from his pocket, Spike lit a cigarette. The flame from the lighter made his eyes glow briefly. Regarding Buffy with a squint, he flicked ashes on the floor. “You should be prepared for a shock. They say she’s a shut-in. A total nutcase. Too pathetic to even kill.”

            She took a quick, sharp breath, but steeled herself. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door to the motel. “Then we’ll go to her.”

*****

Sunnydale

October, 2000

            “Umm… hello?” Willow said, swinging open the door to the Summers’ home. She poked her head inside, following it with her body only when she was certain she was alone in the darkness. The house smelled stale, the air tasted stagnant and dusty, and the wall felt sticky as Willow ran her palm over it, searching for the light switch.

            “Lights,” Willow whispered, blinking as her eyes adjusted, and blinking again when she saw the mess that was the entry way. Clothes and dirty dishes covered the floor, unopened newspapers were stacked on the stairs, and a large pile of unopened mail leaned precariously against the doorway to the dining room.

            Brushing her hands off on her jeans, Willow wandered into the living room, her pace tentative, searching. “Buffy?” she called, ignoring the mess. The room was unoccupied, so she moved to the kitchen, and then, finding it empty, to the upstairs.

After looking through all of the bedrooms, it became obvious that Buffy was not home. She sank onto the stairs, confused and slightly afraid.  “No Buffy here. No Dawn here- no Dawn’s bedroom either. Just the guest room. But duh, ‘cause Dawn never existed in this reality. And she won’t, either, because the monks didn’t make her yet… not for another few weeks. No Joyce, but all her stuff is still here. So she’s okay… probably just at work.”

<So, now what?> she thought, dropping her head into her hands. <The Magic Box, maybe, but going outside again…> She shuddered at the thought. <Dodging motorcycle demons, buildings on fire, and rampaging vampires roaming the town like they own it… not the most funnest thing ever.>

“But I have to find Buffy. Once I do, none of this will count. I’ll find her and then we’ll fix everything.” Her words in the darkness of the stairwell sounded hollow, so she cleared her throat and tried again, resolutely narrowing her lips. “Off to the Magic Box I go.”

*****

            “It’s dark. Maybe there’s no one home,” Buffy said, striding up the porch steps to the front door. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “You coming?”

            “I should go in first. She sees me, she’ll just stake me. Seeing you might give her an apoplexy.” 

            “A stroke. No one calls them apo…whatever, anymore.” Stepping back, she scanned the front of the house, craning her neck for a peek in the living room window. “I don’t see anyone. They’ve probably all gone out.”

            “Slayer’s a shut-in, they said. And with these road pirates getting their jollies on in town, I don’t guess your mum and sis would be out and about, especially not after dark.”

            “They’re not here, though. Mom and Dawn. I’d sense them.”

            “You can do that?” He raised an eyebrow. “Thought you could only sense my kind. Your little back-of-the-neck tinglies.”

            “A different kind of sense. The feeling… awareness, maybe that’s a better word… for someone you love, when they’re close to you.”

            Grabbing her hand, Spike pulled her up against his body, trapping her there with a long arm around her waist. “This kind of… feeling?”

            She leaned into him for a moment, stroking her hands over his shoulder blades. “Not really, but this is okay too.” The muscles beneath her cheek tightened as he chuckled. “What’s funny?”

            “This,” he said, kissing her forehead and releasing her. “This doesn’t strike you as a bit comical? Me, a vampire, snogging with the Slayer on her mum’s front porch?”

            “Don’t call me that.” She scowled at him, her mouth twisting. “What, we’re back in Sunnydale so suddenly it’s me, Slayer, you, vamp? I don’t think so.”

            “Not even close to what I meant, Buff, and you know it.” He moved towards her so quickly, she took an involuntary step back. Taking her face between his hands, he brushed his lips against hers. “You’re nervous. I can see it. But don’t twist my words up. You know who you are to me.”

            “Who?” She breathed the word across his mouth, warming it. “Who am I?”

            Rubbing his thumbs over her cheekbones, he grinned. “You’re everything alive inside of me, don’t you know that? And right now, you’re also the chit who’s going to quit with the stalling and go inside your house. Invite me in, already, love. Go on.”

            Her mouth nipped at his, closing off his words with their movements. Winding her fingers through his hair, she ran her tongue over his teeth, then tangled it with his own. She kissed him as if she could enter him that way, as if she could send her soul inside of his body and live there forever.

            Finally, she broke away, panting. “Spike…”

            He shook his head. “No going back now.”

            “No, I… I just wanted to say… we’ll go home tomorrow. No matter what we find inside the house, tomorrow we’ll be on that train, headed back to the jungle.”

            Looking into the opaqueness of the living room window, Spike’s lips tightened. “Right, then. Tomorrow. But for now…”

            “Come in, Spike,” Buffy said, turning the door knob and walking inside.

