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What If?
By spikeNdru
BtVS—AU Season 5, PG-13
How would Buffy’s life have been different if Hank had the aneurism and died instead of Joyce? When one thing changes, everything changes.
Begins at the end of “Fool for Love”
_______________________________________________
Setting the safety, Spike lowered the gun.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Buffy looked up with a tear-stained face.
“Go away.” Buffy turned her head and looked out at the darkness.
Spike continued to stand, looking at her, one eyebrow raised.
Buffy turned back to glare at him, subconsciously noticing what looked like compassion in his eyes. The words seemed to tumble out of their own accord.
“It’s my father. Mom got a call from a hospital in Spain tonight. He has a brain tumor or something and they’re not sure if it’s operable or not. He’s flying back as soon as he can make arrangements and is going into Cedars-Sinai for tests. Mom is going down to LA as soon as he arrives. I think she should take Dawn with her.”
Spike sat down on the porch steps beside Buffy, laying the shotgun aside.
“Well, that might be for the best,” he agreed. “Out of sight, out of mind. If the Niblet is out of town, it’ll make it harder for that Glory chippie to find her. ‘Specially if you’re still here. Should throw her off her game.”
Buffy considered. “But what if Glory does find out and teleports or whatever — Mom and Dad can’t protect her.” A sob caught in the back of her throat. “And Dad has enough on his mind right now. I don’t know what to do. Mom’s all focused on Dad right now, so I’ve gotta be the one to decide what’s best for Dawn. And if I guess wrong . . .”
Spike reached out and awkwardly patted Buffy’s shoulder.
**********
By the next morning, Buffy still hadn’t decided what would be best for Dawn. She hated the thought of sending her so far away, unprotected. But Spike was right. If she went, too, Glory would definitely follow. Glory knew Buffy had the key, and if Dawn wasn’t here, Glory would never suspect. Probably . . . but what if she did? Buffy couldn’t go, she couldn’t even send Willow — that would call attention to the very thing she was trying to hide. Wait! No one from Sunnydale actually had to go . . . not if she hired some local LA protection! Buffy picked up the phone.
“Angel Investigations.”
“Hey, Cordelia. It’s Buffy. Is Angel around?”
“Sorry, Buffy. He’s not here right now.”
“Oh, okay. Listen, Cordy, I’ve got a big problem and could use your guys’ help. My Dad is flying to LA, he might need brain surgery and Mom is going down to help. We’re kinda tied up here with a Big Bad who’s trying to use Dawn for some ritual sacrifice. If I send Dawn to LA with Mom, that might be enough to get her out of danger, but if an uberdemon fashionista named Glory or her scabby little hobbits show up there, I need to know that Angel and your crew will be protecting her. If you can get a hold of Angel and get back to me by tonight, I’ll owe you guys a big one. Thanks, Cordy.”
If Angel and his gang were watching out for Dawn, she was reasonably sure she could keep Glory at bay. If only she wasn’t so distracted by fear for her Dad. Demons and monsters she could handle; the complexity and fragility of the purely human bodies of the people she loved terrified her.
**********
Buffy was still sitting on the porch steps, watching the sky darken, when Spike appeared. He stood quite still in the middle of the yard, and then tilted his head in his characteristic way and asked, “Everything worked out, then, Slayer?”
Buffy nodded. “Mom and Dawn left for LA. They’re staying with Angel while Dad’s in the hospital. Angel’s crew has this huge hotel and Cordy said they’d take care of Dawn while Mom’s at the hospital. Mom’s gonna call as soon as they arrive.”
Spike nodded once. “I’ll do a sweep then while you’re waiting, if you’d like. I’ll check back with you later — just to know they’re all tucked in safe and sound.” He turned to go and muttered under his breath, “And the Great Ponce had bloody well be very sure nothing happens to Joyce or the Bit . . .” and he was gone.
Buffy got up and went inside to make a cup of tea. She cradled the cup in her hands, her mind drifting to the last ice show her father had taken her to see . . . she had felt so safe and loved. She had thought her father would always be there for her. She couldn’t imagine him leaving her. . . but he had. He’d packed up and gone to Spain without a second glance. And now . . . She was startled out of her reverie by the ringing of the phone.
Buffy heaved a sigh of relief. Joyce was mentally and physically exhausted from the events of the last 24 hours, but the trip had been uneventful, they had arrived safely, Team Angel had provided carry-out Chinese, Dawn was already asleep, and Joyce was planning a long, hot bubble bath — which sounded very good to Buffy, too!
**********
The past two weeks had been . . . surrealistic to the max! Hank was still undergoing tests and Buffy knew her mom was on edge about that, but the stress in her voice during phone calls was probably also due to the enforced proximity to Angel. Joyce had never really liked Angel— well, telling her he had sex with her daughter, going evil, killing people and, *hey, vampire!* was pretty much guaranteed to blow the whole parental seal of approval thing! But for some reason, Joyce had always seemed to get along with Spike. Buffy decided she wasn’t going to worry about it — Dawn and her mother were safe with Angel and that was what mattered. She had enough to worry about with Glory, snake demons and killer snot-monsters from outer space (that was a new one, even for Sunnydale!) On top of all this, the Watcher’s Council was planning a visit and she just knew that would go well—NOT!
