Boxing Day Continued

 

 

 

3

 

 

Spat

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s not like he felt her around, like he felt her presence or anything, or heard her or was aware of her at all and Spike was sure...she was keeping her distance...giving him room to breathe, room to think and he would have considered it as life going on as normal if...well...it wasn’t for the other thing.

 

  

 

He wasn’t aware of her...that is the way he could feel her, that softness in the air when she was near him...he didn’t feel any of that; but there was this...well...little spat, this almost on going argument thing with the door to the Ben Franklin stove.

 

 

 

 

When he came home from Oscars the headlights from the Jeep had swept over the back yard and he had noted the door was still closed. Well that was good. Not good for the cats to get used to cozying up in there at night.

 

  

 

He went inside carrying the burlap sack Oscar had given him. It was a sword. It was a sword that had hummed in his hand when he grasped it, hummed and shot through him like it owned his very joint.

 

  

 

It had made him feel solid and sure and strong but...not entirely his own man...and wasn’t sure if he liked the trade off.

 

 

 

 

Oscar had said nothing and shrugged his bony shoulders the way he did when it was ‘mums the word’ and Spike knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of him.

 

  

 

Spike went into his living room and looked around for a moment and then lifted the cushions of the couch and placed the burlap bag on the space beneath all the while muttering.

 

 

 

 

“’Use it when it feels right’...I’ll use it to chop the bleedin’ firewood...that feels right...”

 

  

 

He peeled off his shirt and slacks and crawled into bed just as the sun was rising and fell quickly into a deep sleep.

 

  

 

*

 

 

            

 

Click here: (to dream)

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

He woke feeling like a cold body wrapped in a warm cocoon.

 

 

 

 

It was the feeling of being wooed. Coaxing kitten down from a tree and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Not sure at all. It was like she could work on him, get past his defenses whilst he slept and it felt somehow like...cheating. Not that she was above cheating. Not that she was above a well timed blow job to get him to take out the trash. Is that what that was? A cosmic blow job?

 

 

 

 

He was being deliberately...cruel...and he knew it. He was being petulant and he didn’t care.

 

 

 

 

He...he had wanted to dream of other Buffys, better Buffys in other worlds...but he had wanted to do it in an attempt to get away from this Buffy, his Buffy. Not this strange feeling of including her. Of having her onboard.

 

  

 

He wanted to get away from her, not bring her with him.

 

 

 

 

And he didn’t care if these thoughts hurt her...in the wake of that, that dream...pain seemed to keep him safe. That...that dream, that is how it could have been between them. He knew it; that is what drove him mad. Why show him this now? Almost as if she wanted to go with him so they could experience it together. But what did it matter when he still woke up alone? And this world was still what it was?

 

  

 

And so feeling as he did, with the unanswered questions between them...instead of pulling them together...it only emphasized how she had used him. And the fear of how she might use him still...

 

 

 

 

Like she was using his love for her, for the better Buffys as a tool against him all over again.

 

 

 

 

And it scared him...because he wanted to yield to her...he wanted to believe she loved him...it would always be his weak spot...and he really, really didn’t know which perception, which world to trust. Was the dream a better version, the deeper truth of his Buffy, or did he just espy another world completely and worse...was there a qualitative difference? Before he was sure...better to err on the side of this world’s experience.

 

 

 

 

Maybe seeing these other worlds wasn’t such a good idea after all.

 

  

 

When he was fully awake it was almost the middle of the afternoon. He made some tea...looked out the back window and...damn it if that small door to the stove was open again.

 

 

 

 

 

He pursed his lips together and shook his head...he looked up at the sky--too much sun to wander out without cover. And sure enough, even as he was watching...that calico cat...the one about to pop kittens was leaning up to nose inside the nice black hole. Hmmm...nice

 

  

 

“Damnit Buffy. There’s a reason why I keep that closed.”

 

 

 

Nothing no response, no scent of her, no impression just the sweet country air coming through the open window.

 

  

 

It was a warm spring for Saskatchewan. Humans must be loving it.

 

  

 

He looked at the clock...his thoughts wandered from one to another as he sorted out the day...well he could still get some work, some writing done before dusk...and maybe he should just get rid of the stove...but no...didn’t want to burn trash in the open air...he’d go shut it again. Wasn’t going to let her get the best of this argument.

 

  

 

And so it went. And somehow this felt better, almost good, well definitely familiar...the common ground of a battle of wills and it felt a little like home and helped eased the dream...helped place it in a context he could deal with. A way to love her that he understood how to do.

 

  

 

And so, like old marrieds who talked to each other through the eloquent language of slamming the door or banging the pot in the kitchen and were more than a little pissed off at each and not afraid to let the other know it.

 

  

 

Spike and Spirit Buffy played close the door open the door close the door open the door close the door open the door drink some blood close the door open the door close the door go to sleep (SPIKE!)

 

 

 

 

Wake up to have BANG BANG BANG BANG against the side of the stove until a certain grumpy vampire jumped startled out of bed:

 

  

 

“What the...” Spike was on his feet, naked and looking for a weapon to tackle the invading forces and it feeling like some strange déjà vu and had to ask the cliché question: Am I awake? before he followed the sound of BANG, BANG, BANG out into the night to see the door slamming emphatically against the stove like a defeated candidate still trying to win the debate after election day.

 

  

 

Once the image registered with him. It stopped. Didn’t even sway on its hinges...just stopped.

 

  

 

Well...there was a good side to this little discussion they were having, the cats wouldn’t dare go near anything so BITCHY!

 

  

 

Spike scratched his head and shrugged.

 

  

 

White skin, an almost ivory, a gleaming naked Greek warrior standing like a new babe on the wet grass under a blue moon near Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Canada, North America, the Earth, just a little white vamp in the Milky Way.

 

 

 

“Fine...whatever...you win...keep it open.”

 

  

 

It felt all too familiar and he knew the ending already, she would win. He turned around and went inside and was not surprised to hear the small door swing shut and click.

 

 

 

 

What? And they were going to spend they rest of his life like this? Not bloody likely. He’d shorten it way before the end and set them both free if it came to that. He would, he’d do it.

 

 

 

 

The phone ringing interrupted his plans for seeing sunshine someday and still sans clothes he padded to the phone in the study and answered it with a growl of irritation.

 

  

 

“Yeah...”

 

  

 

“Spike...”

 

 

 

It was Angel...er Liam... er Lee...which do I call you now?

 

 

 

 

“’ello Peaches.”

 

 

 

 

“Spike.”

 

 

 

 

There was a pause.

 

  

 

“You...you know about Buffy...?”

 

 

 

 

“Yeah. Known for a bit...” and then he said it because it was true. “Sorry Mate...”

 

 

 

 

“Yeah...yeah...” but even now years later Angel could not bring himself to acknowledge Buffy’s relationship with Spike and so he couldn’t offer condolences in return...just couldn’t

 

 

 

 

The pause was telling and Spike kept himself from sighing. Angelus would be Peaches would be Angel would be Lee would be who he was...

 

 

 

 

“Just wondering...ah...got a note here from Dawn--seems she was working on something, a problem I’m...a member of my family is having...and...”

 

  

 

“Spit it out Peaches.”

 

  

 

“Did Buffy send you something? I mean it’s not clear...Dawn sent me this note Buffy had written me...you know before she was--“

 

 

 

 

God stop him I don’t wanna know.

 

  

 

“--don’t wanna know anything about that.”

 

 

 

 

“--killed.”

 

 

 

 

Slice through Spike viscera. So she had been killed and she had written Angel a note, clearing up old business, so she knew something was coming...that meant a fight...

 

 

            

 

“She was killed Spike.”

            

 

 

 

“Please stop Lee...I don’t wanna know...truly...don’t tell me how.”

 

  

 

 

Using his human name had stopped him and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. Obviously things were never put to rights between Spike and Buffy...she had never talked about him over and years or asked after him either and Lee had suspected things were...tight...when Spike hadn’t shown for the funeral and no one mentioned him by name, no not at all until he thought it was the creed of the day and so he had said nothing nor asked either and then...then he had the terrible idea that no one had called him. That no one had informed Spike about Buffy’s death...but. But he knew. Well this wasn’t good.

 

 

 

 

“So she didn’t send you anything...huh? No letter huh? This note she sent me didn’t say she was...exactly...but hinted that I might be hearing from you about this problem...that she owed you something and once she paid you back maybe you could afford to come out to consult on the matter. You know get an opinion from a real living dead guy. Not too many left around.”

 

  

 

 

Well that was a fact. Angel was talking again. Voice with just a bit of a crack in it. Crying?

 

 

            

 

Spike had never ever, ever, seen Angel shed a wee bit of water...not even malicious happy tears over a scene of mindless slaughter. Over one of his artistic ‘masterpieces’ Like ‘Little Blue Girl Sliced to Red.’ That had been a Mona Lisa alright. But no tears happy or sad.

            

 

 

 

Angel crying?

 

  

 

 

 “I...don’t have any idea what she was talking about...”

 

 

 

 

Should he do it? Oh god...Angel was coughing to cover the cracks in his voice.

 

 

 

 

“But...she...she did send me something...a package...”

            

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

“Well...what was in it? Didn’t she include a letter or anything telling you what was going on?”

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s gone, Angel...I never opened it. I destroyed it.”

 

 

 

 

Stunned silence.

 

 

 

 

“What?”

 

 

 

 

It sounded soft and choked out of him.

            

 

 

 

“It couldn’t have been anything important...truly...or else why would she have sent it to me.”

 

 

 

 

Angel thought about that. And then asked.

 

 

 

 

 

“Well what did it look like?”

 

 

 

 

“Box...’bout one foot square...medium weight...from the heft...I dunno, maybe four pounds. Burned easy enough--think it most mostly paper.”

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

“You burned it.”

 

 

 

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

 

 

“You haven’t talked to her...”

 

 

 

 

Well...literally that was correct...he hadn’t talked to her exactly.

 

 

 

 

“No not since...the Hellmouth...”

 

 

 

 

“You haven’t talked in all that time, she is killed, sends you something and...and you don’t think it’s important!”

            

 

 

 

“Well...no...you told me yourself, she never cared for me...never asked after me...why in the world would she send me something important...she’d be a fool to.”

 

 

 

 

“Yes...yes she would...she would be a fool to trust you with anything.”

            

 

 

 

“Well...at least we agree.”

            

 

 

 

“Just want you to know, mate, my son is dying, Connor is dying and Buffy was killed--“

 

 

 

 

“SHUT IT--

 

 

 

 

“--she was killed in a gang hit, too many even for her to handle--retribution, Giles thinks for stealing something...that’s what’s on the grapevine...why or what, no one knows...but I swear to God if I find out she got killed getting something for you...I will rip you to pieces...I will...”

 

 

            

 

Silence. Well there it was. That’s what happened to her. A gangland hit and if Spike and been there at her back the two of them could have held off an army...but he wasn’t there...he was here and now Angel wasn’t the only one who could use the truth to slice a bitty bit of tender flesh. He spoke quietly...wouldn’t need to shout this it had a volume of its own.

            

 

 

 

“Peaches...think about it...if she wanted me involved it would only be to help you. You said as much. I am sorry for you...I am...but she wouldn’t give me squat for shites sake and you know it. She got killed helping you and yours.”

 

 

 

 

Silence.

            

 

 

 

Spike hung up.

            

 

 

 

He walked to the back door and looked out the window at the still closed door of the Ben Franklin stove. Well...it was gone now whatever it was...spell or news or whatever...probably nothing and he was sorry for Angel he was...but why had she brought him into it? It was a mystery now.

 

 

 

 

His throat tightened.

 

 

            

 

And...guess what? He had been right all along.

 

 

 

 

She would never think to send him something for himself, something from her heart to his and was only haunting him now to help her earth Angel somehow.

 

 

            

 

Bullocks. Did he always have to be right?

 

                  

 

 

 

He took Jack Daniels into his confidence and together they discussed the meaning of the word:

 

 

            

 

 

 

BLOTTO.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4

 

 

 

 

 

Kit ‘N Kaboodle

 

 

            

 

            

 

 

 

He didn’t know what was worse, the banging door debate or this...the silent treatment.

 

 

 

 

He woke out of his drunken stupor feeling broken and bruised to a silent world.

 

 

 

 Complete silence.

 

 

            

 

He washed out his mouth and took a hot shower....and tried, tried to wash it, the dream away from him...so clearly, clearly if there were better worlds there...were worse ones as well...he used the hot water to wash it away...it was a dream...just a dream...but...but...it had been so episodic and complete...he knew it was true...these last two dreams had had the ring of truth and this last one...well...if there was a world out there...where that was true...well, what of it?