            “Dark,” he whispered, following her. He shut the door behind them, and moved slowly into the dining room. Tilting his head, he scented the air. “Umm… Buff… there’s blood in the air. Fresh. Human.” With another sniff, he pointed into the living room. “It’s coming from there. Someone’s in there, bleeding.”

            She rushed into the room, Spike trailing behind her. “Hello?” she called into the shadows. She groped the wall, searching for the light switch. “Who’s there?”

            “Leave it off,” said a gravelly voice. “Like the darkness better.” Someone scuttled, crab-like, from the archway to the kitchen further into the darkness on the far side of the room. A ray of light from the entry way caught the person’s face briefly, red and disfigured.

“Who is that?” Buffy whispered, icy dread tightening in her stomach. She felt for Spike’s hand and clasping it tightly.

            Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, Spike moved forward, towards the crouched outline of the figure across the room. He walked slowly, his hands held out, radiating calm and harmlessness. “Buffy? Is that you, pet?”

            <No,> Buffy thought, watching as he lowered himself to the ground beside the figure. <I’m right here. You call me pet. Not… that.>

            “Buffy? Am I Buffy?” The person laughed, a terrible sound. Jumping to her feet, she pushed past Spike and threw herself onto the couch. Both her hands concealed her face, then fell as she dragged her finger tips over the scars. “Am I Buffy? Not even close. Not even close to being Buffy.”

            <Oh, God,> Buffy thought, swallowing hard. Bracing herself, she took one step forward, then another. “You… you were. Buffy. You were Buffy, and you are the Slayer.”

            Light from a streetlamp pierced the window, and the Slayer-Buffy was revealed by it. Burns thickened her face. The skin, red and meaty, stretched tight over familiar bones. Smiling with her lipless mouth, the Slayer said, “I’m not. But I was.”

             Buffy dropped onto the coffee table, perching there precariously. Shaken, she wiped at her face, covering her eyes. “You’re the Slayer.”

            Spike laid a heavy hand on Buffy’s shoulder, pulling her back to lean against his legs. He shoved his other hand in the pocket of his jeans, hiding the tremble. Nodding at the Slayer, he said, “You did that to yourself, eh?”

            “Myself. To myself. Yes, I did this to myself. Burned off my face. Off my nose. My lips, no lips.” Her voice built up, raising higher and higher as she spoke. “How did you know, Spike? How did you know it was me?”

            “It’s your face, Slayer. No one burns a face unless they hate it. No one hates your face except…” He looked down at Buffy’s bent head and couldn’t continue.

            “Except me. I hate my face. Hate my body and my hair and… and my hands.” Holding up one hand, she studied it in the orange light. “My stupid, Slayer hands. So… so stupid. Couldn’t even… not the Slayer. Not powerful, not a savior.”

            Looking up, Buffy reached out and took the Slayer’s hand in hers. “What… what *happened* to you?”

            The Slayer traced her thumb over the back of Buffy’s hand, obviously startled. “Acathla happened,” she whispered, her wide eyes gripped by the sight of her burned skin on Buffy’s flawlessness. “Acathla. Angel. Drusilla. And then Xander and Gi…” Breaking off, she shook her head furiously, cropped blond hair whipping back and forth. “No. No, no, no. Mom, no.” Her voice, keening, made them flinch.

            “Hush, pet. You’re all right,” Spike said, kneeling beside the couch and grabbing her shoulders. He pulled her back to lie against the pillows. Stroking her hair, he blinked rapidly, trying not to look too closely at her face. The smell of burned flesh clung to her, hideously. “Shhh, love. Just… relax.”

            “We need to know what happened,” Buffy said in a tight voice, hugging her arms around her body.

            “Acathla, I told you,” the Slayer moaned, rocking her face into Spike’s palm. “Xander and I went in, to kill Angel. I told him to take care of Drusilla- I *told* him to! But he didn’t listen, he… and then her fangs came out, and… I was fighting Angel, fighting hard, but then there was Xander, falling down all bloody. All the blood… and Dru jumped on my back, and things were black for a long time. And then…” She laughed against, hysterical. “Giles…”

            Gulping down nausea, Buffy stood and moved a few feet away. “What happened to Giles?”

            “They were going to kill us together. Me and Giles. I woke up, and he was there with me. Told me not to worry, we’d be fine. Liar, he was such a liar.”

            “Go on, love,” Spike said, letting her rub the roughness of her cheek against his hand. “Keep talking.”

            “They knew how to open Acathla, but they hadn’t yet. Drusilla made Giles think she was Jenny… thrall, you know? And Giles told her how. Angelus told me that, when I asked him. He told me Giles loved that gypsy bitch and would’ve told her anything, he was so happy to see her again. To touch her.” Groaning, she clutched Spike’s wrist, pinning him against her. “I haven’t been touched since Mom died. Over a month. And over a year since a man’s touched me.”