In addition, she and Riley were basically not communicating on any level except the physical, and even that was somehow . . . lacking. She felt pressured—Riley seemed to want to *fix* things, and he couldn’t — he couldn’t make her Dad be okay, he couldn’t know about Dawn, he couldn’t fight her battles for her, and he seemed to blame her that he couldn’t. The only person who really seemed to understand what she was going through was Spike — and that was just too weird!
The stress must be getting to her—she felt . . . twitchy. Her Slayer gifts of speed, strength, accelerated healing were meant for action, not helpless waiting. Waiting to hear about her dad, waiting for Glory to make a move, waiting for the Council to arrive; all this waiting was making her feel very unsettled. She desperately needed to release some of this tension, and nothing that needed killing was cooperating! Meeting up with Riley after their latest abortive sweep, Buffy decided to call it a night.
They walked back to her house together, but Buffy felt terribly alone. The sense of isolation remained, even as she made love to Riley. The physical release helped a little, but emotional release continued to elude her. Why wasn’t Riley enough for her? She had never been able to recapture that feeling of rightness and completeness she had felt with Angel. When she thought of Angel, it was always as he had been in the past, in the first flush of love. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel that way about anyone. She had desperately needed him then — had thought she’d die without him, and that was the Angel that would always live in her memory.
The real Angel, the one who left her, started a whole other life in which she had no part, who protected Faith from her— that Angel she didn’t know at all. The only thing she knew for sure was that he made it his mission to help the helpless; Dawn and Joyce were both helpless and he would protect them. She guessed that was all she really needed to know.
With a sigh, Buffy turned on her side, away from Riley, and went to sleep.
Even in sleep, she felt anxious, restless. Suddenly, her Slayer sense telegraphed *VAMPIRE* and she bolted upright, instantly awake.
“Every time you show up like this, you risk all of your parts, you know that?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have a good reason. As usual, I’m here to help you, and I— are you naked under there?”
Buffy rolled her eyes, “Get out!”
“No, I’m serious. I mean, not about the naked part, I mean . . .”
“Get out or I will drop you out head-first.”
“I wanna show you something.”
“What?”
“You need to see this.”
Buffy sighed, but Spike continued, “But we need to move if we wanna get there in time.” +
**********
Buffy thought she was going to be sick. She felt the bile or the acid or whatever her overstressed system had been manufacturing by the gallon rise up in the back of her throat. She would NOT give in! She swallowed hard and went to check the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Hooray! Pepto-Bismol. She swallowed several large gulps of the disgusting pink stuff right out of the bottle, and sank down on the toilet seat, leaning her head against the wall. She tried to erase the picture of Riley sprawled in a chair while a vampire sucked him off. Her fangs were buried in his arm, true, but there was no mistaking that heavy-lidded zoned expression on his face. He got off on it! He had made love to her, then, while she slept, he snuck out of the house to go to that— brothel!
She slugged back another gulp of Pepto. The images seemed to be permanently burned on the back of her retinas. She was the Slayer! Buffy the Vampire Slayer! And Riley had gotten up from the bed of the Slayer to go to a vampire! How twisted was that?
For the second time that night, she looked up to find Spike looking at her.
“I’m sorry.” He said. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, but I thought you should know. I’ve probably gone about this all wrong . . . you’ve got enough on your plate at present, but I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I’d just told you . . . I’m truly sorry if I’ve added to your worries.”
Buffy was so surprised, she forgot to be angry.
“What’s going on, Spike? You sound like Giles!”
Spike recovered himself, immediately.
“Bloody hell! Thought I was doin’ you a favor, you stupid bint! Guess shaggin’ the Slayer’s not good enough for Captain Cardboard— guess those vampire trulls give him somethin’ you can’t, eh? Wanker don’t know when he’s got a good thing right in front of him. You sure know how to pick ‘em, pet!”
With a swirl of his duster, he was gone.
“Oh-h-h-kay! We’ll just add *insane vampire with PMS* to the very long list of things to deal with at a time that isn’t now.”
Buffy realized she didn’t feel gut-wrenchingly sick any more. Either the Pepto had finally kicked in, or Spike had somehow made her feel better. She considered both alternatives . . . must have been the Pepto.
**********
Buffy came back to conscious awareness still standing in front of the open refrigerator, with no idea how long she had been zoned out. She shut the door and sat down at the table. She knew she should eat something — she couldn’t remember when she had last eaten — but she also couldn’t remember any of the contents of the fridge, and it was too much trouble to get up and look again. Soup! She could probably eat some soup. She opened a can of Chicken and Stars, dumped it into a Tupperware bowl, added water, put it in the microwave and sat down again, neglecting to actually set the timer.
