By: Jainie Starr
It was only when he opened his eyes that he realized that the sun had not yet set. Horror rose inside him quickly and enveloped him, like glacial floodwaters; stunned and chilled him through to the very bone as they rose.
Whipping around, Spike reached for the door, only to find that there was no door. No crypt. No cemetery. Just sand and sagebrush, tumbleweeds and a lone, dying tree off in the distance. But, he realized, as he slowly turned back around, neither was there any sunlight. The sky was faded gray and overcast -- it was light outside, but there was no direct sunlight to harm him -- and yet the light was bright enough as to be almost painful to his highly photosensitive eyes.
Puzzled in spite of himself, Spike trudged the few hundred yards that separated him from the tree and came to a stop a few feet from it. Its nearly bare, claw-like branches seemed to be raking at the sky, reaching for it... or perhaps pleading with it. A soft rustling drew his eyes toward one of the topmost branches, whereupon a tiny gray dove was poised, preening its feathers, which were oddly almost the same shade as the sky, making the bird seem as though it were part of the sky.
You'll never catch her, a disembodied voice pronounced. She won't let you....
"Give me time. I will." He answered with cool, nonchalant assurance that he didn't truly feel as he stared fixedly at the plain-looking bird perched on the branch.
"To kill her, you have to love her..." Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Spike turned his head, meeting the somber, soul-filled brown eyes of his Godsire. Angel lifted his hand and the bird immediately took wing, lighting on his outstretched hand.
"But I don't want to kill her, I want to --"
"Cage her? It's all the same. There's not a cage yet built that can hold that one. Not if she doesn't want to be held." He gently stroked the buttery soft feathers on her breast with the backs of his fingers. The dove cooed appreciatively under his attentions, tapping at his fingers ever so lightly with her beak. "She needs to trust her keeper. She'll only take to her cage when she knows she's safe, safe with you."
"I've done everything I know how to do!" Spike frowned as he stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his duster. "She won't come to me."
"She's proud," Angel offered him a warm, knowing smile. As though that were the answer to everything, the solution for all of his problems. "She'll be your life, she'll take you places you've never imagined... but you can never own her. Not completely." With that, he gently held the bird's body in his right hand, its head in his left, and neatly snapped her neck with a quick, sharp twist. Spike winced as Angel let the small body fall to the ground. Sheaves of sand were lifted up by the wind and gradually began covering the bird's corpse, effectively burying it.
"You didn't have to do that!" Spike shouted as he caught the sleeve of Angel's shirt. Pushing the other vampire back, he dropped to his knees, scooping sand off of the bird's limp, graceful form. "If you didn't want her you could have given her to me!" Gathering it up in his hands, cradling it to his chest, he fixed rage- and tear-filled eyes on him. "You always ruin everything! You ran off and left Dru and me all alone with the Bitch for a couple decades, then later, you came back and you turned Dru against me..."
"She knew even then, boy. The stars told her," Angel replied sadly, shaking his head. "Even though she couldn't see into your heart and see the lies there for herself, they could. They always see. But, maybe..." hitching the front of his slacks up slightly, he squatted down beside Spike, hands folded together in front of him, "if you hadn't betrayed her, she never would have come to me. If she knew, without a doubt, that you loved her and only her, she wouldn't have had any cause to stray. Did you ever think about that?"
"How could she know? I didn't know," Spike said softly as he smoothed the dove's feathers, gently cleaning away the sand that had been caught in her delicate plumage.
"Either you love her with everything you've got or you might as well kill yourself and her, both, because loving her half-way, giving less of yourself than you know you're capable of, will only get you killed, anyway..."
"How can I --?" He glanced up to look at his Godsire, only to find that Angel had vanished, leaving him alone once more. With a sigh, he straightened and dug into his duster pocket, finding a tattered blue bandana. Carefully wrapping the bird in it, he tucked it into his pocket for safe keeping.
She doesn't belong to you anymore... yet another voice called, sounding as though it was traveling along a great distance. She's not for you.
You're on a different path, now, William...
"Don't call me that!" He spun round and around, trying to find the source of the voice, but finding nothing but sand and empty sky. "That's not my name! It hasn't been my name for a long time!"