            “Just keep talking,” Spike said, letting her touch herself with his hand.

            “Drusilla went to kill him. Giles. Right next to me. But I asked *please*… I begged him, and he loved that… begged him to make her be Jenny in Giles’ eyes. And she did, she was Jenny. Giles died in Jenny’s arms, smiling… happy.”

             “Then what, pet?”

            “Drusilla snapped his neck, so quick. She dropped him on top of me and left the room. Said the game wasn’t fun anymore, that Angel had made it bad. She didn’t like it when Giles died, I think. But that was bad for Angel, when she left, because it was him against me, and I beat him. Killed him. And then I picked up a hammer from the ground… they’d used it on Giles, you know? Before I got there? I took the hammer and smashed Acathla into bits. Bitty, bitty, bitty bits. Crumbs.” She curled up into a ball, Spike’s hand against her heart. “Didn’t matter. They were all dead. Xander… Angel… Giles… all dead. Bits. Crumbs.”

            “What did you do then?” Buffy asked hollowly.

            “I stood up. Walked outside. Into the street. A car was coming, so fast, like a blur.” Smiling, she raised her chin and looked at Buffy. “I threw myself in front of it, and all that blackness came back.”

            “But you lived.” Spike stroked a chunk of hair out of her face.

            Blinking at him, the Slayer said, “Did I? Well, kind of. I guess. But it was over, after that. I wasn’t the Slayer anymore.”

            “Which explains why the town’s open for demons. But not your face. When did you do that?”

            “Don’t remember,” the Slayer said, closing her eyes. “One day I woke up and realized I wasn’t Buffy anymore. Couldn’t stand it, having her face on me. I looked in the mirror, and there she was. So I killed her. Burned her to death.”

            “Must’ve been a while back. The burns have healed okay.”

            “Okay?” Buffy gaped at Spike. She waved her hands towards the Slayer. “You call that okay! Ask her about my mother.”

            “When did your mum die, love?”

            “Not too long, a vamp got her. Just a regular vamp. She died, Willow says, a month ago. But Willow isn’t here now. She can’t stand me… can’t look at me. She misses Buffy, but Buffy’s dead.”

            Buffy shoved her face above the couch, into the stream of light. “Look at me,” she said. “Can’t you see me?”

            The Slayer shrugged slightly. She raised her arms in the air, revealing rows of stitches cris-crossing the insides of her arms. Lowering them, she began to pick at one of the cuts. Blood dripped down towards her elbow, soaking into her shirt. “You’re dead. We’re all dead. Ghosts, ghosts, every one of us.”

            “Nice job, those,” Spike said, tensely casual. “Your work too?”

            “Nearly did it this time. Made the blackness come back for hours and hours, but then it was gone and Willow was there.” Sighing, she turned to her other arm. Scars branded her from wrist to elbow, rivets of gnarled flesh. She dug her fingernail under one of the stitches, searching for more blood. It welled up, shiny and thick. Looking at it, the Slayer grinned. “Someday the blackness will be all there is. Soon, I hope. I hate the light.”

            “Spike,” Buffy whispered, backing away. Her face was bent into a pale mask of horror. “I have to…”

            He stood up and pulled a blanket down from the top of the couch to spread over the Slayer’s legs. “Rest here a bit, pet,” he stuttered, then followed Buffy into the kitchen.

            “That’s *not* me,” she said, grabbing his arm as he walked through the doorway. “That could *never* be me. No matter what happened, no matter how bad it was… I’d never be like this! How could this have happened?”

            “I was supposed to be there, wasn’t I? Then?” He held her away from him, his eyes hot. “You were wrong about me.”

            Startled, Buffy sank onto one of the kitchen stools. “Yes,” she said, her hair falling around her face. “That was the day I told you about. The truce. It was suppose to be you, not Xander. I… I didn’t realize that you were so…”

            “Important?”

            Pushing her hair back with both hands, Buffy looked up at him. Tears shined in her eyes, but did not fall. “I didn’t realize you were anything, back then. Not then. I learned, of course.” Holding her hand out to him, she whispered, “I fell in love with you. You know I did. You know… that I know, how wrong I was.”

            His anger bloomed fully on his face for a second, then he let it drop with a sigh. Her hand was hot in his, and he let her pull him to her. “I know, pet,” he said, “but now we have a bloody mess to clean up.”

            She let herself cling to him for a minute, inhaling deeply, trying to replace the smell of burned skin with his own scent. “She… that’s not me,” she whispered, holding him tightly. “Not me.”

            “I know, ducks, I know. You’re a sight stronger than that. But it doesn’t matter, you understand that?”

 

            “Yeah, I know.” Releasing him reluctantly, she slipped off the stool. “Let’s just clean up the town. Get rid of those road pirates. Then we’ll…” She grimaced, hating what needed to be done. “Take care of it.”