Riley was gone . . . the *normal boyfriend* who was supposed to take her into the light was as drawn to the darkness as Owen! She so didn’t need something else to deal with right now. She didn’t have time to coddle frail male egos . . . why couldn’t he have understood that? Maybe it wasn’t Riley; maybe it was her? Maybe she’d never be able to have a normal relationship. Maybe being the Slayer was all she’d ever be. Maybe Angel hadn’t understood that about her either. He said he was leaving so she could have a normal life, a normal relationship. Geez Angel, look how well that worked out! He should have stayed . . . maybe they could have found a way to make it work. Maybe a vampire and a slayer in love was normal for her. Angel . . . she hadn’t yet talked to Angel directly, and she had a feeling there was something important Cordelia and Wesley weren’t telling her— she got this weird vibe from both of them whenever she asked about Angel specifically, but as long as Dawn and her mom continued to be safe, she decided she wouldn’t push them.
She was just trying to avoid thinking about the one fact she couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around. Glory wasn’t a demon, she was a god! How can you fight a god? Those sadistic creeps on the Council had put her and her friends through hell with their stupid games and that’s all they had for her? No help, no ideas, no mystical gadgets, no doohickeys, just an information bomb! Like the one in her father’s head that could go off at any time, while the doctors couldn’t agree what to do about it. At least he had her mom there for support—Debbie was apparently still in Europe and didn’t seem to want any part of *non-fun, unable-to-party, brain-tumored Hank Summers*! If the situation was reversed, she just couldn’t see Hank dropping everything to be at Joyce’s side!
With no further thought for her uncooked soup, Buffy went up to bed, not noticing the glowing arc of Spike’s cigarette, as he stood guard under her tree.
Spike had been there every night for weeks — watching her grow thinner and paler and more care-worn by the day. He wished there was something he could do to make it easier for her, but he couldn’t think of anything. Nothing he could do for the Slayer right now, but he could take a run down to LA just to check up on the Niblet and Joyce— put his own mind at ease, if nothing else. It was too late tonight, but he could leave right after sunset tomorrow. He could be down and back before anyone knew he was gone. Spike lit another cigarette and continued his lonely vigil.
**********
Spike lit a cigarette and paced, wondering what to tell Buffy about his unauthorized road trip. What could he say? “Oh, by the way, Darla got mojo’d back from the beyond, Dru vamped her, and now they’re both working on turning Angel into his own bad self again; and the Great Poof doesn’t seem to be playin’ with a full deck. He’s definitely a few veins short of a Happy Meal and, oh, yeah, he’s shagging Darla again.”
Much as he’s love to stick it to Angel, he just couldn’t do that to the Slayer. Finding out about Riley was bad enough, he couldn’t destroy her faith in Angel. She had enough to deal with here without doubting her decision to send Dawn with Joyce. And Team Angel was protecting Dawn and Joyce. He’d sussed out that situation to his satisfaction. Whatever sexcapades Angel and Darla had been getting up to, they’d pretty much ended when he set Darla and Dru on fire. Spike growled low in his throat at that thought. If it weren’t for Dawn, he’d have taken on Angelus himself for daring to try and immolate Dru! But, when push came to shove, Dru was perfectly capable of giving as good as she got. He had no doubt Dru could take care of herself . . . Dawn couldn’t. He needed the Fang Gang to protect the Little Bit for now, but someday . . . someday Angelus would pay!
Spike lit another cigarette and paced some more. Had to admit, seeing Dru again had unsettled him. ‘Specially when she had asked him to come back to her. He couldn’t deny he still had feelings for her. . . he’d spent 120 years devoted to her. She’d been his world—his Black Goddess; she’d saved me from mediocrity. And the chance to live as a vampire again . . . he’d been tempted. The thrill of the hunt, the kill (well, he supposed it would have to be Dru’s kill), the taste of fresh blood—all were powerful lures. But when he tried to picture hunting, feeding, shagging with Drusilla, all he could see was a pair of pain-filled hazel eyes, baring her soul to the world. He could drown in those eyes . . . “You’re all I bloody think about. Dream about. You’re in my gut . . . my throat . . . I’m drownin’ in you, Summers, I’m drownin’ in you.”
He was well and truly caught! Not sure how it happened but he was madly, desperately, passionately, eternally in love with the Slayer. No help for it—he was doomed! He knew it was wrong . . . “This, with you, is wrong. I know it. I’m not a complete idiot. You think I like having you in here? Destroying everything that was me, until all that’s left is you, in a dead shell . . .” Falling in love with the Slayer was probably the most perverted thing he’d ever done, and he’d done a few in his long life! Not sure how it happened, must have snuck up on him when his back was turned. Once he realized it, though, he knew there was no going back to Dru, and she knew it, too. Dru may be a lunatic, but she still saw to the heart of things, Dru did. From the chip, (both accurately—Little bit of plastic, spiderwebbing out nasty blue shocks— and figuratively—burning baby fish swimming all around your head) to his love for Buffy, Dru saw it all. Knew she’d lost him long before he had any inkling things had changed.
“Oh, Dru, I’m sorry, pet. Sorry I couldn’t be the monster you need. Sorry I can’t be what you want. I’m so sorry . . .”