 

 

 

 

What could he do about it?

 

 

 

 

He rubbed his face, to rub it away, the grief, for Dru this time, grieving her again and for that Spike, too callous, too hard to look at, compared to the present image he had of himself. Taking Buffy that way...even though there had been a sort of communion...still...it had been about what had felt good...what he had wanted and then taking it. He realized, he didn’t quite like that Spike...but only because he understood him all too well.

 

 

 

And...and wasn’t it interesting...that these worlds, in these worlds if it was one degree cooler or warmer for one person...it was that way for the whole world. That is if...he had been more extreme in his impulsive nature...Buffy had certainly been more...carnal. And....none of it had happened, not that way, not in this world...but, it could have...the sexual spark had always been there between he and Buffy...right back from the start and this...this accident of fate was just too damn close...and...and...

 

 

 

 

He turned the tap to cold to try to shock blast his body back to present.

 

 

 

 

He wasn’t there...he was here, he wasn’t that Spike, he wasn’t, he wasn’t...and for the first time in a long time, he was grateful for who he was...what he had achieved. Not that that Spike had behaved ignobly under the circumstances...especially given who he was at that point in time...no...maybe, maybe it was the feeling of being back in that space...feeling so cold in the heart. Souless...and the draw of heat from Buffy warming up the empty. He remembered again...how he had fallen in love with her.

 

 

 

Ah...fuck it...

 

 

 

He decided to bury himself in a story of his own making. He went into the study to go to work.

 

 

 

 

 

Often when he was working on his book, he would feel a connection, some slight tug, a light line to some source...it didn’t tell him what to write exactly...but it was always there like an audience or something and he found he often wrote to that audience to make them laugh or cry but never or at least not very often was he alone when he wrote.

            

 

 

 

A lot of writers called it ‘a muse.’

 

 

 

 

Fair enough.

 

 

 

 

But the whole house was quiet.

 

 

 

Even the muse was silent. And he was writing funny and fast but couldn’t coax them out to watch. And he could still write, sure, but it wasn’t as much fun without an audience. Writers spend so much time alone...that slim connection is important and now no one was talking to him.

 

 

 

 

Fine.

 

 

 

 

Be that way.

 

 

 

 

He never asked her to come on board and now she had everybody on his spiritual team turned against him. Fine.

 

 

 

 

Who needs ‘em?

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

The house was empty, couldn’t find any of the cats to talk to either.

 

 

 

 

*

 

    

 

 

 

Two hours later he finally, finally put the writing away and sat back to think.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

  

 

 

 

Buffy was pregnant. She was going to have a baby out there somewhere, sometime and did time lines matter? Maybe she had already...and he was worried for her. What had happened to her? Had Spike, that other dim witted wanker of a Spike come back for her? No that was no good anyway...that Spike wouldn’t be much help the way he was...where he was then...he needed more time...more experience in order to be in a place to help and not hinder Buffy. Cuz...and here he gulped...that Spike, that Spike would see the baby...as food.

 

 

 

 

He leaned over and put his face in his hands and of all the impossible things began to cry.

 

 

 

 

It started as a crack in the damn this world and then damn it--the dam was breaking and out it came...grief...sorrow, bitterness, futility...and loss

 

 

 

 

He let it flow out of him...cleansing a pathway behind the deluge, the tears cleaning a space to think in.

 

 

 

 

Buffy pregnant...with his child and him a world away...and what wouldn’t he do to help her?

            

 

 

 

Is this what it felt like to be a parent? To have a child need you? But there was nothing he could do for that Buffy...was there? So instead he thought about what it is he could do.

 

 

 

 

And of course these thoughts came back ‘round to Angel and my god is this what the lad was feeling? No.

 

 

No doubt Angel was feeling...more.

 

 

 

 

 

He was sorry for Angel...he was...his child was dying he said. Well...he hadn’t any children....in this world...obviously...but he had a glimmer now of what that might be like and he had heard it was the worst kind of pain for a person.

 

 

 

 

And he believed it. But what could he do now? If Buffy had a plan it was gone...

 

 

 

 

Silence. Silence no door banging open or shut except the one in his mind.

 

 

            

 

Oh for god’s sake.

 

 

 

 

Buffy could be pig headed but always with a purpose...he had thought she was messing with the door because she was pissed at him for burning the box. He had just assumed that it was a petty argument. But she could have conducted any manner of harassment inside the house but instead had kept her attentions exclusively on the stove in the back yard.

 

 

 

 

There was something inside that she wanted out.

 

 

 

 

Now.

 

 

 

 

Did he want to get it?

 

 

            

 

Unfortunately this struggle now involved some very real other people and like it or not Angel was the only family he had in the world and the only one talking to him outside of Canada and...now his son, his child was in danger...and...fuck me.

 

 

 

 

She would do it. She would win again. Because there were still, after a century and a score of years a little list of things William would not do...and that was betray a family member. Even though he had spent these last twelve years alone, really, he was made to be in a family unit...even if it only existed in his mind. Or in another worldly dimension. In honor of that...he would go look.

 

 

 

 

If he made this about helping Angel and not Buffy (of this world, because, yes, now there was a distinction) he could do it.

 

 

 

 

Whatever

 

 

            

 

He felt that. He would recognize that dry humor through time and space and beyond.

 

 

            

 

It was Buffy like a toddler speaking her first word to him, the one Mom and Dad would remember forever.

 

 

 

 

Not the first word; ‘I’m sorry’ was first word...well... ‘I’m’... actually first word...no, that’s a conjunction of I am...’I’ was the first word

 

 

 

 

All this was conveyed in a block of information that left Spike wanting to cry for her presence her real physical body and but was suddenly so grateful too for hearing her so spry...so Buffylike...

 

 

 

 

Death wasn’t the end. It really wasn’t...her body was gone...but she still existed. That wry grace couldn’t be simulated by the best mimic. Besides...it felt like her...

 

 

 

 

His crying deluge had loosened some of his bitterness now...and...and like it or not...the dreams had helped him feel more interconnected to her on several levels now and somehow that made it almost a relief to feel her spirit again. In this world...the dry voice of his Buffy. And what could he do but return the banter in kind?

 

  

 

 

“Can’t talk to you right now pet, have to go out and rummage in some trash--“

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t forget your tarp

 

 

 

 

Oh this was gonna be hell and worse than a nagging wife. Part pain part pleasure.

            

 

 

 

“Please pet really...please leave...”

 

 

 

 

She did. And then he felt the vacuum, the huge nothing of his world without her.

            

 

 

 

And in that empty space he had a revelation.

 

 

            

 

It was the thing you read about sometimes with old marrieds...when one died...the other went soon after...for no reason really...and even if she hadn’t loved him...he had felt married to her. And without her on the planet or with her spirit but without her too--he wouldn’t be long for this world.

 

 

 

 

Well. That settled quite a bit really. Why not go out in a blaze of glory then. He grabbed the thick black tarp he kept on the back porch for emergencies and even before he reached the stove the beginnings of a plan was beginning to formulate in his mind. And he thought of the sword Oscar had given him and he wondered if he had known....well something. Didn’t matter...and as soon as he reached the stove...

 

 

 

 

 

The small calico cat came running out of the woods to greet him there...meowing loud and almost like crying...

 

 

 

 

He stood there with the tarp over his head and looked down at her...

 

 

            

 

“What is it mite?”

 

 

 

 

She meowed and circled the stove and trotted away and then came back unsure where to go or how to be...

 

 

 

 

“Well hang on...first things first...let’s see what Buffy’s been yelling about.”

            

 

 

 

He opened the door and swung it aside, crouched down and made sure the tarp covered his arm as he reached in to search inside.

 

 

 

 

He felt fur...soft little fur...

 

 

 

 

 

Oh for...

 

 

            

 

He rested his fingers lightly on the top and felt heat small but perking body...er bodies...kittens. Newborn kittens. No wonder Missy Elliot has having kaniptichins. Were they still all alive?

 

 

 

 

He very gently pulled, pulled out one and laid it at his foot...Missy was purring loudly now and rubbing her approval against his leg...two...three...four...kittens in the house....great...

 

 

 

 

“Think that’s it? Four sound right to you?” He asked Missy...she was licking and starting to grip one of the kittens by the back of the neck...

 

 

 

 

“Oh no...I’m not pulling them out of the fire for you to take to the forest...so to speak...”

 

 

 

 

He pulled Missy close, kitten still dangling from her mouth and he did a through search of the kiln’s interior he had actually forgotten what had brought him out here until his fingers touched something buried deep in the ash---something hard...something like metal maybe...he pushed in the ash until he felt it again...had to speed this up couldn’t stay out here all day like this...the sun was smoking the other side of the tarp...

            

 

 

 

“Got it”

 

 

 

 

 

It was hard and round and he pulled it out to take a look.

 

 

 

 

It was covered in ash but seemed unharmed...so now, what was the big deal?

 

 

            

 

He spit on it and rubbed the filth away until something shone through and when he saw it he almost fell over onto his ass.

 

 

            

 

The Gem of Amarra.

 

 

            

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

It sat on the kitchen table.

 

 

 

  

Not like it was going to move by itself or anything...but he kept coming back in to check on it. Just in case. He made up a box for the kittens and Missy and all was right with her world now. She was INSIDE the house...inside where it was warm and water and food, food and the man was talking quiet soft noises to her as he stroked the fur and the little ones and all was well and the Gem of Amarra sat on the table the whole time.

 

 

 

 

He hadn’t slipped it on his finger. Not right away...like he had...that other time...no...into his pocket it had gone and like a poor man with a winning lottery ticket to the hugest jackpot in the history of the world...he had to let it sink in bit by bit...

 

 

 

 

He hadn’t called for Buffy. Didn’t want to. Anyway being in touch with your guide wasn’t like hanging on the phone...sometimes you got information sometimes you didn’t, it wasn’t an on or off faucet thing.

 

  

 

 

He cracked open a beer and thought it out.

 

 

 

 

What was it Angel had said she had written to him? That she was repaying a debt to Spike...and maybe he could afford to go see Angel to...advise him? She had sent the gem to him as payment...in advance? (or bribe?) O.K. whatever...don’t go down that road Spike...or you will get so pissed off you’ll back out from helping Angel. So O.K....whatever it was, whatever she had discovered, she had left it obtuse enough so Angel wouldn’t guess...maybe...maybe...so he couldn’t put any real pressure on Spike...but it seemed likely that Buffy had sent Spike the whole story...with the Gem of Amarra as payment for services rendered...

 

 

            

 

Now...what were the services? How could he possibly be of help in this situation? Something she would have been able to figure out.

 

 

(Buffy?)

 

 

 

Nothing. No answer. Well no surprise there. In life or death she would always be about the hard way.

 

 

 

Well at least, she had respected him enough to leave it in his hands...that was something. There had probably a letter in the package explaining all...but now that was gone...and maybe she was going to make him work for it.

 

 

 

 

(Come on...Buffy?)

 

 

            

 

Nothing.

 

 

 

 

She was leaving this up to him. Well...think it through then.

 

 

            

 

Why the Gem of Amarra? The more he thought about it...it seemed like a ridiculously high price for his help. Let’s be honest...even after all this time...if she had asked for him to come...while she was alive at least...he would have...he might have grumbled and complained all the way...but he would have come for nothing...

 

 

 

 

She must have known that much about him.

 

 

 

 

 

So why the gem? He twirled the gem on the smooth surface of the kitchen table and watched it sparkle as it twirled around.

 

 

 

 

What did the gem do?

 

 

 

  

The gem made him impenetrable...unbeatable...well...no not unbeatable...She had proven that...what did the gem do that was specific? He had staked Harmony and her heart had regenerated almost instantly...Buffy had staked him....well...he had let her stake him...so he could show off...show the ring off...and then almost instant regeneration.

 

 

 

Huh.

 

  

He needed to talk to Angel.

 

 

            

 

 

 

 *

 

 

 

 

He hit the speed dial on his phone that would connect him to Angel’s cell...he knew Angel would use the caller ID and waited to see if he would pick up.

 

 

 

 

 

After seven rings and no voice mail...he knew Angel was thinking about it.

 

 

            

 

“What is it Spike?” His voice sounded tired and...old...

 

 

 

 

“What is wrong with your boy?”

            

 

 

 

He heard Lee draw in a breath, a human breath into a human body.

 

 

 

 

“Nobody knows...”

 

 

 

 

“What are the symptoms?”

 

 

            

 

“Fatigue...loss of appetite...can’t seem to keep anything down...has to fight to stay focused...his mind keeps wandering...like...he’s loosing his life force...Spike...

 

 

 

 

And here his voice cracked again and he was just a Father worrying over his son.