            “Take care of her,” Spike supplied. “It’s what she wants, love. The darkness, forever. And won’t it be a mercy killing at that?”

            “It’s… yeah, mercy. And another Slayer will be called, and we can go home. But I still don’t like the thought of… well, killing myself.”

            “I’ll do it. You wait outside.” He gave her an odd sort of half-smile. “Finally get to kill you, after all.”

            “Make it…” She shook her head, unable to finish.

            “She’ll be happy,” Spike said softly, wrapping his arm around Buffy. He led her out into the dining room. “It will be like a dream to her, I swear it.”

            “Thank you.” She turned her face away as they walked into the entry way, not wanting to look at the Slayer. “I’ll be…”

            “Wait,” Spike said suddenly, pulling her away from the door. “Hear that? Someone’s coming.” 

            They waited, tucked safely in the shadows of the dining room, as the front door opened.

*****

            “Buffy?” Willow called, opening the front door of the Summers’ home. “Are you here?”

            “Buffy doesn’t live here,” said a voice from the living room. “Buffy’s dead. I’ve told you that already.”

            Flipping on the living room light, Willow grinned down at the girl who laid on the couch on her stomach, her face buried in the cushion. “Buffy! I’ve been looking all over for you. You’re not going to believe this, but… Buffy?”

            Going over to the couch, Willow sat on the edge and patted the girl’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s me, Willow. I can’t believe I found you. And you’re alive! My spell worked, even if it did totally mess up the whole world. I’ve got so much to tell you. Buffy? Are you awake?”

            The girl flipped over, toppling Willow back. Glaring, the light illuminating her terrible face, the Slayer laughed, long and low. “Buffy is *dead*!” she growled, grabbing Willow’s shoulders and leering into her face. “Dead!”

            When Willow screamed, the Slayer began to laugh. 

Chapter 11:
 

Chapter 11

For Shannon- thanks!

*****

            Willow’s scream tore through the house, rocking Buffy to the core. “Willow!” she called, jumping to her feet.

            “Buffy, wait,” Spike said, grabbing her as she rushed towards the scream. “The timeline, pet. If Willow sees you…”

            Buffy tore herself free of his restraining grasp. “It’s not her! Didn’t you hear what she said? This is *my* Willow!”

            She paused only a moment at the doorway to the living room, taking in the sight of Willow struggling as the Slayer pushed her down onto the coffee table. Hovering above her, the Slayer stroked her face with her ruined hands, brushing strands of red hair off her forehead. “Soft,” she said, her spittle flecking Willow’s cheek.

            “Oh God,” Willow moaned, closing her eyes to the sight of the girl’s burns, just inches from her face. “Stop, please stop.”

            “Get away from her!” Buffy shouted, grabbing Willow’s arm and pulling her from under the Slayer. “Spike!”

            “I’ve got her,” Spike said, wrapping one arm around the Slayer’s waist and lifting her towards the doorway. She didn’t fight him, but lolled against his side, streams of laughter pouring from her mouth. Looking over his shoulder, he gave Willow a nod. “I’ll take her upstairs. Put her to bed.”

           “Buffy! You’re you!” Willow threw her arms around Buffy’s neck, shaking. “But she’s… she’s…”

            “Nuts,” Buffy said, patting Willow’s back. She met Spike’s eyes over Willow’s head. “Spike, are you…” She hesitated, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “Don’t… I mean, let’s wait on it. On killing. Just until we figure things out.”

           “Right,” he said, stiffening as he glanced down at the Slayer, hoping she hadn’t understood. She hung her head over his shoulder, senseless, still laughing. He hoisted her up into his arms and continued out of the room.

             “Okay, Will, it’s all right now,” Buffy said, extricating herself from her friend’s arms and sitting on the couch. “It’s me.”

            “Yes! I found you! But…” She darted a look towards the stairs. “Who…”

            “A ‘me’ who’s been through more that she could stand.” Taking Willow’s hand, Buffy tried to get her to focus on something other than the Slayer. “Will. A spell? You brought me back with a spell?”

            “Ah… yeah,” Willow said, blinking hard, trying to center her thoughts. “A resurrection spell. But things went kind of kablooey. You might’ve guessed that already.”

           “No. I didn’t guess that. I mean, yeah, kablooey. Something had to have gone wrong for me to be here, alive, in the past. But I never thought of a spell. Why would you…” Her eyes went still and cool. “How could you do that to me?”

             “I saved you! Nasty, tormenty, hell dimension ring any bells? I couldn’t leave you there to suffer. Especially not after you died to save us all.”

            “Suffer. Hell.” Buffy sunk back into the couch cushion. “You thought I was in hell? And you did a spell to bring me back to life?”

           “Yeah. But… well, something happened. The urn broke… and you ended up back here.” Her mouth twisting, Willow shot another look towards the stairs. “With Spike, of all people. God, Buffy, what you must’ve been through… the last two years, all alone…”

            “Two years. You know I’ve been here for two years?”

