Chapter Seven 

The damn thing was burning a hole in his pocket, just like it had been for the past twenty-six days.  Sure, he could take it out - leave it at home or stuff it in a drawer - but that would be admitting to everyone something he wasn’t ready to admit to himself.  That he had been wrong in what he said to her that night.

But he couldn’t make himself give it to her, either.  That was the problem.  That’s what was causing the friction between them.  Anya just didn’t understand, and nothing he said seemed to make it any better.  Maybe that was because he didn’t understand it himself.

Xander sighed in frustration and tried to push away his thoughts.  What was the point?  It was obviously doing no good thinking them.  It wasn’t getting him anywhere.  He was no closer to a solution, to any clue about what to do.

It wasn’t about the love.  He loved Anya.  There was never a question of that.  And he still wanted her to share his life with him.  But he told her that night, almost a month ago now - before the world came crashing down on top of all of them - that he wanted her to share his long, silly life because he believed that they were all going to get through the impending apocalypse.  Not all of them had.  He’d been wrong.

Sometimes at night, when Anya was curled up next to him sleeping the sleep of the ‘relieved the world didn’t end’ ex-vengeance demon, Xander would lie awake and stare at the ceiling for hours.  Only in the cloaking darkness could he admit how he really felt. 

He was angry, and it shamed him not because of the anger itself, but for whom he was angry at.  Buffy.  It made no logical sense, but he couldn’t escape it.  Couldn’t get past it.  Couldn’t get over it. 

That night, earlier that night, back when they were all holed up in that abandoned gas station, Buffy swore that she wasn’t going to lose anyone, she was going to make sure they all got through it.  Well, in Xander’s mind, she’d fallen a bit short of that lofty goal.  And he didn’t know if he could ever forgive her.

For five years he had fought all the things to fight in a town unique with its own Hellmouth, and he’d been able to do it without going bonkers or self-destructing for one reason and one reason alone.  Xander had absolute faith in the belief that the Buffster was unbeatable, unstoppable…inviolable. 

She was the glue that held them all together, protected them even as they assisted her in any way they could.  But that night everything was stripped away from him.  And he’d been on very shaky emotional ground ever since.

It wasn’t about losing a dear friend, a loved one.  That loss was blindingly painful but it lessened a fraction each day.  That’s a wound that heals.  It takes a lot of time and patience but it does heal.  What was really messing him up was the other.

It was having his beliefs, beliefs that got him through more horrors than he could even remember, ripped away without so much as a by your leave.  Buffy’s death tore that all away, opening a hole where confidence once resided.  That’s what he couldn’t bring himself to forgive.

He’d believed that he was going to live a long, silly life?  He should have prefaced that with, “As long as the Slayer’s around to save all of our scaredy-cat butts.” 

There just wasn’t any silliness left in him anymore.

That sounded ridiculous, even to him, which is why he’d never explained it to Anya that way, but there it was.  When Buffy died, it had been the death of an era of confidence.  Sure, there was the almost weekly terror of one kind or another, but always the confidence that the big uglies would lose and the Slayer would win. 

Admitting that did little to make Xander feel good about himself.   

So, there it sat, in his pocket, the engagement ring he had bought for Anya what seemed like a lifetime ago.  Still burning that hole, still taunting him with the memory of what should have been. 

He might be able to get past it if he had someone to talk to about what was going on in his head, but who?  Anya wouldn’t understand.  Giles was too busy with the shop and his new, ‘Father Knows Best, British version’ duties.  Willow and Tara were on a Dawn induced mission to find Spike (and hey, that was another thing that he really didn’t want to deal with…Spike’s disappearance and Dawn’s unhealthy obsession with it), and he couldn’t talk to Dawn. 

Well, alright, he could, but he didn’t think, “Hey, I’m pissed that your big sister threw herself off a tower to save the world from falling into chaos after that demon guy did a slice and dice on your stomach, taking away my snuggly warm comfort blanket of a delusion that life is winnable,” was exactly what she needed to hear.  Ever.

Especially since she was doing so much better than him in the healing and getting on with life like Buffy wanted them to departments.

Maybe it was time for him to…

“XANDER!”

Dawn’s impatient voice broke through his reverie and finally snapped him out of his deep-thought induced daze.

“Huh?  You say something, Dawnie?”

“You could say that,” she was staring at him with a frown on her face and her arms crossed in irritation.  “I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes.  Are you gonna come eat or what?  Giles made chicken Parmesan and it’s coagulating into unpleasant looking blobs even as I speak.”