 

 

            

 

“But he’s not human...not completely...Darla is his mother...”

 

 

            

 

Spike whistled. Couldn’t help it, it was a shock.

 

 

 

 

“His parents...his birth parents are vampires.”

 

 

            

 

Another shock.

 

 

 

 

“Well you are one in a trillion Angel I gotta tell you.”

 

 

 

 

“Yeah well...not so happy about that right now...we don’t want the doctors looking too closely at his odd genetics there is someone coming in from England...but his heart is failing...the rhythm is so fast, like a bird...he’s fading away...”

 

 

 

 

“Dru.”

 

 

 

 

Pause as Angel thought about it.

 

 

 

 

“No...not like that...besides she was a vampire...”

 

 

 

 

“All the symptoms sound the same to me...”

 

 

 

 

“The blood of the sire? But that would translate to his Father or Mother and Darla is gone and I’m...human”

 

 

 

 

Here it is; here was the thing Buffy had put together. What had she tested at? What was her IQ?

 

 

 

 

“I’m not.”

 

 

            

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

“I appreciate that Spike...especially after what I said...I really do...but I don’t think blood is enough...he needs a heart...his is failing”

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

This was it, the point of no return. Spike looked at the ring sitting quietly on the table and thought about what it had cost and Oscar saying there were no accidents and this was the moment on which a series of events in the world ready to be set in motion trembled...one way led to change...one way back to the prison.

 

 

 

 

Just choices...but whatever he chose, it would still be about him doing it the right way.

 

 

            

 

He wanted out of the box.

 

 

 

 

“Wouldn’t hurt to try would it? What about my blood? Do the ceremony but, on me.”

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

            

 

“I’m next of kin to the sire...my blood...or

 

 

 

Heartsblood

 

 

 

Buffy slipped into the conversation.

 

 

 

“Or my heartsblood might...might help” Spike had to be careful, didn’t want to get Angels hopes up.

 

 

 

 

“Where you getting this?”

 

 

            

 

“Seems something survived Dantes inferno, a little something I’d just as soon not name on a phone bouncing via satellite. A little something.”

 

 

 

 

He started to speak and Spike cut him off.

 

 

 

 

“Seriously Angel, no more over the phone...I’ll be on the first flight I can get.”

 

 

 

 

“Flight?”

 

 

 

 

“Flight.” Spike repeated solidly so that Angel understood.

 

 

 

 

“I...I’m sorry Spike...I don’t know what to say...how to thank you...”

 

 

 

 

 

“There is one thing.”

 

 

 

 

Silence Angel waited.

 

 

            

 

“What gang.”

 

 

 

 

Angel smiled at the steel in Spikes voice, the sound of justice and retribution and something that was beyond him in this human body but glad...yes...his heart beat a double thump of glad to hear the sound of the swinging sword in Spikes voice.

 

 

 

 

“You coming in for a tussle, me boy...” And in slipped a taste of the Irish idiom “You coming in to take out a few of the rounders what did for our Buffy?”

 

 

 

 

“I’m coming in to take them all.”

 

 

 

 

 

Pause.

            

 

 

 

“Good.”

 

 

            

 

Good.

 

 

 

 

“Tell Giles what you know...he should be able to put it together and suss out what’s needed.”

 

 

 

 

“Good. Good”

 

 

 

 

There was nothing more to say...what did you say to the man you hated like family who you loved like family and was coming through in the end when it mattered.

 

 

 

 

“Spike...I...”

 

 

            

 

“First things, first...”

 

 

 

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah...you’ll see me tomorrow...stay off the cell phone and internet if you can.”

 

 

            

 

“Right. Tomorrow then?”

 

 

            

 

“Tomorrow...afternoon...“

 

 

 

 

He could almost hear Angel putting it together and wished he could see his face when the penny dropped.

 

  

 

 

He hung up.

 

 

            

 

Tomorrow. He had a lot to do in the mean time...oh god...what would he do about the cats?

Maybe Oscar would see to them. Damn him. Oscar had known this was coming hadn’t he?

 

 

 

 

Shit. How was he going to get that sword on board a plane?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

He had packed a single bag...didn’t need anything really...but now it was about blending in...

 

 

 

 

He had the glamour going on the sword and it looked like a cane...just a handsome walking stick for a man that hurt himself hiking.

 

 

 

 

Story, image in place, the rest of the book on backup disk under lock and key in the safe and he didn’t know if he would be coming back. He couldn’t feel it out. He hadn’t felt long for this world but now that he was up and about and at something, he felt a renewed surge of energy, of purpose.

            

 

 

 

Oscar would look after the house and cats and had said something cryptic about visa versa...Spike could use his house et all encroutoments whenever and however and Spike had nodded, they had lingered for a moment on the phone going over small details and then it was time to say goodbye. They did.

 

  

            

 

He now patted Germaine a goodbye pat and he called for Jowa but she didn’t come--he left the rear window open a bit so they could get in and out as they pleased and oh what the hell did it matter if they took over the place? He had left some water dripping from the outside spigot into a bucket. Fresh water for them and Oscar would look in.

 

 

 

 

He realized that he was saying goodbye to his family. He looked in on Missy and her kittens and shook his head--if he hadn’t been looking for her kittens in the kiln...would he have dug so deep to find the ‘maybe something’ from Buffy?

 

 

 

 

He marveled again at the strange way one event could lead into another and never unwind an accident or wish away bad luck because it might be trip tied to something wonderful. The world was wild and one never knew.

 

 

 

 

That was the phrase Buffy had used and it popped up now again in his mind in different contexts...but he always thrust it aside. He was doing this for Angel and his son and his family...well twice removed. Not for Buffy.

 

 

 

 

He slipped the ring on his finger and felt no change, no charge, no thrill. But it was the Gem of Amarra, he was sure of it.

 

 

 

 

He left the house, locking the front door behind him as he went and walked out into the morning sunlight.

 

 

 

 

It was a first.

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t until he was on the plane and they were somewhere over Minnesota that he noticed that he had put the ring on the middle finger of his left hand. So disgusted was he to see the ring sit there like a wedding band he almost took it off mid flight which would have been...well...smokey...

 

 

 

 

He felt her presence around him then like a warm blanket.

 

 

            

 

He felt no message just a steady flow of love and support and...pleasure...

 

 

 

 

They were quiet together for a moment and then he thought to her in his mind.

 

 

            

 

(So you’re...happy, pet? It’s good where you are?)

 

 

 

 

I’m right where I want to be and that makes me very happy

 

 

 

 

 

The meaning behind the thing wasn’t lost on Spike and he gave up on the battle between them for the moment and sighed.

 

 

            

 

(I’ve missed you.)

 

 

 

 

I missed you.

 

 

            

 

He had the impression of his left hand being squeezed lightly and then this impressed upon him.

 

 

 

 

Watch your back...trust your instincts

 

 

 

 

Well that was ambiguous and full spectrum serving.

 

 

 

 

He looked out the window at the tops of the clouds shimmering with sunlight. He leaned in to let the sun warm his face and something taunt and held tight inside him, began to uncoil bit by bit.

 

 

 

 

 

He felt Buffy chuckle her joy at his childish indulgence with the sun, the sun...

 

  

 

 

And he said outloud.

 

 

 

 

“Get over yourself...”

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Angel was more than a little nervous and pacing was what it was all about right now. Chicago O’Hare airport was large, nay huge, but he was only interested in the five by seven feet of the entranceway at the top the ramp, the corridor from the plane to the arrival area.

 

 

 

 

True, when Spike said he was going to do something he did...and with a single mindedness that teetered very close to madness. Even when he was a newbie...he had displayed this trait. So Angel was reasonably certain he would be here.

 

 

 

 

 

He hadn’t phoned as to when he was arriving but Angel had done the research and from the rough proximity, flying out of Regina Canada, say, to Chicago, he knew this should be the flight. There wasn’t an afternoon flight to Midway so that was out by default.

 

 

            

 

So he was sure he would be here...it’s just...it was Spike...if he was driven to do something he would do it, but if the circumstance changed he could just as easily flip and be driven from another point of view. The key was Spike did what he wanted to do. Even helping Buffy had been what he had wanted to do.

 

 

            

 

And once he heard the details of what would be asked of him...well, would he still be so willing? There was always the chance that he would change his mind and then where would Connor be?

 

 

            

 

It was the worry of a Parent that never went away...but there is no way Spike could understand that either...only another parent...the experience was so singular...there was no reasonable approximation.

 

 

 

 

Then there was the other thing. As Lee, Angel had...well...put on a few pounds...human metabolism was very different than being a vamp and there had been all the amazing sensations of taste to be explored...he wasn’t very overweight...just a little...padded....and he was going a little gray at the temples. And the first thing family noticed about you were the changes over the years and sure...there was this macho thing still going on between them...and Spike would come in looking like a gladiator and Lee, well, it would like it was a great effort for him to go out and walk the dog.

 

 

            

 

His thoughts were interrupted by the people arriving from the flight from Canada.

 

 

 

 

 

When Angel pegged him...he had to look twice, no, three times to be sure...this was not what he had expected...no, not at all...because if he had changed somewhat, Spike had changed...a lot.

 

 

 

 

First, his hair was dark blonde to almost brown and was long and pulled back into a pony tail at the nape of his neck...it gave him the sleek look Angel had remembered last, but the length was different and some of the hair coming loose at the temples offset his high cheekbones in an almost effeminate way. Oh god...yeah...that’s it--he looked now, as he had in China...during the Boxer Rebellion.

 

 

 

 

But instead of looking like a warrior with hard angles, he was soft, well softer--he wore a dark blue flannel shirt with a dark blue down vest...Canada geer and blue jeans too, complete with a walking stick that he appeared to need to get about. Spike looked like he should be sitting on a mountainside somewhere brewing herbal tea in a tin over a flame. He had turned into a hippie.

 

 

            

 

He certainly didn’t look formidable and the Lee in Angel relaxed...a lot.

 

 

 

 

Spike spotted him right away of course...and brows pulled together in something like puzzled pleasure as he strode to his relation.

 

 

            

 

“Didn’t know you would be meeting me...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Well...I was...anxious...I think it would have killed me to wait by the phone...”

 

 

            

 

Spike nodded at that. Angel said.

 

 

            

 

“You’ve changed.”

 

 

            

 

“So have you.”

 

 

 

 

“You’ve changed more.” Angel emphasized

 

 

            

 

“Ah...addition of heartbeat...blood pumping the whole mortality thing...think I’d win that debate.”

 

 

 

 

Angel considered.

 

 

 

 

“Yeah...I guess you would.”

 

 

 

 

 

They started walking with Angel leading the way and Spike studying him as they went.

            

 

 

 

“No kidding Angel, you look quite bitable.”

 

 

            

 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

 

 

 

 

“’Spose. Humanity suits you.”

            

 

 

 

“Well...now it does...took about three hundred years to get it right.”

 

 

 

 

“Always said you were dim.”

 

 

 

 

“I walked into that one.”

 

 

            

 

“You did at that.”

 

 

 

 

And now they chuckled.

 

 

 

 

 

They were on the long automated walkway so they could turn to each other and talk.

 

 

 

 

“Giles is coming in.”

 

 

 

 

“Fuck.”

 

 

 

 

“Picking up the odd American expression?”

 

 

            

 

“When it suits. What’s he got to do with this...can’t he just phone instructions like other demigods? S’not like I haven’t done a spell before...”

 

 

            

 

Pause.

 

 

            

 

“He wants to watch for posterity...you know how these Watchers are. It’s all about History and what’s new to add to the collection.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike nodded but said nothing, thinking of Giles’s track record and Buffy’s warning.

 

 

 

 

“Don’t trust the guy...he has no faith...he’s been known to push a situation instead of letting it play out. Gotta trust chaos with an objective sometimes. No wonder Buffy stopped listening to him.”

            

 

 

 

Oh god he said it, the ‘B’ word.

 

 

            

 

Angel said nothing but was looking down. Spike thought it best to keep his trap shut and so he said nothing the rest of the way to the parking lot.

 

 

            

 

They were approaching the lot and Angel was pulling out his keys and there was something about the jangle of the sound and the thickness in the air, like a cloud hanging out over the cars on the lot that slowed Spike down to a stop about forty feet from the perimeter. He stood still and Angel stopped, turned around to face Spike, a question in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

Spike let his senses go out in the way Oscar had taught him and sure enough, there was a wall out there. Trouble.

 

 

 

 

Spike’s eyes were getting that pre-combat glow Angel remembered as he looked him in the eye.

 

 

 

 

“What’s all this about then?” Spike asked softly

 

 

 

 

 

Angel considered him. No use. Whatever Spike had been doing these past years in the wild, it hadn’t been sitting on his butt...his fighting skills were honed razor sharp.