I know... you gave up that name... abandoned me, didn't you? The words were spoken calmly, yet there was a lingering sense of bitterness to them. They were devoid of any hint of accusation, but it was the sort of clarity and graciousness that came only after a great deal of time had progressed.
"Abandoned you? I don't even know who the hell you are! How could I abandon you!?"
You know me... I barely had a chance to breathe, to live... to experience life... before you came along... and by then, it was too late... too late...
"So? I've killed a lotta people! I never apologized to any of them and I sure as hell ain't about to start now!"
William... it means 'determined protector'...
"You think I don't know that? My mum gave it me. I know!"
And you did protect her, didn't you? You protected them all...
A pair of strong arms slid around his shoulders, pulling him back against a firm, slender body. Spike's body instinctively stiffened in response.
"Yes," the man said, the pride evident in his gently cultured tones. "You know me now, don't you?"
Spike turned his head, glanced back ... and came face to face with eyes the color of night, eyes that he had once known so well. Eyes that he had last seen staring back at him - but there was something about them that was so familiar. But not distantly familiar, like the eyes of a friend or a stranger he might have passed once on the street. No.
He had looked into these eyes every morning and every evening for nigh a quarter of a century... facing him as a reflection in his looking glass.
When he'd still been human and still had a reflection. But something had changed, now, in his human counterpart, the mental residue of himself compared to his own memories.
He was clad in a shirt of jet black lace, the top three buttons undone, and a faded pair of blue denims. Hair the color of honey backlit by sunset, which had once obscured the cobalt blue of his eyes, was now much shorter -- a clean, finger-tousled mop of gold and red curls. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses were nestled on the bridge of the man's aquiline nose, yet despite them, his face was possessed of all the beauty and purity of youth. And kindness radiated from him like the warm, comforting glow of a single candle piercing the darkness.
This man, this image, Spike realized, was the man he would be in the present day -- the human he might have become, had he never been turned.
"You," he sputtered, disentangling himself from the apparition's arms.
"So you do recognize me, then," William chuckled. "I did have my doubts. Especially after all this time. So many years had passed, I thought that by now you would have forgotten me."
"But why're you here? What do you have to do with any of this?"
"I can tell you." A long-fingered hand settled on his shoulder lightly, much like a bird might. "I can tell you everything, if you'll come with me; if you'll trust me. Do you trust me?"
"Why should I?"
"Well, if you can't trust yourself, who can you trust?" He held up his hand when Spike would reply, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "That was a rhetorical question. But you do trust me, don't you?"
"How can I?" Spike shrugged. "You're me, right? So why would I trust you? I wouldn't trust me." He paused, considering his words, and shook his head as confusion set in.
"Come on, old son," his double grinned and Spike could have recognized that look anywhere. It was one of his more charming ones, best suited for wooing a lovely young lady, when he was of a mind to play with his food before dining. But again, there was something different about this expression, seeing himself -- his old, human self -- smiling that way, at him. Everything about him was different. He seemed no longer as shy as he had once been while he was still amongst the living, yet he exhibited none of the cruelty or fondness for manipulation he favored as a vampire.
"There are some parts of you that hung on, even after the demon took up residence, but it buried them in the hopes of hiding them from you, praying that you'd never remember." William continued, his voice strained: "The fact that you hated me -- or, more to the point, hated yourself for what you were when you were human -- made it that much easier for him to bury me. But you've remembered. So here I am."
"But why you? Why not my princess? Hell, I'd take Angelus over you."
"Well, it's a bit difficult to explain, you see," William chewed on his lower lip pensively for a moment as he tried to find the right words to describe this rather odd situation in which Spike now found himself. "Drusilla was... mad. She was caught up inside her dreams, always -- even when she was awake. The stars whispered to her and the daisies wept at her feet. She would not have been the sort of... lucid ... influence He felt you would be in need of here."
"And Angelus?"
"He has a soul. He can no longer speak for his kind. He is, you might say, at a disadvantage, in this situation. His guilt and sorrow color his perceptions."