            “Well, yeah. We tracked you, Tara and I. And then Anya… or, Anyanka, actually, we summoned her, and she sent me back here to find you. But we gave you a few years, let you stay here long enough to kill Glory. I didn’t want to keep you here that long, but it was the only way I could think of to make sure you stayed alive after the reversal spell.”

             “Reversal spell… wait a minute. I don’t get this. Any of it.” She rubbed her neck tiredly, confusion tensing her muscles, and wished that Spike would hurry and come back downstairs. Having his hand to hold wouldn’t make the confusion go away, but it would definitely make it easier. Crossing her legs, she told herself that this was Willow, her best friend, and that she should play nice, no matter how upset she felt. So, she tried on a smile that almost met her eyes and said, “Okay, Will. You brought me back, and I’m glad to be alive. But… why are you here?”

            Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “To bring you back, of course! To fix the timeline. To make everything right again.”

             <Oh, is that all?> Buffy thought, a heaviness growing inside of her. She kept her eyes trained on the stairwell. <Come on Spike. Let’s get going. The train leaves in just a few hours.>

            Oblivious to Buffy’s reaction, Willow continued. “You don’t have to worry about the whole ‘being dead’ thing. You killed Glory here, and that’ll stick even after I do the reversal spell. Her death spans dimensions because she’s a god. She’s above dimensional rules.”

            “Is that right?” Buffy murmured, standing up. She patted her coat pockets, searching for the train tickets. Overhead, she could hear the thudding sounds of Spike’s boots walking upstairs, heading towards the staircase. <Not much longer now.> Looking at her friend, she hesitated. “Willow…”

            Willow shifted her eyes, nervously kicking at the coffee table leg. “I… I’m sorry. Everything you’ve been through for the last two years… it was all because I flubbed the stupid spell. You’ve been stuck here, all alone, and… and… I’m just really sorry. But… but don’t worry, okay? As soon as we do the reversal spell, it’ll be like you never died.”

            “Willow,” Buffy repeated, folding her arms over her chest. “Look, it’s good to see you. And… and it’s okay, alright? I’m not mad at you, not really. Yeah, it was really dumb of you to screw everything up… I mean, my god, look at it outside! And, look at her, at the Slayer! But…” She sighed, and with a soft smile said, “I’m okay. Happy. I haven’t been alone, not at all. Spike and I have a life together, in Mexico. And our train home leaves pretty soon, so as soon as we take care of the Slayer, we’re heading out.”

           “Is it time, Buffy?” Spike asked as he came down the stairs, taking them two at a time. “We’ve got to take care of the nutty one before we go.”

           “Yeah, I know,” she said, holding out her hand to him as he walked into the room and pulling him to her side. “I was just explaining things to Willow.”

            “But…” Willow gaped at them, blinking with bafflement. “No. You don’t understand. We have to do the reversal spell.”

           “And then what? My whole life here goes poof? No, thanks.” Squeezing Spike’s hand, she shook her head. “It’s not like we’re just heading out of town without a care. I know things are bad here, but we can help with that. We… well, we’re going to kill the Slayer. It’s… it’s the right thing to do. There’ll be another Slayer then, one who’s not insane. She’ll take care of the Hellmouth.”

            “Oh gee, that’s just great,” Willow said exasperated. “You keep calling the nutcase upstairs the Slayer. But hello! Buffy, you are *still* the Slayer! You have a job to do. A responsibility to the people who love you! What about Xander, Buffy? And what about Giles? Don’t they matter to you anymore?”

            Turning her face into Spike’s arm, Buffy shivered. “Of course they matter. Xander’s my friend. And Giles… he’s… Giles. But…”

            “Lay off her,” Spike growled at Willow, wrapping his arm around Buffy. “Fine thing it is, you coming in here all righteous-like when really, this whole thing is your fault.”

            “How do you…?”

           He tapped his ear. “Vampires hear most everything, little witch. Buffy told you she’s not leaving, so take your sodding spell and go home. She’s not the Slayer here; she doesn’t owe you jack.”

           Ignoring him, Willow focused on Buffy, her eyes pleading. “Buffy, you will always be the Slayer. It doesn’t matter how you live- or with whom. There’s no separating your normal parts from your Slayer parts.”

           Spike rolled his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s lived like a normal girl for years now, and been happier for it. If you’re really her friend, you’ll toddle along and leave well enough alone.”

           “And if you care for her, you’ll shut your mouth and let her decide! These are her friends who are dead, Spike. Buffy knows the right thing to do. She’s always done what’s right, and she always will.”

           His face hardened. “The right thing to do? Now, that’s funny. You, telling me what’s right. How right was it, you pulling her out of heaven to come fight your monsters for you? And then when you screw up, you come here and try ‘n take away her happiness again.” Snorting, he shook his head. “Give us the lecture on righteousness again, witch. Don’t think I took notes the first time. Wouldn’t want to miss anything, you being such an expert and all.”