 

 

 

 

“I’m sorry Spike...there is something that needs to be done that no one in his right mind would agree to...and I can’t take the chance that you’d back out.”

 

 

 

 

Spike squared off.

 

 

            

 

“Don’t do it Angel...this isn’t necessary...there is a bigger picture and you’re just a smaller part of it right now...

 

 

 

 

“If it’s not necessary than you won’t mind coming in escorted.”

 

 

            

 

“I will not come in under an armed guard...too many things can go wrong...’sides” and here he cocked his head at Angel. “It’s insulting.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Spike there are five slayers out there...”

 

 

 

 

“Won’t be enough.”

 

 

            

 

It was the way he said it that began to scare Angel. Not boasting...matter of fact.

 

 

 

 

“I do not want to hurt a slayer but we will.”

 

 

 

 

Plural? Angel’s gut instinct told him to back everybody off.

 

 

 

 

“O.k. Spike...O.K. I believe you.”

            

 

 

 

“Giles said we should bring him in Lee...we gotta listen to him.”

 

 

            

 

It was Lisle...small, short dark hair but a very intense, serious fighter. Her body moved like water but her eyes were steady, fixed on Spike.

 

 

 

 

 

She had slipped out from under cover when she saw Spike stall. She stood now, resolute, little minny of a girl exuding power...and desperately looking for a fight.

 

 

 

 

“You know what? Spike is right...this is family matter...I...Giles was just supposed to consult with us not take the whole operation over, you can back off on my say so--it’ll be all right.”

 

 

 

 

The other four slayers slowly emerged from where they had strategically placed themselves to jump Spike.

 

 

 

 

Lisle spoke gently to Spike as if she were coaxing an alarmed dog down with a pat on the head.

 

 

 

 

“We weren’t going to hurt you...by the time you woke up it would all be over.”

 

 

            

 

Oh god this was worse.

            

 

 

 

“You planning on drugging me chit? Not bloody likely.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike squared off, arm stretched out bracing his cane to the pavement.

 

 

 

 

I’m with you on this but for goodness sake watch your temper

 

 

 

 

It was Buffy guarding his blind side.

 

 

 

 

Angel watched Spike nod as if listening to someone and if there was a doubt before there wasn’t now...he had been wrong to agree to this...Spike was hooked in to the Powers that Be...or the nearest facsimile.

 

 

 

 

The slayers were moving into circle formation around Spike and Angel stepped in to say:

 

 

 

 

“O.K. show’s over...” but Carly grabbed Angel from behind and held him out of it.

 

 

 

 

The other four got into position

 

 

               

 

As he watched the four encircle him, Spike kept telling himself; ‘whatever you do don’t draw your sword--that thing has a life of its own.’

 

 

 

 

 

It happened fast; slayer fast, vampire faster.

 

 

 

 

Lee couldn’t follow it all with his human eyes but old ways, and masculine instinct helped him to find the puck in the hockey game.

 

 

            

 

And he found himself rooting for...Spike.

 

 

 

 

His sense of energy and tapping into what was wanted was in direct proportion to what was given him...it was...perfect. He gave back to each individual slayer their own individual blow times two. He never gave a blow Lisle could take, for example, to Tammy...each blow had a direct cause and effect message for each individual slayer.

 

 

 

  

Tammy’s red head spun about like a neon blur from a glancing blow to her jaw. She whirled and was on her feet using the pavement to bounce back like a red rubber ball...but Spike had already spun Hoshi, using the momentum of her forward flip to use her as a weapon on the recovering redhead. They both went down. Spike leapt ten feet in the air as Lisle swept at his feet and then came down like a spinning top knocking Marika back thirty feet and sending Lisle careening off exit stage left. The battlefield clear...Carly shot the tranq dart at the vampire who caught it in midair and batted it away like a bug on a hot June night.

 

 

            

 

“Holy shit.” Carly breathed next to Angel.

 

 

 

Yeah...though Angel ‘Holy Shit’ just might be Spike’s new moniker.

 

 

 

And Spike was spreading it around.

 

 

 

Here’s yours, plus mine plus yours back to you. It was a technique designed to allow the combatant to back down when they recognized the master. Tammy got the message and backed down, her shocking red hair...standing up at odd angles that screamed ‘artificial enhancement’ and working like an exclamation point at the end of her sentence with Spike. Hoshi Matsui was next...she was tall for a Japanese woman and this seemed to add to her elegance...she stood as a royal and bowed in the ancient way--she actually bowed to him, backed away and Spike bowed back.

 

 

 

 

Ah...this was about respect for a master. Spike was a Master.

 

 

 

 

Lisle and Marika were fighting in tandem now and so Spike gave back in doubles to the second power. It was getting dangerous. The voice of authority, would they hear it?

 

 

 

 

Carly, still holding Angel fast; was breathing hard and called out.

 

 

 

 

 

“Lisle...Marika, it’s over...he’s been warning us...we haven’t even made a dent.”

 

 

 

 

 

Marika...blonde curls made timid with sweat dripping from her brow, was tiring but wouldn’t leave Lisle to fight by herself...

 

 

 

 

Lisle...with something like tears in her eyes knew it was over...but...to back down...and from a vamp? Spike could sympathize.

 

 

 

 

“No shame in fighting another day, pet.”

 

 

 

 

They locked eyes while she breathed hard....regrouping...until...she nodded and then she and Marika backed away in almost unison.

 

 

 

 

Carly let go of Angel and then she approached Spike.

 

 

 

 

Spike watched her.

 

 

 

 

Carly spoke quickly; “No, no...I saw it all...I get the lesson, but how...how did you learn to fight like that?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Ten years in prison with nothing, bloody nothing else to do. Don’t recommend it.”

 

 

            

 

And the girls nodded.

 

 

            

 

The vibe had changed completely now.

 

 

 

 

Lisle nodded to the others and they walked off and got in their own vehicle.

            

 

 

 

Spike looked at Angel. “Now, you, you wanker, what’s so terrible that was worth all that?”

 

 

 

 

Angel swallowed.

 

 

            

 

“It’s not your blood, or your heartsblood...it’s your heart. Connor needs your heart.”

 

  

 

 

Spike stared at Angel and then cocked his head. “You what?”

 

 

 

 

 

This was Englander for ‘please repeat.’

 

 

            

 

“Connor needs your heart. The actual heart. He needs to ingest the blood and tissue...” Angel’s voice drifted down to the dirt.

 

 

 

 

“So.” Spike said as he worked the problem out in his head.

 

 

 

 

Buffy went and stole the Gem Of Amarra to give to him so...so they could...cut his heart out? But...Hey! Hey! He’d remain un-dented, ‘cause ‘oh well...he could grow another’. Buffy wanted to cut his heart out.

 

 

            

 

A giggle started to cough its way into a laugh and Spike was just, just able to sit on top of it long enough to squeak out:

 

 

 

 

“So...you...you wanna cut me heart out?”

 

 

 

 

Angel completely sober and somber and scared at this bizarre reaction nodded.

 

 

 

 

“Buffy wanted to cut me heart out?”

 

 

 

 

 

He repeated, laughing now, letting the humor of the thing overwhelm him and waving his hand at Angel as if he would fall down laughing any moment at the absurd redundancy of it all.

 

 

 

 

Once is NEVER enough.

 

 

 

 

“Yeah...yeah...” he managed, crying now; oh this was too, too, rich. “Sure...sure...bloody hell, why not make it official...why not do it for real...do it for REAL...yeah...and you were worried I’d say no? Oh for farts sake, yeah, sure, go ahead...”

 

 

                        

 

And here he stuttered on the humor of the thing.

 

  

 

 

“Cccut me heart out for Buffy...sure go ahead...”

 

 

 

 

Angel relaxed somewhat and...yes...yes...he could see the humor in a sort of a sick English way and felt the temptation to smile too...

 

 

            

 

“Sure...sure cut me heart out...”

 

 

 

Spike went on...repeating the phrase...loving the feel of it coming out of his head and through his mouth. It felt like extracting a poison, releasing a long held toxin to say this and it made him giddy...it really did.

 

 

 

 

And then another round of genuine mindless mirth

 

 

 

 

“Sure...why not? Rip my heart out!”

 

 

            

 

Gales of pure laughter...it was really too, too good...

 

 

            

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

5

 

 

 

 

 

Heartlist

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Look I’m not going to talk to you--how am I going to describe what’s going to happen if you can’t keep a straight face?”

 

 

 

 

The initial hilarity had subsided and now Spike was trying, really trying to keep the mirth down to a twinkle in his eye...but if someone where to use the words, the words that described the operation...he was in danger of having to bang on the table in order to control the stupendous overwhelming feeling of good humor.

 

 

 

 

It was too absurd to do with a straight face. Didn’t know why the others didn’t get the joke. Maybe you had to be there...and now, that thought, that sidebar brought it’s own pleasure was about to trip him off as well...

 

 

 

 

“Spike.”

 

 

            

 

It was Giles speaking.

 

 

 

 

“Not that I wouldn’t do this with a certain degree of relish you understand, but you still need to comprehend the situation--there will be great pain, that is, I have since discovered that an anesthetic or even alcohol would most probably pollute the heart tissue and render it ineffective...we would have had to wait for the tranquilizer to wear off...if Carly had been successful that is...now...there is hypnosis however, and I beg you to reconsider that approach...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike crossed his arms and covered his mouth with his hand as he tried to appear serious.

 

 

            

 

“Describe the process again.”

 

 

  

 

Giles pulled the diagrams and papers in front of him and recounted the major points.

 

 

            

 

“We will need to take off the ring first...we have ascertained that the regeneration is too immediate to harvest the heart--

 

 

 

 

“--No, no don’t say it like that...use the other phrase...oh come on, please?”

 

 

 

 

Giles drew a breath and continued.

 

 

 

 

“Maxime, our surgeon...will cut through the muscle tissue, cut the rib cage over the organ and then...

 

 

 

 

 

“--Wait for it--“

 

 

 

 

“--Cut your heart out.”

 

 

 

 

A laugh was begging to break free but got trapped somewhere in Spikes nose and ended in an almost honk.”

 

 

            

 

Unperturbed and so glad to accommodate Giles continued.

 

 

 

 

After removing the organ we will put the Gem of Amarra back of your hand...and regeneration is...expected.

 

 

 

 

“Expected?” Spike asked in a deliberate straight face.

 

 

 

 

“Well this has never been done before. Will an unstaked vampire’s heart survive outside the body and for how long? Will regeneration happen when the heart is still vital? The Gem of Amarra has only corrected staked hearts before. Can you have two hearts simultaneously? Or can you only regenerate a new heart after the original heart is ingested by Connor...”

 

 

 

 

“So I could be lying there with my chest open while the boy gets the bib on?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Or...” And hear Giles cleared his throat. “Or...the heart may not regenerate at all because it was never destroyed by a stake...”

 

 

 

 

“So...would it be safe to then describe me as...well...say...heartless?” Spikes eyes twinkled fairly danced.

 

  

 

 

“Spike that heartless monster...and it would be true...” now he did giggle a bit.

 

 

            

 

Angel had remained silent...knowing Spike needed to do this in his own way but now he spoke up.

 

 

 

 

“Spike...do your really understand the situation?”

 

 

            

 

“Oh I do an’ all...you can rest easy there...it’s just I’ve had my heart ripped out my experts, you, Angel, being expert among them...so do you honestly think I’m a tad concerned about this little passion play? Register’s somewhere between a giggle and a pinprick.”

 

 

 

 

“I’m...I’m not talking about the pain...If...if the gem doesn’t work under those circumstances...we have to talk about it...would you want me to...well...put you out of your misery...” Angel finally got out.

 

 

            

 

Spike looked at Angel and suddenly he was serious which was a relief until he heard what Spike said.

 

 

 

 

“Angel, if the regeneration doesn’t work...you can’t chop my head off...it would dust my heart...even if it was being digested at that point...where ever it was, it will be dust. And whatever good it has done will be...”

 

 

            

 

“Undone.”

 

 

            

 

“Well...yeah...it’s a good bet...”

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

“If this doesn’t work...you’ll have to put me in the ground and let nature fade me down to mud. In which case if that happens...I wouldn’t mind being mainlined on a heroin/morphine cocktail.”

 

 

 

 

Quiet.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ll administer the drip myself.

 

 

            

 

“’Preciate that.”

 

 

 

 

Pause.

 

 

 

 

“When do we do it?” asked Spike

 

  

 

 

“Maxime will be ready in about an hour.”

 

 

 

 

Spike nodded and rose...”Alright then...so I have time for a smoke?”