"Fuck's sake -- the Slayer, then!" Spike shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.
"She can't guide you in this journey. She has a battle of her own to fight."
"There's gotta be somebody else that can do this! There's just got to!"
"There is no one else," he shook his head. "Your guide is not merely chosen at random! The beings who are chosen to Show you the things you must see while you're here are chosen for a reason -- they embody the most crucial lessons you're meant to learn while you're here. Without them, the entire journey is meaningless. Like it or not, I was -- I am, still -- a part of you and you have to accept that if we are to continue."
"So either I follow you or...?" Spike left the end of the question hanging open.
"You follow me or you face Her. Those are your choices."
"Her? What's with all this Her and Him crap? Who are 'They'?" You could practically hear the quote marks as he spoke the words.
"Let's just say it's best if you come with me. That was something of a threat I was planning to use as a last resort, only."
"Tsk, tsk. Used up the nukes already, have ya?" Spike grinned.
"Well, I never was a very good bluffer." William smiled bashfully and nudged his glasses back in place with the tip of his index finger. "But you knew that already." Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his lips quirked into a small smile. "So. Coming then?"
Spike sniffed, straightened the lapels of his duster, studied the barren surroundings for several moments and finally shrugged. "Yeah, alright. If this is the only way I can get off this roundabout, I guess we'd better get goin'."
"Take my hand, then," William pulled his left hand from his pocket and turned it over, palm facing up. He extended it, wordlessly, to Spike.
Spike drew back from the offered hand before he realized he had even moved and yet the other man's expression did not change to one of worry or hurt or derision, as Spike might have expected. Never once did it waver from the calm, patient cast it had maintained since his appearance.
With one final scan of the desolate gully, Spike swallowed determinedly, closed his eyes and placed his hand in William's.
"You'll have to pardon the mess," William was saying as he released Spike's hand and made his way over to the large, ornately carved oak desk that occupied the center of the small room. Notebooks, papers and various dusty volumes covered the desktop and William tutted to himself under his breath as he tried to put things in some semblance of order. The entire room was filled almost to bursting with books and scrolls and papers of all sorts strewn about. A study. "You can open your eyes, now, you know. What, you were expecting us to take off and fly like Mary Poppins?"
Spike's eyes immediately popped open and glared daggers at his twin.
"Sod off," he approached the desk, watching with a small, bemused smile as William sorted and shuffled various papers together into neat piles. As Spike glanced down at the pages, though, something caught his attention. All the loose pages, covered in handwriting and scribbles, he noticed, were in his own hand.
"Where'd all this come from? I don't write anymore!" He gestured vaguely to the reams of pages his doppelganger held in his hands.
William glanced up from his work and offered him a sly smile, "Just because you gave up writing doesn't mean I did. I never stopped. You didn't, either, although you don't know it."
"So, what's all this about, then? What the hell am I doing here?" Spike planted his hands on his narrow hips, throwing a half-hearted glare William's way. "You said something about the Slayer fighting her own battle? What did you mean?"
"Well, when Buffy went up against Adam, she needed more strength than even she possessed, so she called on Her for aid. Not something to be undertaken lightly, although you probably know that already. Right now, Buffy and her companions are being shown the responsibility and consequences that come with calling Her."
"And just how'd I get dragged into all this bollocks? I didn't have nothin' to do with that!"
"I was getting to that," William narrowed his eyes at the peroxide-blond vampire. "I'd forgotten how downright impatient you could be." His tidying finished, he dropped into the leather deckchair with a ragged sigh. He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes for a moment before replacing them. "Although you wouldn't admit it, you are a part of the, er... Scooby Gang, I think they call it? Regardless of the fact she pays you now and again and regardless of whether it bruises your precious Big Bad image, you are doing good out there. The Powers That Be thought you could do with a bit of schooling, as it were. That's why you're here. There is one who speaks for Her, one through whom She may speak. To your Slayer and her companions. But your kind have no such emissary, as I explained to you before, so I was chosen to speak for Him... and that's why I'm here."
"Him?" Spike's brows furrowed.