He closed his eyes, memories swirling through his mind like all the pretty horses on a carousel: “Things change.” “Not for us, not demons!” You were right, after all, Angelus. “Our love was eternal, literally.” Guess eternity has an expiration date, after all. “A slayer with family and friends . . . that sure as hell wasn’t in the brochure!” Was that how it happened? Not just Buffy, then, but the whole package he wanted? Love, acceptance, family and friends. “It’s almost like you’re my father-in-law, in’nt?” “You got any of those lit’le marshmallows?” “Doesn’t seem to me it matters very much how you start out.” “Just say ‘yes’ and make me the happiest man on earth” “You know you wanna dance. . .” “I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up. I’ve got muscles you’ve never even dreamed of. I could squeeze you until you pop like warm champagne and you’d beg me to hurt you just a little bit more. And you know why I don’t? Because it’s WRONG!” Spike lifted the heavy lid of the sarcophagus above his head and flung it at the wall, where it shattered.
**********Not able to stand being cooped up for another moment, Spike grabbed his hand axe and went out to patrol. He had checked two cemeteries without finding any action, when he got lucky at the third and spent a hard twenty minutes before finally killing a Suarvis demon. He hadn’t had a really good brawl in some time, and thoroughly enjoyed every minute. Nothing like a spot of violence to take your mind off your troubles, and better exercise than an hour at the gym. Those Pilates people didn’t know what they were missing—maybe he should do an informercial: Spike’s Select Secrets to Successfully Staying Slender while Slaying—lose those unwanted pounds while ridding the world of assorted nasties. Act now! Only $19.95 for a limited time!
Spike turned to see Buffy. . . bouncing? . . . toward him. Yep, definite spring in her step and a huge cat-just-ate-the-canary smile on her face. Bit of a change from the worn-down, anxious, depressed Buffy he had seen before his trip to LA. She now seemed to be decidedly chipper, bordering on giddy. Must have gotten some good news, then, and she certainly deserved some.
Buffy linked her arm through his and greeted him with a blinding smile.
“Look, it’s Spike . . . and he’s wearing a coat!”
“Usually do, love,” he replied. “Looks like you got some good news.”
“Oh, I don’t read the newspaper,” Buffy answered brightly. “Time to slay!”
She started off with determination, rather than bouncing; all business now. Raising one eyebrow, Spike followed.
**********
Spike knew he wasn’t the brightest light in the firmament, but, even so, he should have realized there was something *off* going on. Was Buffy possessed? Was Glory controlling her in some way? He hadn’t attempted to adjust the vertical or the horizontal, but he was definitely in the Twilight Zone . . . or the Outer Limits . . . or Bizarro World. He and Buffy had patrolled for an hour or so, taking out a nest of vamps and a couple of the newly risen, when she turned to him and said, “I did the slaying. Do you want to ravage me now, Spike?”
There was only one possible answer.
“Well . . . yeah.”
Five hours later, when the blood was finally able to move in the direction of his brain, he knew this was off. He had just been handed everything he had ever wanted on a silver platter—or, more accurately, on every possible available surface in his entire crypt—so why did he feel . . . unsatisfied?
Buffy was everything he had ever imagined, had ever dreamed about, but it wasn’t enough. The purely physical wasn’t enough . . . he wanted an emotional connection, as well.
“And now you’ve gone completely sack and hammers, Spike,” he muttered to himself, as he lit a cigarette and began to pace.
This had to have been a glitch . . . a spell . . . something. He had just spent the last five hours having wild, unfettered (well, sometimes fettered) sex with Buffy and should be feeling triumphant. She had seduced him, so why did he feel like he had taken advantage of her? If she wanted to put her cares aside for the night and just have fun, what was wrong with that?
“What’s wrong with that? You bloody idiot, that’s what’s wrong!”
She was carrying the weight of the world and she’d never shuck it off for a bit of rough-and-tumble. Not the Slayer. He knew her better than anyone. Knew her strengths and weaknesses . . .
Spike was so lost in thought, he hadn’t heard the door open, and before he could react, everything went black . . .
**********
When Spike came to, he found himself chained to the ceiling in Glory’s apartment, while the Hellbitch and her hobbity minions were apparently discussing him. He tuned into the conversation as Glory was berating Jinx.
“What the hell is that, and why is its hair that color?” (Because I bleach it every fortnight to make it this color, you stupid bint!) Spike nearly opened his eyes in surprise at Jinx’s response.
“Stunning one, we believe he is . . . the Key.”
“Really? That’s fantabulous. And impossible. He can’t be the Key. ‘Cause, you see, the Key has to be pure. This is a vampire. Lesson Number One: Vampire equals Impure.”
Spike couldn’t let that one slide. “Damn right, I’m impure. I’m as impure as the driven yellow snow. Let me go!”
Glory declined the offer, and proceeded to torture him in a completely non-fun way. Funny thing, torture. Dru or Buffy could make a bit of violence seem invigorating, but Glory seemed to be the star pupil in the Angelus School of Torture, the kind with no pleasure involved . . . only pain. Finally, Spike had enough. Time to put a stop to this, one way or another.
“Guess what, bitch? I’m not telling you jack. You’re never gonna get your sodding Key. ‘Cause you might be strong, but in our world, you’re an idiot!”
That got her attention, but as far as snappy comebacks went, the Scoobies had her beat hands down. The best she could manage was straight out of kindergarten.
“Shut up! I command you to shut up!” (Yeah, that’ll work! That’ll shut me right up.)