 

  

 

 

“Or two.” Giles offered.

 

 

            

 

“Precious.” Spike said with a smile and left.

 

 

 

 

Angel and Giles regarded each other and finally Angel said.

 

 

 

 

“What did I tell you? No one on their right mind would agree to it.”

 

 

 

 

And now Giles cleared his throat and tapped his papers into order which seemed to translate to a reasonable facsimile of the universally nonverbal expression of ‘yes, quite.’

 

 

            

 

   

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

Spike was on his second cigarette while watching the sunset go gold, Buffy blonde gold and his heart warmed with the thought of her as always as if on autopilot...when something new occurred to him...something that sobered him up right quick and...damn it if it wasn’t going to take some of the fun out of this.

 

 

 

 

 

He loved Buffy with this heart.

 

 

 

 

 

Was...could love...a vibration be contained in an organ? He heard, one hears stories about organ transplants, well...there was that woman who woke up with a new kidney craving beer and chips and things she hadn’t wanted before. You heard about that kind of thing all the time. Isn’t that why a lot of Orientals stood opposed to transplants? That too much of the soul went with the bits and pieces?

 

 

 

 

 

Oh god...what if his soul was in his heart?

 

 

 

 

 

Where had Lorky touched him? Spike idly touched the space between his breasts, just under his collarbone...here...the soul resides here...not in the heart...but what about Buffy?

 

 

 

 

 

Where was she? He loved her with this heart...would he still love her with a new one?

 

 

 

 

 

And how did he feel about that?

 

 

 

 

 

It should have been a relief...a chance to get out of jail free and clear card...this could be the de-wiring he had been begging for.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh now, see? Was this a lesson of be careful what you asked for?

 

 

 

 

 

Did...did...he want to let go of her...finally?

 

 

 

 

 

The fear and his rolling stomach seemed to suggest...that he did not.

 

 

 

 

 

Angel stepped outside to join him. Spike continued to look at the sunset.

 

 

 

 

 

“They’re ready.”

 

 

 

 

 

Well that’s it then... wait too long and the world will make a decision for you.

 

 

 

 

 

He ground the cigarette under the heel of his boot and followed Angel inside the private clinic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The mood was somber when Spike entered the operating room...it was small but sparkling clean and terribly efficient looking. Full of reflective surfaces and sharp pointy things.

 

 

 

 

 

Ah well...in for penny in for a pound.

 

 

 

 

 

He took off his jacket and shirt...as there was no need for antiseptic or monitoring vital signs little else was required.

 

 

 

 

 

He smiled at the short dark woman with thick black hair cut in a blunt way--as if she was the kind of person who had no time for no nonsense. Spike liked her at once.

 

 

 

 

 

“What a ya think? At least you don’t have to fret over killing a patient...”

 

 

 

 

 

And she almost smiled a bit and he could have kissed her. Finally, finally someone who saw the funny side to this.

 

 

 

 

 

Although, a great deal of the fun had faded with his smokebreak revelation.

 

 

 

 

 

Damn cigarettes and tobacco was sacred wasn’t it? That’s what Oscar said...(in small doses and for prayers you white people take a good thing and do, do and over do...control. control it is all about control.)

 

 

 

 

 

O.K. Oscar...o.k. let’s see if the control you taught me can stand up to my heart being ripped out...again.

 

 

 

 

 

And here he stifled a smile and Angel coughed.

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh come on Peaches...give over...”

 

 

 

 

 

“No. I’m not going to laugh about you getting your heart cut out so get over it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike rolled his eyes but said nothing. He hopped up onto the operating table and he turned to Maxime...give me about five to ten minutes...I‘m gonna put myself under...going deep into mediation...my eyes will be almost closed...you can call me but I can’t respond...poke me with one of your favorite pointy things and there should be no reflex reaction.

 

 

 

 

 

“Should be?” asked Giles. “Transcendental?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Something like that--something a bloke taught me way up north.” and then he lay out on the table while he muttered “let’s see how right he is under the ultimate stress test. Bloody Canuck”

 

 

 

 

 

And without another word Spike lay still and closed his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

He was laying side by side next to the Slayer...his Slayer.

 

 

 

They were looking into each others eyes arms interlocked and legs entwined body to a point, body shape and coloring of an almost perfect symmetry made them look like a heart.

 

 

 

Two sides of one heart.

 

 

 

She lay her cheek next to his, it was warm and sweet and it felt like the greeting before goodbye.

 

 

 

She kissed him and he knew it was true she was going to leave...she was going to let him be...

 

 

 

But all he could feel without her was...alone...wrong...

 

 

 

He pulled her tighter running his hands up along her back, her back, come back...come back

 

 

 

“Spike...I’m hurting you in here...I want to help you, not hurt you more... ”

 

 

 

He looked her in the eyes and asked the terrible thing.

 

 

 

“Do you want to go?”

 

 

 

“What I want doesn’t matter in this...this is your choice now...you have to know this is your choice...with or without what I want...”

 

 

 

“Stay...please...”

 

 

 

It was simple and true. He wanted to love her. He wanted to love her. Maybe he didn’t at first...years ago...maybe the connection was too far removed from anything he could consciously choose. But the pain over the years had been the pain of separation...but this separation would be far worse...they...they had grown together over these past few weeks...their thoughts entwined and...and it would going against who he was in his essential nature. To be mated with his equal. This time he got to choose.

 

 

 

He wanted to love her as he did or deeper. He wanted the comfort of continuity that loving her brought him...would bring...to love her now would be to honor the tiny mite he was in the cosmic eon. Too tiny to be counted but still a part of it all--part of the ‘connect the dot’ and connected to someone you love was the trick. Connect to just one other person and you found yourself to be a link in the cosmic chain.

 

 

 

“Buffy...”

 

 

 

She immediately moved back into his arms and rested her forehead against his.

 

 

 

“I will never leave you.” She vowed and he felt her breathe inside him and he nodded.

 

 

 

You’re not going to throw this back at me are you? She asked smile tug, tugging, baby slap of the way they talked to each other.

 

 

 

“Probably...” and he kissed her lips and it was the fusion of marriage and one heart.

 

 

 

Cool clean floating and rising up holding her hand along the way a final kiss goodbye before mate leaves and goes off whistling to work

 

 

 

Spike opened his eyes.

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

He felt no pain...his hand went to his chest...smooth and unbroken and then heard footsteps come nearer and a smiling face look down at him.

 

 

 

 

 

It was Maxime. And then Giles over her shoulder.

 

 

 

 

 

He couldn’t think of a thing to say...not one single swipe or slap and they said nothing either just stood there smiling...well Maxime was smiling...Giles was smiling in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

And then Maxime quoted:

 

 

 

 

 

“My love is deep, the more I give the more I have for both are infinite...”

 

 

 

 

 

It was Shakespeare of course, slightly paraphrased but damn it, if even rewritten, the bard wasn’t always right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All had gone well, very well indeed. Connor was on the mend...after...ahem eating Spike’s heart out...well...all right...the poor organ had served him and now got a fitting end.

 

 

 

 

 

And he had a new heart. The same of course but new...and...and he felt lighter.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe it was the energy bounceback of a good deed or becoming his own man or claiming his own choices or any and all of the above combined...but...he was stronger...lighter...and it shone in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

He seemed more...solid. Steadier on his feet and Angel recognized it. Something had happened to Spike...something good...and it helped temper some of the guilt he felt because he had no idea how to express his gratitude and so he was glad, no, really, really pleased and relieved if Spike had come away from the experience a happier man. Well...calmer at least.

 

 

 

 

 

He had offered, asked Spike to stay with him and his family. Nina had no problem with Vampires (obviously) and not worried (much) about having Spike near the girls...but Spike had declined.

 

 

 

 

 

And little ashamed to say...Angel had been relieved.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike was staying at a hotel near the airport, same place Giles and the Slayers were staying...coincidence or the hook for the council picking up the tab?

 

 

 

Anyway.

 

 

 

It was clear Spike and Giles had things to talk about and...they were leaving him out of it...and of this he was glad too. Being a family man...changed things...your perspective. Angel wanted justice for Buffy, revenge, whatever...but he didn’t want to bring his family into the line of fire...and from what he had seen...Spike would take care of the gang.

 

 

 

 

 

He would help where he could...but he was no longer on the front line.

 

 

 

 

 

Living life could change things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Giles had a lot to think about. He hadn’t had a drink, not yet. He had wanted to keep his mind clear. Of course Spike would be stopping by soon and he had to think about something.

 

 

 

 

 

This Spike, that is, Spike was of course still Spike, still irritating, still brass...but he...he wasn’t the Spike of his imagination. And...he began to realize this was so...because of the news blackout in regards to all things Spike over the years.

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy had never spoken of him and so they...that is, all her spin off’s and friends had followed suit.

 

 

 

 

 

But this Spike was powerful and if Giles was honest...this Spike was the natural progression, the true evolution from the Spike he knew. The Spike that would defy natural law and seek a soul, the Spike that backed Buffy all those years, stood up for her seemingly bizarre decision making process, the Spike that was the stand up guy at the crisis point on the Hellmouth.

 

 

 

 

 

That Spike was this Spike.

 

 

 

 

 

To be honest. To be honest. When you don’t talk about someone...over the years...is to hold them a prisoner in your mind to a time and place. It keeps an image from being allowed to change.

 

 

 

 

 

That Buffy was the one who spearheaded this approach to dealing with Spike...spoke to an undisclosed motive on her part.

 

 

 

 

 

Psychologically it would suggest that she had wanted to hold him intact in her mind...not allowing for growth or maturation...but, why?

 

 

 

 

 

His instincts guided him to one word and one word only:

 

 

 

 

 

Fear.

 

 

 

 

 

Such a need for control...to control information, to manage a situation in such a way...would seem to suggest a certain amount of fear.

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy had been afraid of Spike.

 

 

 

 

 

Giles sat and poured himself that drink...but didn’t sip. Just let it sit in front of him on the table and watched the amber and ice...at the ice that floated just one tenth about the water line with so, so much undercover.

 

 

 

 

 

And...and he thought about Jenny. He thought about that terrible...gut wrenching fear...when you first began to suspect your happiness was tied and entwined with another person...with how they might feel about you in turn. To love someone was to be changed in your most essential nature. The more love, the more change.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike had loved Buffy...quite a great deal. That was not the debate.

 

 

 

But what of Buffy?

 

 

 

 

 

What would it be like to sit, to stand, to be around the fire of one who loved you that much? To look into their eyes everyday, to see love, that spark of god in someone looking out at you...and not love back...sooner or later...be grateful enough for the gift to respond in kind...

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s face it...if god showed up on your door...even a fraction of god as it existed in love between people...who could say no? Who would want to?

 

 

 

 

 

But to say ‘yes’ to such a thing would be to submit to being permanently changed...you can’t step into a fire and not eventually be transformed by it. Spike would have changed Buffy beyond recognition to her friends and family...to herself perhaps...she would have had to give up entrenched ideas...admitted to...well...if not being wrong...than certainly...something that might have felt like it...

 

 

 

 

 

Now all their gut instincts had informed them of this...even his, especially his, back then...but what if his fear, had been a Fathers fear? Something akin to loosing his daughter completely to another man.

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy had married, had married a good man in Radcliffe, had children...but Giles had never lost her. Spike would have...taken her away. Maybe not from the world...that is, in the material, but from how he knew her, who she was and world of how they knew to be together. She would have grown in a different way.

 

 

 

 

 

And.

 

 

 

 

 

And, given the man he had just met, given the man who had sacrificed himself on the Hellmouth, who had just given up his heart laughing all the while...given the man he had become...wouldn’t union with such a man have transformed Buffy...for the better?

 

 

 

Or had he become the man he was now...because of living sans Buffy?

 

 

 

Dangerous...absolutely...absurd...without question...the almost impossible twist at the end of the tale...yes.

 

 

 

But...don’t amazing things result from terrible risk?

 

   

 

Because if she had turned Spike away and taken the safer road, or perhaps the one her pride would let her take, if she had put Spike high up on a shelf...by so doing...hadn’t she put herself up there as well?

 

 

 

 

 

And she had become stagnant. She had...and she knew it. In those last five years of her life...she was often puzzled by the feeling of nothing changing, of being caught tight, not being able to grow. She had wanted to go back into the field...much to Radcliffe’s dismay. And Giles saw now...that returning to battle had been a forced answer on her part to a complicated question. She chose what she had known...but perhaps had already grown past, because nothing new had come to mind.

 

 

 

 

 

But what if Buffy’s final frontier had been...love? Love and humilty.