The teen was standing next to his seat on the couch in her living room.  In Dawn’s and Giles’ living room.  It was still weird to think about Giles living in Buffy’s house, but it wasn’t Buffy’s house anymore.  It was Dawn’s. 

“As much as I wish you hadn’t described what we are all about to ingest in such colorful detail, Dawnster, yes, I’m coming.”

Giles had put his place up for sale not long after the funeral.  It made sense.  The house was paid for out of the money from the life insurance policy Joyce had, and her will had left it to Buffy, reverting to Dawn in the event of Buffy’s death.  With Giles being appointed Dawn’s legal guardian, he technically had control of the household, but the house was in her name now.  And Giles thought it better to live there, what with it being big enough for both of them and being closer to the shop than his place.

When Xander didn’t move despite his assurance that he was on his way, Dawn rolled her eyes and called out to him again.  “Hel-lo!  Earth to lump-on-the-couch man, lets go!”

Dinner would give him a chance to not think about what was in the box that was pressing against his leg, so Xander got up to head in to dinner.  Trying to appear as if nothing was bothering him, he paused just long enough to ruffle Dawn’s hair in a brotherly fashion and then led the way to the dining room.

He didn’t see the concerned look on Dawn’s face, or the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth and frowned as she watched him walk away.  He had no idea that she’d even noticed just how unhappy he was lately, and how easily he seemed to get upset.  She had.  It was her job to notice those kinds of things now.  They had to take care of each other.  She made a mental note to speak to Willow about it after dinner. 

Okay, after the spell Willow and Tara were working after dinner.

With a heart that was a touch heavier at the sight of Xander’s pain, Dawn followed him into the dining room and got ready to eat. 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The darkness was absolute.  Even for a vampire with hypersensitive vision, it was difficult to find his way without tripping over something or, even more embarrassing, running into something.

But at least there were things to trip over and run into.  That was better than that barren wasteland.  And Spike realized quickly, once he started to see dark shapes vaguely resembling buildings materialize one by one from the pitch blackness as he drew within feet of them, the sign he had yanked was an actual indication of what he was coming across now.  The layout was the same, anyway.  It was Sunnydale.

“Good show, mate.  You’ve come to a realm that has inflicted a serious kickin’ of your ass only to find its version of a town that has witnessed several serious kickin’s of your ass.”

On the bright side though - and right now it was the only brightness to be had anywhere - he knew the layout of good old Sunnyhell well enough to get around in the inky blackness without getting lost on the way.

He might even have felt a little relieved at being back on familiar ground if it wasn’t for the fact that the minute he started to notice signs of civilization, such as it was, the prickly feeling under his skin got upgraded to shards of glass sticking into him everywhere.

Not even focusing on Buffy could do anything to lessen his torment.

When he hit the outskirts of the cemetery that his crypt would have been in if he was in his own dimension, Spike started to allow himself some hope that he’d make it to Buffy before the realm squished him like a bug.  Her house wasn’t far and other than the heavy pressure of the eyes watching him, he’d had no other ‘make Spike bleed’ type encounters.

Of course, walking through a cemetery without being able to see six inches in front of your face wasn’t a great thing, either.  Something Spike became intimately familiar with when he walked into a headstone with one strategically placed cross of stone on top.

“Oomph,” he grunted, when some of his, shall we say, more tender anatomy was crushed by the momentum of his body coming into up close and personal contact with the one of the arms of the cross. 

Spike’s eyes flew wide when he realized what would be coming.  No sooner had the words, “Oh, shit!” passed his lips then the creeping pain exploded in his nether region.  Bending over in agony, agony that he’d caused himself, he threw every vile and profane statement he knew out into the void that was the sky above him. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

“What, exactly, are you hoping this...spell merging will do, Willow?”  Giles had a frown on his face.  The gang had just finished dinner and they were still sitting around the dining room table.

Dawn had her ‘listening intently’ face on, hoping Giles’ preoccupation with the combination of spells Willow had come up with would aide her in getting out of the remarkably conventional duty of washing the dishes.

Willow flashed an excited look at Tara, who smiled her support.

“Well, see, we’ve tried just about every locator spell in all the books you have, Giles, but we kept getting stuck in the same place.  I can see Spike’s aura trail, bright as a new penny...or something else really, really bright, right up until it just stops.  There’s some kind of wall or barrier.  I’ve tried everything I know, but I can’t break through it.  I think,” she glanced at Tara briefly, “well, we think that it’s another dimension or realm and that’s where Spike is now.  He’s still alive, or the trail would fade.  And, see, it hasn’t.  Not even a little.  After our last attempt, I mentioned to Tara that it would be great if I could just see what happened when Spike went through it.  It must have been open to let him in, right?  That’s when Tara had the idea that we could try to...um...merge my aura to his and I might be able to see what he saw when the door was open.”