“Yeah, okay, sorry, but I just had no idea that gods were such prancing lightweights. Mark my words, the Slayer is gonna kick your skanky, lopsided ass back to whatever place would take a cheap, whorish, fashion victim, ex-god like you!” which caused Glory to hit him so hard he flew out of the apartment into the hall.
“Good plan, Spike,” he muttered as he dragged himself to the elevator as fast as he could. He knew his broken bones and myriad wounds and bruises would eventually heal, but they hurt like hell at present. He pried open the elevator doors to discover the car already descending. Bloody hell! There was no help for it. Trying not to anticipate the pain of landing, he dragged his abused body over the threshold and dropped to the top of the car, opening the hatch and freefalling to the elevator floor.
**********
By the time the Scoobies had figured out that there were two Buffys currently wandering around Sunnydale, much wackiness had ensued.
Finally managing to corral everyone, including the genuine Buffy, Willow called a meeting at the Magic Box to discuss the ramifications. Nearly everyone had had some contact with faux-Buffy, but no one was quite sure what to make of this development.
Giles was of the opinion that Glory had somehow created faux-Buffy to engage the trust of the Slayer’s friends and thus ascertain the whereabouts of the Key. Willow was convinced that magic was involved. Xander suggested a Toth-type splitting. Anya shook her head, negating the previous suggestions.
“It’s a robot,” she pronounced decisively. They all stared at her.
“Of course. It makes perfect sense,” Giles replied. “Everyone mentioned a rather robotic quality to the interactions they had with the faux-Buffy.”
Willow giggled. “It’s a Buffy-bot!”
Buffy was not amused. “Who would make a robot of me? And why? This can’t be good.”
“If it’s not one of Glory’s tricks, I might have an idea,” Willow replied. “There was a guy a year ahead of us in school who was really into robotics. His Science Fair projects all featured really intricate details, even when he was young. If anyone can build an android — cause that’s really what the Buffybot is, it’s Warren.”
“An android?” Xander looked startled. “Holy Harry Mudd!”
For once, Giles caught his reference immediately. “Yes, but Harry Mudd created his androids to be . . .” He stopped and glanced at Buffy, rethinking his choice of words. “Girlfriends,” he amended.
Buffy’s mouth dropped open. “Girlfriends! Girlfriends! This Warren creepazoid made a robot girlfriend . . . that looks like ME?”
Xander looked like he wanted to crawl under the rug, but manfully stepped up to the plate.
“Uh, Buffy. There’s no good way to tell you this, but I think Warren’s *girlfriend* got tired of him and went on to . . . paler . . . pastures.”
“What does that mean?” Buffy snapped.
Xander blushed from the base of his throat all the way to the roots of his hair.
“Uh, um, Anya and I saw the Buffybot with Spike and . . .”
“If this Warren person created an indefatigable sex toy, apparently he could no longer satisfy it, and the sexbot is now boinking Spike,” Anya added helpfully.
Buffy made a dash for Giles’ bathroom and downed a half-bottle of Pepto-Bismol.
**********
When Buffy returned to the discussion, a consensus had been reached that it would probably be a good idea to track down the Buffybot, and all that was needed was her seal of approval. They hit the weapons chest, and prepared to head out. Seeing Xander select the taser, Buffy felt a twinge of alarm.
“Uh, guys? You don’t think this . . . Buffybot is like Adam?
“Pretty certain, not,” Willow replied. “Just your standard, garden variety, highly sophisticated, extremely complex, fully functioning android.”
She and Tara did a quick locater spell as Buffy studied the map.
“This is the same area where I killed that snake demon that was heading back to Glory. Looks like the robot may be part of Glory’s plan, after all.”
“Go!” said Giles. “We’ll follow and join you as soon as we can.”
Buffy took off running, while the rest piled into Giles’ car as rapidly as possible. Xander called shotgun and Willow, Tara and Anya slid into the back seat.
Arriving shortly after Buffy, they heard a commotion coming from a nearby condo, and immediately headed in that direction. Throwing open the lobby door, the Scoobies saw both Buffys battling Glory’s minions and a totally trashed Spike in a heap on the floor near the elevator. With the advantage of reinforcements, the Buffys soon routed the scabby minions, but not before the Buffybot was thrown against the wall and short-circuited.
Willow, Tara and Anya gathered up the weapons and headed back to the Magic Box, with Buffy carrying the Buffybot, while Giles and Xander drove Spike back to his crypt.
“Do you have any idea how really, really creepy this is?” Buffy complained.
“Sorry, Buff,” Willow apologized. “But we can really learn a lot once I get a chance to study it.” She eyed the Buffybot covetously. “It’s really well made. I wasn’t aware this level of robotic development was even possible.”
Buffy sighed and made a *ew-w-w* face, and slung the bot over her shoulder so she wouldn’t have to look at it.
**********
Back at the Magic Box, Willow was fascinated with the Buffybot.
“I found where she’s broken. Some of these wires got fried extra crispy. It’s an easy fix. . .”
As Willow’s needle-nosed pliers touched the blue wire, the Buffybot opened her eyes and said, “Spike’s wearing a coat. It’s a very nice coat. But you should see him naked! I mean really!”