 

 

 

 

 

First Slayer had said she was full of love and what if, after all the battles fought and won and in the end the final battleground was her own heart? She loved her family, he was sure of it...but it wasn’t the same thing as ‘being’ love.

 

 

 

 

 

And if Giles were being honest, and this seemed to be the time and place for it...Spike even as he remembered him way back then...newly ensouled, submitting to change, eyes glowing whenever he looked at Buffy...was the best example of living love...he had ever seen.

 

 

 

 

 

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly and had to admit to himself this. Maybe...maybe he had been been well...nor wrong...but employing selective memory, deliberating rewriting history to make sense of the empty space at Buffy’s side.

 

 

 

 

 

The reading of the will had been terrible...outside the grief of the thing...seeing the parts of her life assembled through old friends come home to roost and what did it mean that Spike had been missing? It had felt broken...something akin to a lie. With the great unspoken...unspoken. Dawn had informed him of Spikes decision to stay away...and he had not thought much of it at the time. But once underway...the lack of him...well...such a huge part of her life...just missing...had felt...obscene. Even to him.

 

 

 

 

 

And he had had to admit. The reality of that void had made it clear--Spike had been a large factor in Buffy’s success. In her being alive...and living as well as she had. It had felt like trying to walk around the blank in the picture. And every time he did it...he felt a lie. It was like someone winning an award, and not thanking the parents that bore them. Love them or hate them...if not for them...it would all be nought.

 

 

 

 

 

This was quite simply...the truth.

 

 

 

 

 

What had she been thinking? What had happened in this regard...well...in all regards really...and now with his grief was subsiding somewhat, the truest best aspect of his nature came to the fore. Quite simply, he wanted to understand...and this meant...the facts...and looking at the puzzle from a different point of view.

 

 

 

We learn from other peoples experience...this is quite simply, true. The power of storytelling, the power of myth, prophecy, history...all this was how one generation communicated with another. And he committed himself anew to find her journal. The journal of a Slayer. The words of his daughter. And then he thought this quite suddenly and almost apropos of nonsequitur:

 

 

 

 

 

Poor Buffy.

 

 

 

It can’t be done. You simply can not have your cake and eat it too.

 

 

 

    

 

Thunk.

 

 

 

 

 

There was just one solid thunk on the door to his hotel room and Giles looked through the peep hole and tightened his lip. He opened the door to reveal Spike standing casually...walking stick at his side.

 

 

 

 

 

“All right old man...what gang?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

Two hours into it, Giles broke out more bourbon. Just a couple of stiff ones for both of them.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike tossed it off...Giles hesitated tossed his and then poured more.

 

 

 

 

 

Finally, Giles spoke.

 

 

 

 

 

“Lisle...Tammy, Marika, Hoshi, Carly...they all want to go with you. Back you up.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike thought about it.

 

 

 

 

 

“Hoshi...and Carly...maybe...maybe Tammy...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Lisle is the best fighter...”

 

 

 

 

 

“No respect. I had to knock her seven times and she still pretended not to hear it. If anybody goes with me...well, I need slayers who understand how the world works...that it’s o.k. to run. This isn’t a suicide mission...I don’t want anyone walking in with that attitude. No more dead Slayers thank you very much.”

 

 

 

 

 

“There are casualty’s in war.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Of course...from fighting well. But the ends do not justify the means, Rupert...a concept you seem to have a great deal of trouble with...but I do not.”

 

 

 

 

 

He let that sink in...as punishment of a sort...but that was as far as he felt like lashing the man. Because in part, he had admire him...well...somewhat--acknowledge his ability to make tough calls. Wrong calls...sometimes, but he certainly had the balls to make them. Being a leader was hard work and not for the faint of heart or for those who would faint at the puzzle of a paradox. And dealing with vamps, working alongside them and killing them at the same time...had its own jumble logic to scramble the brain.

 

 

 

 

 

He went on instead. Just move on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“If I don’t think I can win...I’ll find another day another way...see...you always thought me impulsive...when it was really more like...improvisation.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Like Buffy.”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah, we worked well together.”

 

 

 

 

 

Nudge

 

 

 

 

 

He rolled his eyes upwards and thought to her.

 

 

 

 

 

(Sorry luv, still do.)

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike looked down at the words Giles had scrawled on the piece of paper in front of him. Words so volatile they couldn’t be spoken aloud.

 

 

 

 

 

“Who else knows?” Spike eventually asked.

 

 

 

 

 

“No one.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Buffy knew...”

 

 

 

 

 

“She discovered it accidentally when searching for the...ring. (Spike noticed that Giles didn’t say Gem of Amarra outloud either) She had a tip that it had been...unearthed so to speak...that, along with the research into Connors condition...she made the creative leap as to how to help him. It was luck...pure luck that she intercepted it while en route to the party in question.

 

 

 

 

 

”So the gang what hit her...where they the low life; the middlemen bartering the deal...or the final party. The bloke what bought the...thing...”

 

 

 

 

 

Giles shook his head.

 

 

 

 

 

“I just don’t know. Blood sample...DNA...taken from...the scene of the crime...”

 

 

 

 

 

And here his voice grew stony and Spike and to admire him...he had to...discussing the details of his daughters murder with such clinical detachment spoke of the stiff upper lip in the extremity of the British tradition.

 

 

 

 

 

“All the samples suggest a cross cutting of various demons and humans...”

 

 

 

 

 

“No vamps?”

 

 

 

 

 

“No. Not many left as you know.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Except me...and this one...” Spike tapped the piece of paper in front of him that read.

 

 

 

 

 

The Vice President of the United States.

 

 

 

 

 

Blimey.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

“Have you ever noticed how we never seem to see the bloke? If I were to try to recall his face...or pick his out from similar ones...can’t say as if I could.” Spike observed.

 

 

 

 

 

“Always, filmed indoors...undercover...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Subterranean power...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike fingered the Gem of Amarra on his left hand and thought. Giles could see where he was going and agreed.

 

 

 

 

 

“What he wouldn’t do...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Nothing...there’s nothing he wouldn’t do...Rupert...I’m sure you’ve thought of this but...did they know it was Buffy...who she was?”

 

 

 

 

 

“You are thinking about her family...”

 

 

 

 

 

“And Dawn...all of them...it could be bad.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Everyone has been relocated...but it appears they didn’t know who she was.”

 

 

 

 

 

“They came after her.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Well that isn’t exactly true...she went after them...once she found out...you know...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike lowered his head and counted to ten.

 

 

 

 

 

“It was a set up...but she went in.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike said nothing and shook his head and Giles knew he was asking himself all the assorted questions he himself had asked about Buffy’s strategy or LACK OF.

 

 

 

 

 

“What was she thinking?”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike opened up and asked her

 

 

 

 

 

(What were you thinking?)

 

 

 

 

 

Silence...she was keeping her own council.

 

 

 

 

 

“I don’t know.” Giles breathed sadly.

 

 

 

 

 

“She must have had a reason...but that just confirms my instincts...I’m doing this my way...no kamikaze Slayers”

 

 

 

 

 

“What’s your plan?”

 

    

 

 

 

Spike smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

“He wants me ring? I’m gonna shove it up his--“

 

 

 

 

 

“--Uh nothing more...um...creative?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Give us a minute.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy was quiet. Whether in silent approval of what Spike was doing and had nothing to add or perhaps she was not allowed to interfere...didn’t matter...yet...but she would have to show up soon, he would need her, but for now...perhaps it was just as well.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s not that he was angry with her...it was more like a newlywed disagreement and they were finding a language of how to be with each other. Together but respect personal space as well.

 

 

 

 

 

What had she been thinking?

 

 

 

 

 

(You have to have to pop in sooner or later luv...I’m gonna need some help.)

 

 

 

 

 

No answer except the feeling of his hand pressed lovingly.

 

 

 

 

 

He melted somewhat.

 

 

 

 

 

(All right...you had a reason...I get it...I’ll just stick with the here and now and if your reason can help me sort this out...well...you will have to fess up...)

 

 

 

 

 

He felt her chuckle and something that felt like nice try

 

 

 

 

 

God, he missed her.

 

 

 

 

 

(I mean I know you’re here now...guess I still miss the years in-between.)

 

 

 

 

 

Warm kiss on the side on his head and he sighed.

 

 

 

 

 

He was sitting at the bar of the Hotel and was, waiting, just waiting for ‘tat ta ta da!’ trumpet sound that came with ‘Enter Slayers Craving the Crusts of Battle’...needing so badly to express themselves in their calling they would approach the vamp they tried to best and ask...ask...please...let us come on board the theme park ride called Avenger.

 

 

 

 

 

He had to think about it...make a plan first, to ascertain what it was he needed and then he put himself in plain view in the Hotel Bar...all bars were considered his home turf, to wait for them to show up--not to be disappointed...he watched the five slayers cross the Lobby and then head directly toward where he sat at his table.

 

 

 

 

 

He smiled and nodded to Buffy.

 

 

 

 

 

Here come the girls...which one do you like? First round draft pick goes to the senior Slayer.

 

 

 

 

 

Hmmm

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6

 

 

 

 

 

Fracus

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end and between them, they chose them all. Hoshi, and Carly where Spikes top two because they could follow orders, Lisle and Marika were Buffy’s and then you might as well throw Tammy for...well...her sense of style...

 

 

 

Spike would always be a sucker for the aesthetic of the thing.

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy had impressed on him two things.

 

 

 

 

 

One, they all needed combat experience, and don’t judge Lisle and Mariki too fast...see if they learned...plus...

 

 

 

 

 

When Spike started to object--

 

 

 

 

 

--Plus...he would need them all.

 

   

 

 

 

Fine.

 

 

 

 

 

But no slayers were going to get killed on his watch, if he could help it and so Spike made the call that was reserved for emergencies but the red and blue light was flashing and so fair enough.

 

 

 

 

 

He called Oscar; using the number he had memorized, to find him...in Regina...of all the unseemly overpopulated places for the lad...once over the shock of finding him more than a stones throw from Moose Jaw...Oscar was in...and sure he would gladly open a sidedoor for Spike and the slayers if they needed a quick side step. And maybe they should all come visit anyway--he sounded...good, not lonely, and definitely more optimistic about the future than when last they spoke and Spike murmured something like first things first and Oscar chuckled and they signed off. That done.

 

 

 

 

 

The first idea was a simple one. Dangled bait in a herd of hungry fish. Just enough to send the ripple back up the line...gossip...gossip...and all the glory of what I know and you don’t--would take care of the rest.

 

 

 

 

 

His intuition or Buffy working his intuition found the demon bar in South LA...where she had made her connection and then it was all a self cooking crock pot. He dropped the noodles into the pot in LA and headed for Barstock. Spike choose Barstock. Deserted airplane hanger in a desert town on the edge of Death Valley and why not?

 

 

 

 

 

Isolated enough from any significant large population for a last stand.

 

 

 

 

 

Dusty enough to blend the end in.

 

 

 

 

 

He had made it clear...he had told the truth...and nothing else than standing naked in the desert would do.

 

 

 

 

 

He would give up the Gem of Amarra to no one less the Vice President of The United Sates himself in exchange for every individual, every human or whatnot demon involved in the hit on the blonde slayer at LA port.

 

 

 

 

 

That simple.

 

 

 

 

 

The second idea had to do with the ways of the world and the laws of nature and everything Buffy and Oscar had taught him and the world besides. It had to do with faith. And not a little bit of luck.

 

 

 

 

 

But that was Buffy’s lookout and if anyone could line up the tin soldiers...she could...he had no doubt there.

 

 

 

 

 

“Just line ‘em up luv...I’ll huff and puff them down.”

 

 

 

 

 

He made it easy for them to find him. This wasn’t about subterfuge this was about being absolutely straigtforward.

 

 

 

 

 

If Jackson came in with an army it was off. He’d teleport out of there. He had Oscar watching his butt one way and Giles scrying the area for twenty square miles with a satellite on another.

 

 

 

 

 

If that happened--Jackson would never see or hear about the ring again.

 

 

 

 

 

And Spike the Avenger...would wait for another day. Maybe take them out one by one. Could take years...but he’d do it. He hoped not. Tonight would be better.

 

 

 

 

 

This could be done in one swoop...he wasn’t sure quite how...Buffy had lost to this crown...but then she hadn’t had him. But now...he had her...he had Buffy backing him up...and a constant thumbs up sign from and no flag on play from her, he believed it could be done.

 

 

 

He would avenge a death; he would give back what was given. Restore balance. Whatever. All great fine words for deal the deck back in black until they all saw red. And the blood spent would pay off the red and put the book of life back in order. And this was true.

 

 

 

 

 

The thing was designed for the thing beneath the thing to raise it’s head.

 

 

 

 

 

And whatever Jackson was made of--would come front and center.