“Yeah, Mr. Giles,” Tara said, “it’s something that my mom taught me how to do.  You can merge your aura, your energy, with another person, and you feel what they feel, see what they see.  With the trail being where it is, it should show us, or Willow anyway, the last thing Spike saw before he went through it...if he w-was actually c-conscious.” 

Tara stuttered at the part that she knew to be the most painful for Dawnie to hear but it had to be said.  “I mean, obviously I’ve never tried it under these circumstances before, the person is usually in the room with you, but the principle’s the same.  I’m pretty sure it will work.”

“And if it does work?” asked Giles, suspicious of their reasoning but still interested. “What do you expect to see?  How will it help?”

“Well,” Willow picked at the placemat in front of her, not willing to meet his eyes, “I was thinking if we at least knew where he was, there might be more we could do to get him back.”

“Wait a sec,” Xander broke in, falling a little behind in the conversation.  All he knew about magic was Willow could do cool stuff like move things with her mind.  Him-shaped things.  And there was that handy barrier spell she did that time.  Not to mention the energy bolts, good to have in any major power outage.  “You said person.  Am I the only one that thinks that it may be a little different considering your merging partner is a card carrying member of the ‘Pale Sun Haters’ club?”

As much as Dawn was trying to be inconspicuous so she didn’t draw any unwanted attention, she didn’t like the way Xander was always with the verbal abuse on the vampire that she cared so much about.  She kicked him under the table and hissed angrily, “Xander, stop it.  That’s not nice.  I don’t appreciate how mean you always are to Spike.  He’s important to me.”

“Dawn,” said Giles, just remembering that someone had dish duty, “kitchen, please.  Now.”

She rolled her eyes in dramatically tragic fashion but got up and started cleaning up the table.  Anya, who wasn’t nearly as interested in all the magicks talking as the rest, offered to help and followed her into the kitchen.

Once Dawn had left, Giles continued.  He hadn’t really wanted her to hear what he felt he needed to say.  “I shudder at the thought, but I agree with Xander.  We just don’t know what effect a merge with the aura of a vampire could have on you.  Spike’s chip doesn’t affect his thoughts or feelings, and it may just be too much for you to handle.”

Willow looked crestfallen.  “But, Giles - ”

“No Willow.  It’s too risky.  Dawn will just have to understand that there are some things that just need to be left alone.  I’ll explain it to her.  She’ll be fine.”

Willow and Tara exchanged guilty and sad expressions.  They knew Giles thought that Dawn had focused so hard on getting Spike back because she couldn’t deal with Buffy’s death.  For a while they had thought that as well.  But they’d spent a lot of time with her in the last month, researching and working the spells that they found.  It had become pretty clear that Dawn still grieved deeply for her sister.  The pain was still there.  It was just that she cared almost as deeply for Spike as she had her sister.  Dawn had never explained why, exactly, but things slip out when people spend as much time together as the three of them had.  One time, Dawn mentioned that Spike made her a promise, though she hadn’t said what the promise was, and she was planning on holding him to it.

And there was one other thing.  Willow had noticed that Dawn had kept the strips of towel that she had used to wrap Spike’s hands when they were sliced open by the Byzantium knight’s sword in the RV.  She’d washed them carefully before keeping them hidden under her pillow.  Willow never knew where Dawn found them but had asked her why she’d kept them. 

She would never forget the tears that sprung into Dawn’s eyes, or the sorrow in her voice when she explained.

“He got hurt saving her,” Dawn had said in a tortured whisper.  “He got hurt saving me.  Protecting us...he was always protecting us.  The strips remind me of everything that he did to make sure I got to see the sun rise.”

Such a small thing, saving those pieces of towel.  A small thing with a huge meaning.  And Willow understood.

Thinking back on that day, a few weeks ago now, Willow’s face set in a hard, uncompromising expression.  She looked at Giles.

“I’m doing it.”

Giles protests weren’t long in coming.  He was firm.  “No, your not.  Willow, it is far to dangerous - ”  

In a voice Giles had only heard her use once before, back when Buffy was locked in her own mind, she said, “This is my decision.  Not yours.  I think it’s my turn to do something dangerous for Dawn, don’t you?  I’m doing this.  You can either support me or not.  I don’t care.  But I am doing this.  I owe Dawn this much.  And honestly, I think we all owe Spike this much.” 

Willow pinned Xander with a steady gaze as if daring him to make a smart-assed comment about not owing ‘Evil Dead’ anything.