           Willow reddened and glared at him, sputtering, “You… you… Buffy, how can you let him talk to me like that?”

          “Shut up,” Buffy whispered, looking at the ground and hugging Spike’s arm around her. <God, she didn’t even hear him say I was in heaven. Does she really not care? Does it even matter?>

           “I’ll talk to you any way I bloody well please. But not for much longer. Buffy and I have a train to catch.”

            “You really think Buffy was happy in Mexico with you? Like you could really make her forget us! You’re nothing but a… a… soulless *thing*!”

            Buffy raised her head and in a sudden strike, kicked the coffee table across the room. “I said shut up!”

                      Spike and Willow stared at her in astonishment. “Buffy,” they stuttered in unison, shooting dirty looks at each other.

           She glowered back at them, pale and shaken, but strong. “No more fighting. I can’t take it. There’s too much going on as it is. The last thing we need is you two going at each other like rabid animals. Can you behave like normal people for a minute, and let me think?”

“He is not a p…” Willow dropped her head as Buffy gave her a look of death. “Okay. I won’t fight. But Buffy, you have to listen to me. This spell… we have to do it. We just have to. It’s simple, and it’ll only take a minute. Once it’s done, there won’t be anything to fight about. You’ll be… well, you, and Giles and Xander will be alive, and the world will be good again."

 “And what about me?” Spike said, going across the room. He up-righted the overturned coffee table and perched on it. “Where do I fit in with this brave new world of yours?”

 “It’s nothing new, don’t think of it like that. We’re not creating anything. This… this….” Willow waved her hand in the air. “This is what’s false. It’s conjured, it’s… nothing.”

 “Not to us, Will,” Buffy said, her voice strained. “To us it’s our life. And you know what’ll happen if we do the reversal spell. Our life…everything between Spike and I will disappear.”

 “And you’re gonna tell me that’s not worth Xander and Giles’ lives?”

 Buffy walked over to Spike and put her hand on his shoulder. She kept her features deceptively calm, but the tensing of her jaw betrayed her inner struggle. “I am not the Slayer to Spike,” she said, looking down at him. “I’ve been just-Buffy for the last two years. Not the Slayer. I… I never fought, never had to. I had a garden, and I baked cookies. And we shared a bed together, Spike and I. A normal life. Do you have any idea how wonderful that was? How free I felt? I was safe, I was happy… I was so loved. He brought me orchids every night. And we came back here because there was no other choice, but Spike and I, we always thought… we never imagined… any of this. We planned to be back in the jungle a week from now. Back home. How can you ask me to give this up? To give him up?”

 Stunned, Willow said, “I’m… I’m sorry, Buffy. Really, I am. But… you know you have to, right? It’s not like there’s a real choice here. Xander and Giles are dead. We have to bring them back.”

            Leaning forward, Spike said, “Oh yeah, because that worked out so well the last time you thought that. ‘I’ll just bring them back. And hey, while I’m at it, let’s bring back everyone! All the dead! It’ll be one big, rotting party’!”

            “He doesn’t need to be a part of this Buffy. This isn’t his choice. We could do the spell, and he’d never know the difference. And everything will go back the way it should be.”

            Jumping to his feet, he threw his vampire face on and growled at her. “Just you try it.”

            “Spike, don’t,” Buffy said, softly forceful. She pulled him back to sit on the table. Feeling the fight go out of him, she leveled her gaze at Willow. “I know. What I have to do, it’s… I know. But don’t expect me to come skipping back with you. And don’t take away Spike’s choices. This is his life too. Our life, together.”

            Willow sighed with frustrated doggedness. “It’s just Spike. You remember? William the Bloody, he of the Buffy-bot-building fame. The guy who stole your underwear and chained you up in his basement. Two years together, well, that’s great, but he’s still Spike.”

             Spike leapt to his feet again, but this time Buffy didn’t stop him. She crossed the room to Willow in three quick strides.  

Leaning into her friend’s face, she said, “Let me tell you something about Spike, Will. He’s my mate. We’ve had two years off bliss together. If I would’ve known who he really was, back before I died, none of this timeline crap would’ve ever happened. This is all your fault, Willow, for doing such a dangerous spell to begin with. But this is my fault too, that the timeline became so twisted. If I’d realized that Spike was sincere when we were fighting Glory… all those times he told me he loved me… if I’d only *seen* him then, I would’ve never taken him away from here when I did. I would’ve made sure he took care of the things he needed to do, then when it was safe, we could’ve gone away together. I could’ve lived the rest of my life happy, with no Slayer stuff to worry about. But I didn’t appreciate how important he was. And now it’s all over. All of it.” 