 

 

 

 

 

Energetically is was based on the long standing pull the bully boy out of hiding game that he and Oscar had been engaged in for years.

 

 

 

 

 

And what kind threat could he be? Just one lowly vamp wandering lonely as a dust mote.

 

 

 

There would be no army except the one that took Buffy down. The rest would fall to intention.

 

 

 

Spike waited outside on the roof the deserted airplane hanger...Buffy says it will be tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He heard three rapid clicks of a cricket then two spaced out. Tammy. Coming in from the south west. There were no radios...stayed off the air. He didn’t want Jackson to know the slayers were there.

 

 

 

 

 

Two rapid click-click of a hand cricket and that was Marika--north east

 

 

 

 

 

One, two, three, four vehicles from the North.

 

 

 

 

 

Three from the south.

 

 

 

 

 

Quiet all clear.

 

 

 

 

 

Small army but not a large one. Sounded just about right.

 

 

 

 

 

The slayers would stay on point...though tempted to come in and help...it was much more important, and here he had to stress how very important to was indeed to watch the perimeter.

 

 

 

 

 

To see if there were reinforcements sent in after the fact.

 

 

 

 

 

They absolutely could not give up their posts in spite of whatever they heard going down in the hanger.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike stayed on the roof and moved so he would be in position to listen to what was going on inside and outside the building.

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson was posting guards outside the building. Fair enough.

 

 

 

 

 

One group coming into the hanger at one end.

 

 

 

 

 

He heard the other break through a window and knew they were spreading out through the rear, to conceal themselves at the back of the building. Not many boxes, though...no where to hide...for long that is.

 

 

 

 

 

And now there were several someones on the roof.

 

 

 

 

 

Well, well, well guess you didn’t get to be VP for nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

As one figure slipped by him in the dark he stood up dark and dark as a death sentence behind it, Spike was as a shadow, a forecast of dust--Spike broke, and then ripped it’s head off with out a sound. A Turok Han. Ah, memories. Well at least he was experienced in how to best dispatch them. These boyos want to play rough do they?

 

 

 

 

 

The other on the roof...sensed something wrong in that bee hive mentality they possessed and growled low... Spike raised his walking stickcumsword and sliced the second beasts head off. Bullocks. How many of these were around?

 

 

 

 

 

Didn’t matter.

 

 

 

 

 

No more on the roof.

 

 

 

 

 

Now he heard something from below.

 

 

 

 

 

“Mr. Vampire. Mr. P for polluted sad ass sack excuse for a Vampire. Come on in. I want this expedited.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike looked through the skyway opening he had rigged...one of three actually.

 

and was about to descend...

 

 

 

 

 

Spike look closely...

 

 

 

 

 

He did. He checked the backup singers. He knew there were more in hiding but nothing to do about that...

 

 

 

 

 

At him...look at him...

 

 

 

 

 

Spike shifted to his left to get a better view of the Vice President of the United States.

 

 

 

 

 

(Bugger.)

 

 

 

 

 

Uh huh.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike had had enough experience with magic to spot:

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey glamour PUSSYCAT...little glam pussy...”

 

 

 

 

 

He called out into the hanger.

 

 

 

 

 

And was more than a little pleased to see everyone jump...just a bit.

 

 

 

 

 

“You don’t look real enough to lick a bowl of cream let alone a cunt.”

 

 

 

 

 

Really...

 

 

 

 

 

(Buffy please...I’m trying to focus here...it’s called baiting in the best boy way)

 

 

 

 

 

Humph

 

 

 

 

 

Spike leapt to the other side of the roof and spoke through the other window.

 

 

 

 

 

“Turoks are rendered in twain...if that vamp what wants my ring is here, he best step up or I’m out...up to you...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike could sense another vamp nearby and a part of him felt...’family’...he felt that ancient connection tugging at his demon door...something he had not felt in almost four years.

 

 

 

 

 

“Come out brother.” He called I’ll give you to ten. “Same as any prize fight for your prize.”

 

 

 

 

 

Almost immediately a small figure dropped his cloak and stepped into the center of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike could feel the power and charisma from the figure radiate through the space and he caught himself from whistling.

 

 

 

 

 

Well that’s more like it.

 

 

 

 

 

Any last words Slayer?

 

 

 

 

 

I love you.

 

 

 

 

 

A bit shocked, but then: (damn strange time and place, luv--what is it with you and last minute proclamations before I do something suicidal?)

 

 

 

 

 

Habit?

 

 

 

 

 

But then he felt a warm kiss on the side of his head as she pressed herself into him.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m with you

 

 

 

 

 

(Wouldn’t want it any other way)

 

 

 

 

 

And with that Spike dropped from his perch and fell, fell almost flying and landed gently on the cement floor...about thirty paces from the man in question.

 

 

 

 

 

The short figure seemed tall now...glamour gone the man who may or not have been the Vice president of the United States took a couple steps toward Spike and squared off. He eyed the other vampire up and down and then said:

 

 

 

 

 

“Well...you don’t look like much.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Gave up the paint and plaster long ago.” Spike eyed the dark blue power suit, the tall figure...grey temples and a visage that could have been any age really.

 

 

 

 

 

“See you’re heavy into drag though.” And he winked and said sly and a little suggestive:

 

 

 

 

 

“Look’s like you might make do with some sun, mate...put the rose in the bloomers, so to speak...”

 

 

 

 

 

The other vamp just chuckled.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m Theo Jackson. And yes...I wouldn’t mind a weekend in Bermuda...as you can imagine. And discussion of various sundry assortment of umbrella drinks aside...lets get to it. So...it’s real?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh aye...real and really here...just want the hootenanny that saw to a certain slayer and we’re as good as quits.”

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson looked the vampire over...long hair...pony tail...walking cane aside...the unimpressive visual didn’t hide the power of the thing...and the demon soiled with...soul.

 

 

 

 

 

“Soul is it? Soul and Justice and why not? It ‘s the American way.”

 

 

 

 

 

“When in Barstock...stock the bar...that’s the American way...”

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson continued unbaited by sidetracks.

 

 

 

 

 

“Thought you were off the market...turned human or something...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about...I am what I am.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike dropped his arm and a small sharp stake slipped into his palm. Jackson noting this, backed up a step and the Calvary started to move in but before they went one step Spike drove the stake into his own chest...into his new heart...and then pulled it out.

 

 

 

 

 

Astonished...Jackson took a step closer and watched enraptured as the wound healed and the flesh reconstituted itself.

 

 

 

 

 

“Fresh as kept in Tupperware.”

 

 

 

 

 

“I want it.”

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s yours...but this is show and tell...your turn for a tell all.”

 

 

 

 

 

“You don’t look stupid, but I’ll tell you anyway...this little task force I brought with me...they were all on board that night. Seems you have already dispatched the Turok Han but no matter...they were little better than animals anyway. No battle strategy--just ballistic missiles. Didn’t you know I would bring them with me?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh aye...I just wanted to know who I was killing...only the guilty you know...that list include you mate?”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence. Pause as they looked into each others eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

“Not as such...I only ordered the ring...that warlock over there brokered the deal.”

 

 

 

 

 

And Jackson nodded toward the light green skinned man standing off to his right. Spike noted the skin drawn tight over juiceless features. Human...but swung so far to the dark the blood in his body had gone bad...casting his body in that ghastly shade of almost deterioration.

 

 

 

 

 

“Lovely...”

 

 

 

 

 

“And am I to suppose to believe you will kill everyone here, and then just let me walk out of here with the ring?

 

 

 

 

 

“You can walk out with it now.” Spike laid the cane in the crook of his arm and with no ceremony or second thought pulled the ring off his finger and rolled it on the floor to Jackson who snagged it with his foot.

 

 

 

 

 

“How do you imagine you can take on this crew without it?”

 

 

 

 

 

“What fun is a fight if you can’t fall down?”

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson while watching the other vamp; carefully bent down and picked up the ring. He put it on and smiled a feral slip of the lips to kiss Spike bye, bye...

 

 

 

 

 

“You are a fool.”

 

 

 

 

 

“For love...”

 

 

 

 

 

And Spike struck his cane on the cement floor and the spark and clash of sword in hand and electrical charge up his hand to his head and submit? Submit to grace?

 

 

 

 

 

Spike inhaled the perfume of the sword singing in his hand and nodded. Whatever. Who or what would be left of his mind or free will after this...didn’t matter...he was justice, he was the singing sword he was--

 

 

 

 

 

“Excalibur!” Croaked the green man like an accusation. The warlock looked to Theo Jackson and reaffirmed softly.

 

 

 

 

 

“Excalibur.”

 

 

 

 

 

The holy current swept moved and incited the demons and dark humans alike...rather than run from they felt compelled to take it, to wanna break it; break the light into shards, into bitty bits to small to shine.

 

 

 

 

 

“Aren’t you the Artful Dodger with all your stolen bits...and borrowed power...Excalibur...well I won’t mind adding that to my collection too, thank you very much...King of Fools...”

 

 

 

 

 

“--Have been told I’m a royal pain in the arse...huh, might be something to it.” The battelglow was alive and spark crackling Spikes eyes as he swung the sword and it whistle cut the air so pure it sang...

 

 

 

 

 

Might for right...

 

 

 

 

 

“Oscar you sly git...I had no idea...Excalibur huh...well that will be a perk”

 

 

 

 

 

There was a crash as they descended on all sides and a lightening crack and it was Spike and years of being in the desert, years of privation and all for devotion to a Lady. For love chaste and afar and the sword said yes, yes, yes you are one of us and gave itself to him to render back the blows measure for measure.

 

 

 

 

 

It took perhaps...fifty minutes...and Theo Jackson could have fled...should have...but he was fascinated entranced perhaps by the glint and swing and singing. And what need he fear now from this sword protected as he was his with his advanced years and his own skills as a fighter. And the gem of Amarra.

 

 

 

 

 

After his warlock fell. After the torrent of shark like sparks flew at Spike and he had simply held the sword broadsword as a shield and all that was sent was returned two fold and terrible trouble it was indeed for Tom the warlock the once an account, the once a mild man and only curious, only wanted more power in the world and now here it was coming back at him--his dream come true ricocheted back in blades.

 

 

 

 

 

The secret to Spikes strength was simple.

 

 

 

 

 

What goes around comes around.

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson waited for Spike to attack and knew then, that if he did, it would be Spike’s downfall. He waited and Spike did not move, merely stood watching...blood smeared...but not his own...no not his own.

 

 

 

 

 

A standoff they stood...and Jackson decided...whoever this vampire was...whatever he was, the world would not be large enough for both of them...and if he left this unattended...this thing would come back to bite him someday.

 

 

 

 

 

“I wasn’t there when she was killed...didn’t give the order...but Thomas told me all about it...gloried in the details...”

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson studied the thing, the defiled demon before him, saw the jaw clench and knew he had hit his mark. Love? He laughed out loud.

 

 

 

 

 

“Well...that was impressive...I must say I am impressed...what was that forty five minutes tops? It took almost three hours to take her down...no doubt she could have used your help...then”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike’s eyes became steely but he remained steadfast and still. As far as his mission of justice was concerned the man before him was innocent...he could have been lying of course...but Spike knew he wasn’t...he had always had that voice vibration thing...something left from Dru perhaps but he always knew by someone’s voice the thing under the thing. Jackson had told the truth--he had had no part in Buffy’s murder.

 

 

 

 

 

And every lesson of his training, every fiber of the power he tapped was defensive not offensive...it required the evidence of a smoking gun. No preemptive strike. He could not do evil to fight evil.

 

 

 

 

 

He waited.

 

 

 

 

 

“Of course loosing part of her arm and having her breast chopped off had to hurt...and you know how boys can be...one can only imagine how they enjoyed carving her body and in what ways...in the hours she lingered...before they...burned her...alive...that is, in bits at a time...

 

 

 

 

 

Spike was choking...his eyes smeared with tears and blood and his hand clenched on the sword...the cool space of peace was being knocked aside...

 

 

 

 

 

“Did she cry I wonder? I know she was a warrior...but anyone can only take so much and fire is the terrible teacher...cut her hair off though...sold as trophies on the backstreets of the city of Angels...or should I say city of angles...no love lost in some quarters I take it...imagine that long blonde hair wrapped around some demons dick right now as he jacks off...what do I care about loosing these bastards? Killing her in that way...best propaganda I could ever have to keep do gooders in line...advertising her death and the way she died is the gift that just keeps on giving...see what I mean?”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike did.

 

 

 

 

 

Every thought that coupled his to hers came with the footnote of pain and what did this mean? Such a terrible last stand and a dismal death and all her success would be muted and hooked with a stab in the heart and a sucker punch for the beginning of the story not matching the end...