"He who was the first to be Slain by The First," he stood up and, skirting the desk, crossed over to Spike. "You hold the key to her destruction here," William's fingertips brushed Spike's temple lightly, then slid down to his chest, where he pressed the flat of his palm over his unbeating heart, "and here. Only you can decide what you shall do with this knowledge."
"Knowledge? What knowledge? What're you on about?"
"I can't tell you any more than I already have," he let his hand slip from Spike's chest, an apologetic lilt to his words. "You know the answer to her question... you just don't realize it. You'll know when the time comes what you must do... and whether you share this knowledge or do not is up to you. But a moment will come, and I promise you that it will, when you must make a decision one way or the other; you shall have to choose. The Slayer's life, your life, both your futures depend upon that choice."
"Will Buff -- will the Slayer be alright?" Spike asked gruffly. "I mean -- is she --?"
"She won't be harmed here, that I can assure you. This is not meant to be seen as a punishment, for any of you," William placed his hand on Spike's shoulder in a silent gesture of comfort and reassurance. "Merely... a lesson that must be shared with each of you." Letting his hand slide down, he captured Spike's hand and gave his arm a tug.
"Where we off to now?"
"You'll see," his double offered him a wily smile.
"Why can't I ever get a straight fuckin' answer out of you?" Spike grumped as he was led through another door.
White. Every inch of the immense, windowless room was white -- walls, ceiling, floor. No real furniture to be found, save a single floor-length mirror, which William pulled a rather reluctant Spike towards.
"I really don't see the point of this," he said with a smug grin. "I'm a vampire, right? No soul, no reflection."
"Maybe not in your world," William's smile brightened as he grasped Spike's shoulders and pulled Spike around to stand in front of him. "But here... anything's possible."
Spike's jaw dropped -- and he could see it. A reflection. His reflection. William wrapped his arms around Spike's waist and rested his chin on his shoulder.
"How --?"
"I told you -- anything's possible." He could feel William's smile against the side of his throat, but...
"I can't see you," Spike murmured. "Where's your reflection?"
"You're looking at it."
"But that's not you. That's me."
"Same difference. I'm you, remember?" A hand gently stroked Spike's hair and he could hear the fondness in William's voice as he spoke. "This is my gift to you, brother. I know it's not much, but..."
"No, it is. Do you realize how long it's been since I've seen m'self in a mirror?" Spike ran a hand down the front of his t-shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. He tilted his head from one side to the other, carefully examining his profile.
"One-hundred and twenty five years, six months, eighteen days, two hours. Give or take a second."
"Hey, look at that! I got a scar," he ran a finger over his scarred brow, a boyish smile quirking his lips. "Wasn't there before."
"That was courtesy of the first slayer you defeated. China, remember?" William said softly. "Not quite... the way you remembered yourself, hmm?"
Spike turned his head and faced the mirror, faced his own reflection, staring into his own dark eyes. They possessed a hardness that hadn't been present when he'd been human, a coldness. His entire face seemed to have been sculpted out of frost-laced marble, his cheeks far more hollow than he could remember, and his skin considerably paler.
"No, s'not," he replied and placed a hand on his hip while the other hand rubbed at his jaw.
"While we're at it," William began, slipping his hands under Spike's duster. "There's something else you should do."
"What's that?" Spike glanced up at the mirror, expecting to see William's reflection and sighed in irritation when he saw no one but himself. He turned and looked over his shoulder, meeting William's warm blue eyes as he slid the duster off of Spike's shoulders and folded it over his arm.
"Red's not really your color anymore, is it?" Spike could feel his twin's hands reaching around him, smoothing over his chest and over the red silk that covered it. Spike stifled a shiver at the feel of those long, ghostly fingers on his body.
"What d'you mean? I've worn this for years," he frowned and placed a hand over William's, effectively stilling his provocative caresses.
"The Master is dead, Angel has a soul, Darla's dead and Dru is gone," William spoke these harsh truths without hesitation, but the obvious sympathy in his voice took away some of the sting. "Ruby was your clan's color, but the Clan of Aurelius is no more. You are on your own, now. It's time to relinquish the clan hue." William's hand stroked down Spike's arm, plucking at the delicate crimson fabric. "You have a new clan, now."