“Buffy,” Willow whispered, tears shining in her eyes. “At least you’ll be…” 

“I’ll be alive again, huh? Well, that’s just great. Really. Great. But what I’m giving up… love, happiness, normality… Spike… I’d almost rather be dead. You think you can fix everything with a little magic, huh? Well, fix that, Will. Fix that.” 

With that, Buffy ran out of the room. Willow and Spike stared after her, jarred by the sound of the back door slamming. Covering her face with both hands, Willow sank back into the couch.  

Spike stood over her, his shoulders squared, tensed for a battle that didn’t come. Slowly he relaxed, hearing Willow’s muffled sobs. Pity didn’t cross his face, but his eyes softened as they studied the horrified girl. “She’ll do it,” he said gruffly, his voice cool as he carefully withheld the great amount the words cost him to say. “You know she will.” 

Snuffling, Willow looked up at him. “She hates me.” 

He nodded, gaining back some satisfaction in hurting her. “Right now, she does. But it doesn’t matter. Buffy… she’s a hero. When given the choice and opportunity, she’ll always save the day.” Raising one eyebrow, he gave Willow a skeptical look. “You can’t do this reversal spell without her, right? I won’t have you taking her choice away. Bad enough to know what it is she’ll choose.” 

“She’s the key to the spell, the focus. Without her, we’re all stuck here.” She cocked her head to the side, her eyes red-rimmed and speculative. “Spike… you really brought her flowers?”
 

“Orchids,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Always orchids, every day. They’re her favorite, you know. She kept ‘em in our bedroom till the sun wilted them. Bloody things stunk like a refuse heap, all sun baked and moldering. But she loved them. Never tossed ‘em out until their colors faded entirely. She’s stubborn, that way. Doesn’t give up on the things she loves. Sticks with them till the very end.” 

Willow watched him silently for a moment, the air heavy between them. Finally, she said, “You better go check on her. Talk. We’ll have to do the spell before morning.” 

Without a word, Spike left the room, and Willow, all alone, laid back on the couch and closed her eyes. Speaking to the darkness, she said a single word, a wistful prayer on her lips. “Tara.”    

***** 

            “I can’t do it,” Buffy said into the shadows of the back yard trees. She sat on the porch steps, hugging herself in the chilled night air, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands. “I just can’t, and that’s all there is too it.”  <But I will,> her inner voice whispered. <I have to. Xander, and Giles… and Dawn, too. Right now, she’s just some ball of energy, somewhere. But it has to be Spike’s choice. He deserves that much. More than that, he deserves so much more. We both do. We deserve so much more than we’ll ever have.>  

            Behind her, she heard the squeak of the back door opening, and the heavy sound of Spike’s boots walking towards her. “I can’t do it,” she told him, not looking up.  

            “But you will,” he said, dropping onto the step beside her. “You know it, I know it. Even the witch knows it.” 

            “I will,” she admitted, bitterness sharpening her tone. Exhaling heavily, she threw her head back, staring up at the stars. “Just exactly how much does this suck?” 

            “You tell me, pet.”

             “On the suckage scale, one to ten, it… well, it breaks the damn scale. I don’t want to do this. I want…” She sighed again, and rested her head on his shoulder. “I want to go home.” 

            “If you do the witches’ spell, something else’ll happen. Something she didn’t mention. Don’t know if she’s realized it or not.” 

            “What?”

His eyes bored into her, probing her. “You’d be back in the proper timeline before your mum died. You could save her.” 

            Buffy sat quietly, her mind whirling with doubts, all of which were cut in half by the possibility of saving her mother. <Mommy,> she thought. Tears rose in her eyes, overwhelming her.  

            Spike kept talking, pretending to ignore Buffy’s tears, lending her the strength of his words, of his steady arm around her shoulders. “Not that I knew your mum, except if you count the whole axe-hitting encounter. But she did give you life, after all. It seems fitting for you to do the same for her, given the chance. When you look at it like that, it’s not even a choice. You’ll do the spell and set things right, no bones about it.” 

            “Why?” Buffy asked, the leather of his duster beneath her cheek slick with tears. “Why are you making this easier for me? It’s not like this is what’s best for you, going back to what you were before I died. You were miserable. And we were hardly even friends, much less…” 

            “You know why, Buffy. I love you. And there’s no choice. If you don’t do the spell, we’ll go back to the jungle and you’ll try to put this whole thing behind you. But it won’t happen. You’ll think of your friend, of your Watcher, and you’ll hate me for being what kept you here.” Skimming his hand over her hair, he kissed the top of her head. “You’d always regret not fixing what was broken when you had a chance. And it would drive you mad, it would ruin you. And that would ruin me.” 

            “Spike…”  

“You won’t be happy there, no matter how badly you want to be. That time is over for you. It was over the second we got off the train in Sunnydale.” 

            “I wish we’d never gotten off that train,” Buffy mumbled into his shoulder, her eyes closing on the thought.