Wisely, he held his tongue.

“Now, Giles,” Willow swung that gaze back to the Watcher, “I can either do it here, or I can do it at home.  Your choice.  Either way, it’s getting done tonight.”

Finally, when she turned to Tara, her gaze softened.  The two men at the table breathed inaudible sighs of relief.  It was very uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of Willow’s resolve face.  No matter how old you were.  It left Giles and Xander no choice but to get behind Willow with their support, or be prepared to feel her scorn.  Neither wanted that.

“Yes.  Right then.” As far as the back peddling went, Giles did it quite well.  Still managing to look sufficiently staunch and proper, he said, “Well.  There’s no need for you to leave, Willow.  You can use the living room.”

“Yeah, Will,” Xander nervously chimed in, “it’s cool.”  No need to go all communist dictator on us.”  She swung her head around and narrowed her eyes at him at that comment.  He panicked.  “Um...I think I’ll go clear that living room floor.  Big circle, right?  Yeah.  Why don’t I just go do that?”

Softening again as she looked back at Tara, Willow said, “Are you with me, Sweetie?  I won’t mind if you don’t want to.”

It never ceased to amaze Tara just how wonderful the woman that she loved was.  Willow was always thinking of her feelings, never pushing her into something if she didn’t want to do it.  It made Tara very proud to be a part of the young woman’s life.  She smiled.  “I’m always with you, you know that.  Let’s do it.”

“Giles,” Willow informed him, “Tara will be my anchor.  I’ll be weaving the spells before I send my aura to the nether realm and she’ll stay grounded in this reality to pull me out if anything goes wrong.  Not that anything will, of course.”  She was quick to assure him of that.  As quick as she was to assure herself.

“Okay then, everyone, time to see what happened to our favorite neighborhood vampire.”  Willow led the way to the living room, hoping desperately that the spell would go as planned.  Hoping desperately she could give Dawn the only thing she’d asked for herself since Buffy’s death.  The rescue of an old enemy. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was probably just minutes, but it may as well have been days.  That’s how long it felt he had been standing there, staring up at the house in front of him.  Buffy’s house.  Buffy’s house in heaven.  Which looked exactly like her house in Sunnydale.  Bloody hell.

I need a smoke.  Then I’ll go in, do this, send her back, get killed, and go to hell.

He reached into his pocket and brought out his pack of cigarettes.  Problem was, it was empty.  He’d smoked the last one hours ago.  Frustrated and being driven crazy by the eyes watching him, he snarled low in his throat.

Really have to plan better for long trips like this, mate.

The sarcasm dripped venom in his brain.  Not like he could ever have conceived of a trip like this.

Now that he was here, standing in front of the steps leading up to her porch, staring up at the light shining in the windows - the only light he’d seen since passing the Sunnyhell sign several miles back - he didn’t know if he could go through with it.  He did know that he couldn’t not go through with it, though, and that’s what finally got him moving.

Climbing those four steps to the porch was the longest, hardest climb he had ever made.

Buck up, you sod.  He castigated himself mentally for the fear and trepidation that was even now gripping his dead heart in an icy clutch.  You know you have to do this.  At least you’ll get to see the girl once more.  Maybe even touch her.  If you’re very bloody lucky the memory will be enough to keep you cool when you’re spending the next good eternity getting all hot and toasty in hell.

Concentrating as hard as he’d ever needed to, he pushed the demon in him back just enough to allow his human features to slide into place.  As uncomfortable as the feeling under his skin was - the shards of glass had went the way of the crawling bugs as he got closer and closer to his destination, it had begun feeling like he had dozens of wickedly evil butcher knives sticking into him like he was some kind of masochistic pin cushion - he would have to keep a tremendous hold on himself so the fang face wouldn’t re-emerge.

Reaching out a trembling hand, he rang the doorbell.

As if someone had been waiting just on the other side of the door for him to work up the determination to ring, it swung open while the echo of the soft, chiming peals still hung in the air.

Spike gaped at the person haloed by the warm, friendly light shining behind her, lending strength to the heavenly glow impression.  He was so surprised he almost lost control of his features.

Struggling against the demon briefly and winning, he finally managed to make his voice work when she smiled at him.

“J-Joyce?”

“Hello, Spike,” Joyce said serenely, a gracious and kind expression on her face that was doubly momentous for being the first friendly thing he’d seen in this bloody realm.  “Please, come in.  You’ve come a long way.”

Once again shocked into speechlessness, he followed Buffy’s mom into the house, completely dumbfounded at the whole situation.