"Oh, right! A posse of one -- that's me," Spike snorted bitterly as he dropped his gaze from the mirror. Without another word, Spike tugged off the red shirt and tossed it aside. He turned back to William, who immediately passed him his beloved duster.
Shrugging into it, he faced his reflection once more.
"You won't be alone forever," William grasped his shoulders firmly. "I promise you." Draping an arm around Spike's shoulders, William led him towards yet another door. "One last stop before you get off..."
Their feet shuffled in the sand as they walked side by side, nearly identical bodies, but with so many differences hidden beneath their skin. William slowed as the reached the top of the dune, overlooking a gully. Several hundred yards below, spread out before them, was the place that Spike had found himself when the whole strange journey had begun. The tree was still there, as well as the dove, but Angel was nowhere to be found... and he could now also see a rock that he hadn't noticed in his initial inspection of the area, sitting a few yards away from the tree.
"What're we doin' back here?" Spike glanced back at William, brows furrowed.
"Look there," William slipped up behind him, splaying one arm across his chest, holding him back against his body as he had done when he first appeared.
"Why'd you bother bringin' me back here? I've seen all this before," he replied flatly, trying to avert his eyes from the tiny bird that sat in the top branches of the barren tree. "She dies."
"Shhh, look." He stretched his arm out for a moment, pointing to the rock.
"At what? I don't see --"
Just then, a sliver of black could be seen, just behind the rock. A second later, a little bit more. Slowly, the creature concealed behind the rock made itself known.
A sleek black panther, its long, sinewy body crouched low to the ground, ears flattened back on its regal head.
Its steady citrine gaze was locked on the small bird perched in the tree.
"No," Spike said, his voice barely above a whisper, as his eyes darted from the dove to the panther and back again.
"He'll hurt her if he gets the chance. You know that. But he cannot be trusted." The dove cooed softly, head bobbing around as she took in her surroundings. As she caught sight of the panther, her movements instantly stilled and she fell silent. "She's wary of him, watchful, and so she should be. But you can keep him at bay. You're a master, you're strong; you can hold him back. Fight him, if you must, but don't ever let him near her, ever."
"But you said I should accept --!"
"He's not a part of us! He never was and he never will be!" William gripped Spike's shoulder, his voice a desperate, sibilant hiss as whispered in Spike's ear. Spike watched the panther's progress wordlessly as it stole up to the tree, inch by precious inch, coming ever closer to its intended prey. Its smooth, velvety black coat a marked contrast to the pale grittiness of the sand. The panther unsheathed its steel gray talons, which made deep indentations in the sand as it continued to crawl towards the tree. "He's a beast. And the very first thing papa ever taught us about animals was 'Never fear...'"
"'...But never trust,'" Spike finished his father's oft-spoken axiom in perfect sync with his doppelganger.
"When we died, he forced his way into us... he raped away our soul. We were lonely and unhappy and weak and he turned us -- our anger and our passion and our pain -- into the fuel for every fire he ever set. He used our pain to wreak havoc on the humans he so despised. Had we been a normal, well-adjusted human, he never would have chosen us. He thrived on the pain in us and the pain we inflicted later on as a vampire."
"So how can I stop him?" He glanced back, starting when he saw that William had vanished.
"You can't..." William's voice drifted up to Spike as he suddenly rematerialized in the gully below. In his left hand, he held a sword. "You can only hold him back." As he spoke, he himself between the tree and the panther, right in the panther's path. He swung the sword in the panther's direction, taking careful aim, preparing to defend himself on the off chance the animal might charge. It let out an unholy, rage-filled snarl and backed away a few feet. "To stop him would mean killing us all, killing yourself." William swung the sword in a sharp, quick arc in front of the beast. It retreated a few more paces. He spoke again, lip curled in distaste as he looked upon the creature. "He's wrapped 'round us like a foul, spleenful weed -- any attempt to rip him out will only destroy us right along with him. And you can't do that. She needs you."
"How can she need me?" Spike scoffed, holding his arms out at his sides. "She doesn't need me! She can bloody well take care of herself!"