Buffy made a grab for the Pepto. If this kept up, she figured she really should buy some stock in the company.
**********
Buffy jumped up as Xander and Giles entered the Magic Box.
“I almost feel sorry for Spike,” Xander admitted. “The poor guy was really thrashed. Glory did a major number on him.”
Buffy was frantic. “Did he say anything about Dawn? Does Glory know?”
“I don’t know, Buff,” Xander responded. “He didn’t even know where he was, so couldn’t get anything out of him with the exception of a whole lot of ooky fluids, but information? Not so much.”
“I have to know! Go to Xander’s, guys. If Glory decides to come looking, this is the first place she’ll check. The hobbits have all seen us here, but you should be safe at Xander’s. I need to go talk to Spike.”
**********
For possibly the first time in history, Buffy quietly stepped into Spike’s crypt, without kicking the door in. He was laid out on the sarcophagus, not breathing, and he actually looked dead. His whole face was a bloody (in the literal, not the British, sense) pulpy mess, both eyes were swollen shut, his chest was a mass of cuts, burns and stab wounds, one leg, at least one arm, and all of his ribs were broken.
Buffy felt a sinking feeling in her heart. Glory must know. No one could go through this much torture and not talk. Especially someone without a soul. He had no reason to protect Dawn. She was sure she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it anyway. She had to know exactly what Glory knew so she could warn Angel.
Spike stirred and drew in a painful, rasping breath so he could speak. He forced one eye open a slit and attempted to focus on her.
“Buffy. I’m . . . sorry.”
Buffy felt faint and grasped the sarcophagus lid with both hands, locking her elbows, to keep herself upright.
“Took . . . ‘vantage . . . of. . . you . . . should’ve . . . known . . . not . . . yourself. . . was . . . wrong . . .” A ghost of a smile touched his swollen lips. “Wonderful . . . but . . . wrong.”
Buffy leaned closer, fixing her gaze on the single, tiny fragment of blue that was all that was visible beneath the blackish-purple eyelid.
“Spike, what about Dawn? You have to tell me. What does Glory know?”
“No! Can’t tell. Glory can never know. Anything happen to Dawn . . . would destroy Buffy . . . couldn’t live her being in that much pain . . . let Glory kill me first . . . nearly bloody did.”
Buffy felt a sudden rush of gratitude and tenderness for Spike. Soulless monster? Hardly. No evil, soulless, thing would ever do what Spike had done for her and Dawn. He may not be a man, but he certainly wasn’t a monster. She’d never be able to think of him as a thing again. Maybe the Angel/Angelus dichotomy wasn’t quite as universal as she’d been led to believe . . . she’d have to think about it later. For now . . . Buffy leaned down and gently pressed her lips to Spike’s swollen, bruised mouth. He made a concerted effort to force his eyes open, desperate to try to read the message in her eyes.
“What you did for Dawn, and me . . . that was real. I won’t forget it.”
As he listened to her receding footsteps, Spike stopped fighting and allowed his eyes to close again. A single tear slowly made its way down his ruined cheekbone.
**********
It took two full weeks for his massive injuries to completely heal. Buffy must have had a word with the group ‘cause it seemed like every time he looked around, one or the other was stopping in with a fresh supply of blood or other goodies.
Tara came twice a day to read to him, and he found her soft voice curiously soothing and comforting.
Red brought him the most demented gifts he’d ever received in his life, and after 120 years with Dru, that was saying something! She gave him something called a *Beer Hat*— a yellow, construction type hat with holders for cans on both sides like bizarre antlers, with plastic tubes running from them that you sucked the beer through. He wasn’t entirely convinced that this was a real present— she may have cobbled it together from one of Xander’s hard hats, just to see if he’d be thick enough to fall for it! She also gave him a wooden paddle with a rubber ball attached to it with a piece of elastic that was guaranteed to provide him with hours of fun and improve his coordination. Sod that! Whoever invented the bloody thing had an entirely different definition of *hours of fun* than his own!
Xander brought a cassette player and a collection of the most gawd-awful caterwauling he’d ever heard, attempting to convince him that “Country music is the music of pain.” Well, the whelp got that right at least. If he hadn’t been in pain before being subjected to Xander’s *music*, he certainly was now!
Demon girl brought candles to brighten up his crypt and now the whole place smelled like *essence of slug*. It’d been a whole lot simpler to just go kill something, drag it home, put it on the table and wait for it to decay!
No complaints about Rupert’s taste— he showed up with a bottle of fifteen year old single malt Scotch and a nicely aged brandy. On a later visit, he brought a hot plate and kettle and they shared a real cuppa — not the tea-bag-in-the-microwave stuff that seemed to pass for tea around here.
The best gift of all was Buffy’s. She came every night with gauze and salve and liniment. She changed his bandages and put cool cloths on his eyes, and even broke and reset his collarbone when it healed up wrong.
These had been the best two weeks of his life. He felt a part of something that he’d never felt before—ravaging Europe with the Fearsome Foursome paled in comparison. He felt included, accepted, and . . . cared for.