When he was finally inside, standing in the hallway, he had just enough presence of mind to remember that standing there with his mouth open wasn’t the best way to make a good impression on the one woman that had ever shown him any kindness for kindness sake. 

The house was so quiet that Joyce actually heard the click of his jaws snapping closed hastily.  She chuckled gently at both the sound and his expression.  “I’m guessing you’re surprised to see me.”

Spike, wide-eyed, could only nod slightly.

She tried to break the ice a little by teasing him.  “This is heaven Spike, where else would I be?”

It had the desired effect; his face lost much of its ‘slammed upside the head with a two by four’ look.  He even managed to smile a little.

“I-It’s...”  Okay, so he needed to clear his throat a bit, that had come out several octaves higher than he was used to.  Once done, he tried again.  “It’s good to see you, Joyce.  You’ve been missed.”

Slight understatement, but he’d been sincere.  He doubted she’d mind, she always was a forgiving sort, what with the kindness even after trying to kill her and her daughter and all.

Joyce, still smiling, nodded her head once in acknowledgement of his kind words.  “You might be surprised, Spike, but I’ve missed you too.  We’ve had some nice discussions.”

Surprised?  Try bloody floored; it would be closer to the truth.  Pleased, but floored.  He tried to hide his embarrassed pleasure by ducking his head and acting like he was checking out the living room off to his left.

“You want to see Buffy, am I right?”

The question sent his eyes flying to her face. 

I bet he has no idea just how transparent he is, she thought, not unkindly.  The hope and fear just tugs at my heart.  He’s so sweet, poor thing.  A sweet vampire, how strange.

“H-how d-did you know?”  Bloody hell, man, pull it together.  And knock off with the stuttering, you stupid git.

She giggled, actually giggled at his question and his jaw dropped again of its own volition.

“It’s all about Buffy, isn’t it?  It always has been.  Always will be, won’t it Spike?”

Despite the fact that he didn’t quite understand her slightly cryptic comment he found himself nodding like a hypnotized idiot.  He’d never felt more like Xander in his undead life.  The unpleasant comparison helped snap him out of his daze.

“She’s...here then?”

Instead of answering, she turned and called up the stairs.  “Buffy, honey, you have company!”

“I think I’ll just leave you two to talk.  It was good seeing you again, Spike.”  With that, Joyce walked away, disappearing back into the kitchen area of the house.

Long after she was gone he remembered to mutter, “Good to see you, too, Joyce.”

He heard the steps falling on the floor above him, drawing closer to the stairs.  He couldn’t have forced his legs to move if the house suddenly burst into flames around him. 

Falling, tumbling, rolling down into some area around his ankles, his heart pitched out of his chest before it bounced back up and lodged in his throat.  Thankful that he didn’t need to breathe, because if he did he’d have passed out long ago, he stared at the bare, dainty feet standing at the top of the stairs.

Those feet began to descend and as they did, more of her petite frame was brought into his field of vision. 

Strong yet supple legs, tanned and bare in the shorts she wore.  The soft flare of her hips and their gentle sway as she kept coming.  Tight stomach, a flash of equally tanned flesh where her cropped shirt climbed briefly before dropping back to cover the glimpsed slice of wonder.  Powerful, reed thin arms, always amazing him with their ability to both defend and comfort.  Shoulders that had known the weight of the world.  A neck as graceful as a swan.  The silky skin of her throat.  Her hair, the spun golden tresses that he had once mocked and now worshipped.  His eyes drank in them all.

Finally, unable to deny himself any longer, he allowed his gaze to slip to her face.  Her beautiful face.  The face that had haunted his dreams for so long, leaving him hungry for more, leading him down roads he’d not thought possible.  Full, soft lips, lips that had too little to smile about for too long.  High, sculpted cheekbones that would make artists weep for their perfection.  Adorable nose, straight and honest.  And those eyes, those wide, clear eyes that were truly the windows to her soul.  Eyes that he’d always wanted to plunge into, no matter how much scorn or disgust was in them for him.

But there was no disgust, no scorn now.  When he looked into the tawny depths of her eyes all he saw was peace and contentment.  And, oddly, acceptance. 

In that instant he knew he’d found what the Oracles said was denied to one of his kind.  This was his heaven, his paradise.

She had descended on high to stand two steps up from him and reached out a hand until her fingers were within a skins-width from his jaw.  He could feel their heat and had the inconsequential and utterly inane thought that souls were warm. 

Then she touched him and he couldn’t think anything at all.

“Spike?”

~ Continue to Chapter 8 ~

Back to Fiction by Tracy

Back to Main Menu