            “You don’t mean that,” he said, a bleak smile twisting his mouth. “Now you get to save the day. Be the big hero.” 

            “Yay me.” She inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of him. “You know… you smell like home. Like the jungle.” 

            “It’s the mud. Sticks to you, no matter how many times you wash.” 

            “No, it’s not that. It’s… you. You’re home.” Raising her arms, she drew his head down to rest against hers, forehead to forehead. “You are my home, Spike. And no matter what comes between us, that will always be true.” 

            “The truth doesn’t matter if we don’t remember it.” He stroked his fingers over his face, feathering her with his touch. “It’s hardly even the truth, then.” 

            “It will always be the truth,” she whispered, catching his hand in hers and holding it against her cheek. She gazed at his through heavy-lidded eyes, and did nothing to hide the tear that dripped down her nose and over his knuckles. “We’ll remember somehow. I promise.” 

            He crushed her against him, cutting off all the words they wanted to tell each other, all the false hope they wanted to raise. Their lips met and tangled, bruising and soothing, but most of all, silencing.                          

***** 

            “Where’s Buffy?” Willow asked when Spike walked into the living room alone.  

            He flopped into the arm chair across from the couch. “Said there was something she needed to see, before…” 

            “Oh.” She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, rigid with anxiety. Daring a tiny smile, she said, “I’ve never sat this long around an un-chipped, un-souled vampire without the fightey action going on.” 

            “That right?” He toyed with an unlit cigarette between his fingers “Well, I’m not much into that sort of action as of late.” 

            “How late?” she asked, curious despite herself. 

            “Two years, give or take some. Ever since Buffy and I headed out of town together.” 

            “Buffy told me you lived in Mexico?”  

            “Barely. Our house is on the border, almost to Guatemala.” With a smirk, he leaned forward. “Enough of the chit-chat. What is it you really want to know?” 

            She blushed, but met his eyes. “What was it like for Buffy, here, with you?” 

            “Rough, at first. Buffy… she was pretty confused, what with being back from the dead for no reason we could see.” 

            Willow’s blush deepened, but she nodded. “And later?”           

“Things were good, witch, good for both of us. Perfect, really. Long, hot nights full of nothing but each other. She loved the jungle, the heat, the animals, the flowers… she grew there, grew into the person she’d of been had the Watcher’s Council not come knocking on her door way back when.” 

            Her mouth dropped open slightly as she watched the emotions flicker over his features. “You love her. Really, really love her.” 

            Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back, swallowing his feelings. “Yeah. And somehow, she loves me too.” 

            “She’s not going to try to circumvent the spell, is she? Do something to make sure she remembers you? Because she can’t. We won’t take anything with us, when the spell is complete. And if she even tries… well, I don’t know for sure, but I think that if Buffy makes herself remember you, remember that this mistake was made at all… well, that might be enough to break it. Emotions that strong…” 

            “Grief,” Spike whispered in a rumble. “The grief we feel… that’d be enough right there.”  He let her sit with his words for a moment, wanting to make her nervous, then backed down. “No worries, though. She’s not thinking straight enough for anything like that. I don’t know where she went, but she said it was private.” 

***** 

            The grass of the cemetery squished beneath her shoes as she left Xander’s grave and made her way across the rows to where Giles rested. She knew where his grave was without having to search. No one but Giles would want to be that far inside the cemetery, away from the gates, away from the visitors and, most especially, away from the vampires and the noise of slaying. <Truly restful,> she thought, eyeing the speckled marble marker that lay flush with the grass. A simple square of green stone, engraved with simple words, but it had the power to knock her breath away. Taking a big gulp of air, she struggled to collect herself before greeting him. 

            “Hi Giles,” she said finally over the lump in her throat. Coughing, she knelt in the grass and brushed away the loose dirt that covered his marble marker. “I had to come and see you. It’s kind of dumb, I guess. In just an hour or so, I won’t remember any of this, if Willow’s spell works. But just in case it doesn’t… if something goes wrong and I don’t get to see you again, I had to come and say… I had to tell you that I’m sorry. This is not how things should’ve happened. Can’t it ever be easy?” 

            Sniffling, she could almost hear his voice in her head. “Remember last time I asked you that, when Ford died? What did you say? ‘The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after.’ I wish that was true, right now more than ever.” 

            “I’ve messed up so bad, but I’m going to try to make it right. I don’t…” she stopped, looking at her hands spread wide on his stone. “I don’t want to do this. I want to be selfish and terrible. If I could go home with Spike and pretend I’d never found out about you… about any of this, I’d do it. But… I couldn’t forget. So I won’t. I’ll make it better. Because you deserve that, you and Xander. But…”           

            She looked down at the etched letters framed between her fingers. Tracing the inscription- Rupert Giles, Treasured Friend, Beloved Watcher- she bowed her head and left her last words unsaid. 

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