**********
Spike woke feeling great. All his bits and pieces seemed to be working as they should, and there was no pain. He was refreshed and raring to go. He had never felt this alive. He went downstairs, bleached his hair, and took a long, hot shower. The long days of forced inactivity had been wearing on him and he needed to be out and doing something.
Making his way to Buffy’s house, he noticed a lovely, fresh bouquet of yellow roses on a nearby grave, and snagged them for her as a kind of *thank you* gift.
He entered through the kitchen door, calling out her name. He was met with silence, but her scent told him she was there. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he dropped the flowers and tore upstairs. Nothing. All three bedrooms were uninhabited. He raced down the stairs and then stopped dead when he saw her in the living room. She was sitting on the ottoman, stiff and straight and completely motionless. He had to look closely to catch the shallow rise and fall of her chest to make sure she was still breathing. He slowly moved over to her and sank to one knee to look full in her face.
Her eyes were open, but blank and staring. Spike felt a chill as he looked at her. He caught the almost imperceptible breaths, but needed to touch her to be sure. She looked so . . . dead. He slowly reached out his left hand and cupped her cheek. The skin was soft and warm, and he allowed his hand to drift down to her neck, where he could feel the hot blood pumping, keeping her warm and alive.
Spike was torn by indecision. He needed to get help for her, but he couldn’t leave her here, frozen and alone. He didn’t know what was wrong, and he hoped to hell moving her wouldn’t make it worse, but he needed to do something. Gently gathering her in his arms, he made his way smoothly and silently to the Magic Box.
**********
He kicked open the door and entered, depositing her as gently as possible in the nearest chair. The bubble of silence in which he had existed for the last fifteen minutes was immediately rent by the cacophony of every one talking at once. Spike lit a cigarette with shaking hands and began to pace. When he could no longer stand the chatter, he finally spoke.
“Well, I dunno what’s wrong, do I? Found her there, in the dark, just as she is. Didn’t know what to do for her. Couldn’t leave her there alone, so I brought her here to let you lot sort it out.”
Unerringly seeking the one person most able to do something, he turned to Willow and grasped her hand. “Help her, Red. Please.”
Willow and Tara immediately began gathering ingredients, while Xander and Giles hovered helplessly.
Anya narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Do you think Glory ate her brain?”
Off everyone’s looks of horror, Anya hastened to reassure them. “Or maybe it’s a psychotic break. Or she could just be comatose.”
“Ahn,” Xander forced out between gritted teeth. “Please stop helping.”
Shrugging her shoulders, Anya went back to what she had been doing.
“Okay,” Willow announced. “I think I’ve got everything I need. Tara’s gonna help me set up back in the training room. I’m going to join with Buffy’s mind and hopefully, get her to tell us what’s wrong and what caused this. Once I start the spell, you’ll need to keep everyone out of the back room. NO ONE comes in for anything until we come out, got it?”
Giles protested. “Willow, what you’re planning to do is extraordinarily dangerous and complex.”
“You got a better idea, Rupert?” Willow snarled.
Startled, Giles stared at Willow in consternation.
“Sorry, Giles. I know it’s complicated, but I can do this. We need to help Buffy and the longer we wait, the deeper she’s sinking. If I don’t do this now, she may go so deep, even I won’t be able to reach her.”
Xander looked at Willow in admiration. “Wow, Will! An actual Vulcan Mind-Meld. Can you teach me to do that sometime?”
When the preparations were complete, Spike gently carried Buffy to the back room and put her down where Willow indicated. As he turned to go, he briefly touched Willow’s shoulder. “Take care of her, Red . . . and yourself.”
Shutting the door, he announced to the remaining Scoobies, “Can’t stay here. Was never much for waitin’ around. I’ll go out and make sure nothing comes near the shop to interrupt the witch. Lock the door behind me.”
And then he was gone, silently blending into the night.
**********Swirling colors—blue, red, purple, a flash of gold, beige, brown, gray, black, charcoal, tobacco brown. . .hard! sharp! brittle! Responsibility—always responsibility blame despair death failure can’tcan’tcan’t hopeless sinking pain . . .
Flash! Merrick. vampires. fighting. darkness. isolation. responsibility. Flash! Daddy. gone. move. fighting. vampires. friends? support? responsibility. Flash! Angel. friends. love? fighting. darkness. pain pain pain. responsibility. isolation. pain. fighting. Flash! College. isolation. loneliness. monsters. Riley. friends. support. Faith. fighting. darkness. Adam. responsibility. monsters. Flash! Vampires. fighting. darkness. Dawn? love. responsibility. isolation. pain. death death death loss Dawn pain responsibility despair Glory pain death loss despair.
Willow grasped Buffy’s hands with all the strength she had. She reached down inside herself, into her own soul, and pulled up everything in her; feelings, emotions, strengths, flowing from her through their clasped hands into Buffy. It started as a trickle, became a stream, and then a river. Blues, greens, gold, silver, pure white. Love, friendship, caring, responsibility shared, help, hope, strength, you’re not alone not alone not alone . . . I’m here. We’re here. We love you. We can help. You’re not alone.
Buffy opened her eyes and fell into Willow’s arms, sobbing, letting go . . . but finding herself.