"You may think so now," he said, jabbing his sword at the panther again, keeping it back.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I can't tell you any more, Spike, I'm sorry," William's eyes remained trained on the panther as he spoke, but his words teemed with remorse. Spike squared his shoulders and took a purposeful step forward, with the intention of standing by William's side to guard the dove. William raised a staying hand, head remaining bowed, concentrating on the panther. "No! Don't take another step. You mustn't come down here."
"You can't take that thing alone, mate! He'll rip you in half!"
"Don't!" William's head whipped up and he met Spike's eyes for just a split second. It was all the time the panther needed to attack. It leapt at William, tackling him to the ground and raking its claws over his chest as it sunk its fangs into his throat, biting down to keep him immobile while its forepaws did all the damage.
"No!" Spike took off running full tilt down the slope, but by the time he'd reached the heart of the gully, the panther had already darted away.
He turned and found William lying in a crumpled, blood-soaked heap, the sword still clenched tightly in his fist. He hadn't even had the chance to take even one swing at the animal with it. Spike dropped to his knees beside his twin, gathering him up into his arms. Tears welled in his eyes as he took in William's serene expression. His glasses had been knocked off of his face and had landed in the sand, his body was a field of bloody gashes and punctures and neither did the beast spare his face. A single set of four long gashes marred the alabaster skin of his left cheek, extending from just behind his ear to his chin.
"It's... alright," he gasped as he let the sword drop to the dusty ground and clutched at Spike's sleeve with bloodstained fingers.
"Like hell! We've gotta get you some help." Spike clutched the injured man nearer to him as his eyes scanned the terrain, searching for any possible signs that someone might have heard them and was headed in their direction to help.
"Not here," William coughed and tiny specks of blood dappled his lips. "Anything is possible... with the exception of that."
"Bullshit! I'm not just gonna sit here and let you die!" Spike growled as he ripped a length of his t-shirt and pressed it to a deep wound in William's abdomen.
"I knew this would happen," he whispered, even as he gazed up at Spike, the calmness infusing him with an odd sense of peace. "So did you, one way or another..."
"Please..." Spike carefully opened the tattered remains of his twin's shirt, taking inventory of his injuries, of which there were far too many. Too many and most were far too deep to take care of all at once. "Why the hell did They have to make you human, anyway?! Goddamn human bodies -- always bleedin' from this or that -- get a paper cut and you can bloody well bleed to death. Fuck! This is what I hated about bein' human."
"It's alright," William said again, more firmly this time. He captured Spike's left hand and held it tightly in his. "Listen -- to me. Please. There's not much time... left..."
"I'm listening." Spike leaned in closely, smoothing William's hair back off of his brow.
"You know... you deny it now, but the time will come when it will not be denied. Accept it for what it is -- nothing more, nothing..." a seizure gripped his body, forcing all of his muscles to pull taut. As the seizure subsided, he struggled for breath to continue. "Nothing -- less. When you push... she flies away. Bend... and she will come to you." William lifted a trembling hand and cupped Spike's face, his smile widening. "Don't hate yourself because of me... I love you. I've always loved you, Spike." It was the second time William had ever addressed him by that name; the significance of the moment did not fail to escape him.
"Please." Breath catching on a sob, Spike lowered his head, pressing his forehead to William's. "Don't leave me here. Don't leave me alone!"
"You won't be alone. I promised you that," William sighed, his hand slipping from Spike's face. "Just remember what I said... will you?"
"I'll will," he nodded, heavy tears rolling down his pale cheeks.
With the last of his strength, William pulled Spike down to him and brought their lips together in a brief, bittersweet kiss as the light in his eyes slowly faded. Through his parted lips, Spike could feel William's final, dying breath passing into him.
A promise. A blessing. An apology.
As Spike sat up, another sob gripped him. He gently smoothed his hand over William's eyes, closing them, and laid the body out on the cooling sand, folding both of his hands over his chest.
Another blur of motion and Spike was tackled to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see nothing but black -- and so, at first, he assumed that the panther had come back. But as he was pinned forcibly to the ground, he realized that it was in fact not the panther.
Panthers couldn't hold wooden stakes.