**********
Buffy and Willow emerged from the training room with their arms around each other. . . holding each other up. They collapsed into chairs at the research table, and Buffy put her head down on her folded arms and sobbed. Willow gently stroked her hair.
“Uh, Giles? If you have any brandy available, this would be a good time to share some.”
“Of course.” Giles poured a measure of brandy into each of two glasses and handed them to Willow. He jumped as a loud pounding on the door reverberated through the shop. He looked over to see Spike’s face pressed against the glass, frantically staring at Buffy. Giles went to unlock the door, and was shoved into the counter for his trouble, as Spike rushed past in his hurry to get to Buffy. Standing beside her chair, he froze; then his left hand slowly reached out, hovering an inch above her head, before coming to rest on her hair with infinite gentleness. His face could have been carved from marble. There was no movement, no expression, yet silent tears flowed down his cheeks and throat to be absorbed by his shirt, as he made no move to brush them away. Buffy sobbed, Spike wept, and everyone else in the Magic Box found it difficult to swallow past the lumps in their own throats.
**********
Xander slipped out and returned with donuts and coffee for everyone. He passed the cups around, handing Spike the one marked with an X on the lid. Spike shot Xander a quick look of suspicion, then lifted the lid and smiled his thanks. Spike’s cup held rich, hot cocoa, with miniature marshmallows floating on top, rapidly melting into the rich, chocolate-y goodness.
Assured that everyone had their caffeine and sugar fix, Willow called the meeting to order. Buffy came out of Giles’ bathroom, her eyes still red and puffy, but her face scrubbed clean, and took her chair. She held her coffee in both hands, needing the warmth of the container. Spike noticed and shrugged out of his duster, draping it around her shoulders. She sent him a brief smile in thanks, and then looked at each of her friends, finding warmth and support in their eyes.
Buffy spoke, her voice hoarse and raspy, but strong. “Sometimes life sucks unbelievably, but I’m not alone. I have you guys. And sometimes that’s enough.” She swallowed, painfully, and continued, “My father. . . my Dad . . . passed away.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “He had the surgery, they were able to remove the tumor, and they thought he would recover. Seven hours later, he had an aneurysm in a completely different part of his brain, and he’s gone.” Buffy shuddered and drew Spike’s coat around her. She took a sip of her coffee and several deep breaths, before she could go on.
“He’s going to be b-buried in LA. Mom is staying with old friends there. I can’t go. I can’t even go to my own father’s f-funeral because I can’t chance leading the Hellbitch to my mom! How wrong is that? I lost my father! And I can’t even think about that. I have to think about gods and monsters . . .”
Willow put her arms around Buffy. Buffy briefly rested her head on Willow’s shoulder. Everyone was silent, absorbing Buffy’s pain into themselves.
Buffy stood and began to pace. “Dawn . . . I haven’t mentioned Dawn. Well, there’s good news and bad news about Dawn . . .” She paced faster, Spike’s coat swirling around her with each turn.
“The good news . . . the good news is Dawn’s beyond Glory’s reach at the moment, so we really need to shut that bitch down for good!”
Buffy swirled, and was stopped by Spike’s hands on her shoulders. Spike’s eyes had darkened to midnight blue as they bored into hers. His voice was low and dangerous as he asked, “And the bad news is?”
“The bad news is that Dawn’s out of Glory’s reach because she and Cordy were sucked into another dimension. Angel, Wes and Gunn and somebody named Lorne went after them to bring them back . . .”
Willow interrupted, “We’ll get her back, Buffy, we will. Don’t have another coma, please! Until we do, this is of the good. Dawn’s unattainable, Glory can’t use her to suck the world into hell, we’ll never get a better chance to stop Glory . . . we need suggestions, people! Anyone have any ideas?”
Strangely, the best ideas were Anya’s. She thought of the Dagon sphere and Olaf the Troll’s hammer.
Willow and Tara got to work on a spell to weaken Glory. Xander and Anya left to get the Dagon sphere from his basement, and Buffy and Spike went for weapons.
**********
Entering the house, Buffy started up the stairs, but Spike’s voice made her pause.
“I know you’ll never love me. I know that I’m a monster. But you treat me like a man, and that’s . . .”
Buffy turned and met his clear, blue eyes. The moment seemed to both stretch for hours yet be frozen in time, simultaneously, as unspoken communication flowed between them. Spike felt a glimmer of hope deep in his chest, but knew this wasn’t the time for it. He took a deep breath and turned toward the weapons chest.
“Get your stuff. I’ll be here.”
Buffy climbed two more steps, then stopped and turned back to him.
“You know we’re not all going to make it?”
Spike nodded once. “Always knew I’d go down fighting.”
Buffy’s voice was so low, a human could not have heard. “I don’t want you to die.”
Spike tilted his head to look up at her, a question in his eyes. “I’ll do my best not to, then.”
Buffy nodded decisively. “Good,” she said and continued up the stairs.
**********
Back at the Magic Box, the Scoobies and their allies put the finishing touches on their strategy to battle a god.
“A Slayer with family and friends . . .” Spike mused. “Guess we’ll have to write a new brochure.”
The End
+ All phrases in italics are not mine. They were taken directly from episode scripts and are the property of the various BtVS official writers.
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