 

 

 

 

 

He was breaking inside...he was seeing red and his poor soul was trying desperately to calm him down...and then she was there holding his hand even as it still held the sword.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not there, I’m here...and he’s here and wasn’t there...

 

 

 

 

 

(‘Ah god, Buffy’...small child whimper, ‘why didn’t you call me...you know I would have come running.’)

 

 

 

 

 

She ignored that, he wasn’t listening and focused on the problem at hand.

 

 

 

 

 

Are the words he is using hurting you? Is he telling that story with deadly intention?

 

 

 

 

 

Spike took this in and struggled to find his center to calm enough to think...

 

 

 

   

 

Stories have power to hurt to kill...the spirit...

 

 

 

 

 

She held the note of the message until she felt Spike understand.

 

 

 

 

 

“You intend to kill me with your words vampire?”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike asked and he was astounded at how even and strong his voice was.

 

 

 

 

 

Small pause.

 

 

 

 

 

“I intend to entertain you...that’s all...it’s just a story...that’s all...just a story...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike looked at Excalibur and saw his reflection in it the blade. He saw his reflection. The blade was about truth. What you really were, about--he saw himself, part man, part woman, part demon, all true.

 

 

 

William/Buffy/Spike began to speak.

 

 

 

 

 

“Everyone’s life is a story...lemme read you the end of yours...”

 

 

 

 

 

“You shall not walk out of here...you become in this, the last minute of your life, what you really are, so filled with shit it comes out your ears and eyes covers your every word until everyone sees you for what you are and hears the monster under the words and names you out loud and in private too...by using truth concealed in sharp words as a knife at me the same will be given back to you...the ring will let you walk in the world but as a trade off the world will see you as you are...and call you by name--by the power entrusted to me to give back what’s given...and hey why not throw in two bits from my mate Excalibur and what you have given me I send back times twenty...inflation...dontcha know...”

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson face paled as he felt...he felt the force of Spikes battle blow of words that he himself had began...

 

 

 

 

 

“There will be no where you can go in the world...no one you can talk to, that won’t see your demon and tell it back to you. No press conference, no TV appearance...no photo...nothing that won’t tell the story of your life back to you, nothing that won’t reveal you as you are...”

 

 

 

 

 

(That sound good to you Slayer?)

 

 

 

 

 

My hero

 

 

 

 

 

(Well...don’t go gummy brained on me...)

 

 

 

 

 

And then he felt something of her, her soul, enter more deeply into him and she joined her hand with his and they took hold the sword and they struck the ground and a lightening bolt cracked and a current ran ‘round the world.

 

 

 

 

 

It was done. Justice. Measure for measure.

 

 

 

 

 

Theodore Jackson startled eyes darted around the room as if seeking confirmation of this sentence from a second source...he got it from his gut reaction. It was true. And for his life, his lifestyle and the power he was used to yielding...the end.

 

 

 

 

 

He turned fiery eyes on Spike.

 

 

 

 

 

“You think this is over. It is never over. Where do you think I come from? Who do you think backs me? I will track everyone you know or have ever known and pull them to bits...”

 

 

 

 

 

As he gathered momentum he saw now what to do...back out, back up, rescind.

 

 

 

 

 

“I deny your curse...this ring is the link, the binding element and take it back...what you say is nothing to me now!”

 

 

 

 

 

And with that he twisted the ring off his too fat finger...desperate now to be rid of the thing and hurled it at Spikes feet...and stormed out of the hanger through the open doors and into...

 

 

 

 

 

The waiting arms of three drooling Slayers.

 

 

 

 

 

They had managed to control themselves well enough to refrain from going in and had drawn lots as to who stayed on point North and South...but the sound of the battle and brawl and screams were just too, too, much for the feral part of their nature.

 

 

 

 

 

(And...and you know Buffy...those slayer type’s just don’t seem to have my moral standards,) Spike sighed to his guide and glory girl.

 

 

 

 

 

Well...he will attack them first...he’ll be compelled to...you’ve be surprised how many stupid vamps just go running right up to a slayer for a death match...

 

 

 

 

 

Spike raised his brow...

 

 

 

 

 

Uh...present company...uh...umm....

 

 

 

   

 

But then their focus was pulled to the fracas just outside the doors. The roar and bang of a battle royal.

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy and Spike stood still, arms entwined inside each other as they listened like parents to the next generation jump into the fray.

 

 

 

 

 

They sat and smoked a cigarette and waited to see who won.

 

 

 

 

 

This one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

7

 

 

 

 

 

Try Again

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Vice President of the United States had disappeared...just poof...and there was no mention in the news.

 

 

 

None.

 

 

 

Spike tracked the news station...Giles...Giles and he were they only ones who knew who he had been...Spike had never given Oscar the details. (Probably didn’t need too) And as far as the Slayers were concerned they dusted the vamp what killed their sister heroine and legend. All was put to rights.

 

 

 

 

 

When there was finally a blurb...almost a full month later--it was just to the effect that Vice President Theodore Jackson was taking a long deserved vacation and there was a very blurry picture of someone, anyone...tall and heavy and damn it if any one could ever recall his face...and so sure, it was a look alike...or a glamour...right?

 

 

 

 

 

There was a masking spell in force and a request in to the guardians of the akashic records to keep the file confidential...information released by approval by the highest authority...but who can say how long the secret would hold...and from whom. The world and the power behind it had its own dharma and sometimes all you could do was ask and hope for the best for everyone involved.

 

 

 

 

 

It looked good. It looked...well, neat and tidy...but still Spike felt a little uneasy. The world had changed...he himself could feel the shift toward something lighter...something maybe almost too light for him someday...and there was a shift in his dreams as well...as if what happened in this world reverberated through time and space and beyond.

 

 

 

It was all to the good...but still...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

(sleeping in beauty)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

Spike awoke with a start...and almost cried out in horrible realization to find himself on a different road...in a different world...and he knew...he knew now, oh god, he knew now...that there had been another way to resolve the crisis...if only we had come together...if only...if...he...he felt it...he knew it...

 

 

 

 

 

And then she was there wrapped around him and calming him, calming him still holding him to her heart...

 

 

 

 

 

Spike...love...it’s not what would have happened...it’s what we made just happen...now...

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy and Spike happy and in love in some other better world...

 

 

 

 

 

We are in love now...

 

 

 

 

 

He sighed and fell back asleep in the cushion of herself.

 

 

 

Pause and he thought about it.

 

 

 

So...Buffy, could we change it? What happens in those other worlds I mean...our neighbors...I felt it, the possibility...like osmosis or something...we...could help change those other ones...can’t we?

 

 

 

 

 

She did not respond and of course he was thinking of the pregnant Buffy...and it nagged at him...bothered him still and maybe it shouldn’t have...respect for individual worlds and all that...but...

 

 

 

 

 

He fell back asleep. But his worry took him in a different direction and...

 

 

 

 

 

He dreamed of monsters and trying to keep her safe...and she never was...something would always happen...and he couldn’t fix it...he would be stuck moving too slow...and she would be ripped from life and he saw it happen...no...why...why can’t I change this?

 

 

 

 

 

He woke in tears and she was still there, still holding him.

 

 

 

 

 

(Why can’t I help you?)

 

 

 

 

 

You have...you are...

 

 

 

 

 

“Buffy please...why didn’t you call me?”

 

 

 

Jackson had been playing him, goading him...but still, parts of what he had said felt true...Spike remembered the Joan of Arc haircut and now he knew why...oh god...why?

 

 

 

 

 

”Why did you go into that fight alone?”

 

 

 

 

 

Pause. Feeling of her stroking his head....kissing his head.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m sorry

 

 

 

 

 

And then.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m here now.

 

 

 

 

 

Well that’s no answer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

8

 

 

 

 

 

Trip Me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When he woke that morning he had that deep lazy sated feeling of having made love with Buffy for hours...slow and deep tissue healing love making.

 

 

 

Huh.

 

 

 

 

 

Did she boink me in my sleep?

 

 

 

 

 

“Figures you’d wait til I was ASLEEP.”

 

 

 

 

 

He didn’t hear it exactly but it felt like: ‘complain, complain’

 

 

 

 

 

But he nodded his head and thought...(thank you).

 

 

 

 

 

No response just a middle summer morning breeze kissing his face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

As the languor faded somewhat, the disquiet...maybe from the bad dream lingered...that...and coupled with a general nagging that something wasn’t right. Something needed tending. Could just be the aftereffects of the dream...or maybe he had the dream as a harbinger...

 

 

 

 

 

No repercussions were in sight. Several months had slipped by but still, Spike was uneasy and would feel much, much better if Dawn would take on a new identity for her family or at least cloak herself better. She was working on the cloak though and all the kids wore protection amulets.

 

 

 

 

 

And Oscar...Spike had returned to Moose Jaw to find Oscar had left the nation of the three tribes and was living wild in the world somewhere...and Spike wasn’t sure how to get in touch with him and outside the cryptic note he had left on his kitchen table for Spike to use his house as he liked...he was left in the waiting position.

 

 

 

 

 

Damn him...Spike had wanted an explanation for the sword and what was he supposed to do with it now? Throw it into the lake at some poor unsuspecting water sprite? Just how do you recycle such a thing? Excalibur stuffed under the cushions of the couch...seemed, well...gauche.

 

 

 

 

 

There was the ring of course back in his possession and happy on his third finger again. And he now actually went into town...into the...Library...during the day to visit the holy of holys for an afternoon in the sun amongst books and fellow worshippers. His heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

Time went by, several months of time and life was falling back into a new rhythm...but it was hard with Oscar gone...and Spike hadn’t felt much contact with Buffy recently...he knew she was there...but she was quiet as if waiting for him to decide something on his own..

 

 

 

 

 

Two months after ‘the night’ and still unsteady in his mind he called Giles.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike had been preparing to leave a message, but, remarkably he was there.

 

 

 

 

 

“Spike.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Oy Giles...I’m feeling...well, uneasy...any word from Dawn? And Angel? And..in your opinion, are they taking enough precautions?”

 

 

 

 

 

Beat of silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“And...uh...Buffy’s children...and her husband...(amazed he hadn’t choked on the word) he know what needs to be done and all?”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“Giles!”

 

 

 

 

 

“It...may be fortuitous that you called...I uh...didn’t know how to...uh...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Giles! Are Buffy’s children...are they safe?”

 

 

 

 

 

“They have been staying with their paternal Grandmother in New England...but Dawn she...she doesn’t know what to do...where to go...”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“Spit it out man...”

 

 

 

 

 

“No...no they are safe...but...and it may be nothing...but Holly was a healthy woman...that is, Mrs. Radcliffe, the children’s grandmother was a healthy woman...the doctors aren’t certain why she is sick...but as it is always wise to be safe in such matters...we are assuming the worst.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Well...where is their Father, where is he in all this?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Spike...oh you don’t know...well there was no reason for you know I suppose...he disappeared three years ago...we all assume Joseph was killed.”

 

 

 

 

 

Shock.

 

 

 

 

 

“No...I didn’t know...” the world felt a little wobbly and strange...

 

 

 

 

 

“No...but...” and here he cleared his throat. “I’m concerned about Dawn...that is Dawn and her Family need a safehouse...to well...hide really until we can we be sure what is happening to Holly is natural...and Buffy’s children need...would you mind terribly if Dawn came to stay with you for a while...”

 

 

 

 

 

Stunned silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“They need protection Spike...there are other Slayers and we can find different accommodations; but you’ve managed to keep yourself under the council’s radar for a decade so I can only assume you are very well cloaked...there are other options...but Dawn would prefer that it be you...I’m surprised you haven’t received a message...”

 

 

 

 

 

Had he? He hadn’t check his machine...wasn’t used to using it really. What was Giles saying? Dawn needed him?

 

 

 

 

 

He looked around the quiet house that wouldn’t be so quiet if he trembled just a little bit more to the left.

 

 

 

But. No one left behind. Don’t leave anyone behind...he knew what that felt like. And then he thought of Oscars house, cloaked as it was and under his care and the decision should have been easy. And it was it was...there was just that ping of...old news. Retread maybe and being used...but Dawn needed him...enough said.

 

 

 

 

 

 “Yeah.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah...they can stay here till I suss out what’s what and there’s a cottage on the property...I...could stay there wilst they have run of the house. And there is a second house if need be...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Spike...that is very kind...Buffy would be so...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike hung up.

 

 

 

 

 

He wasn’t being kind...he was being stupid and used all over again...and...but...especially after he had found out how Buffy had been killed...even if he was being used it was not bloody likely would he let her kin or anyone for that matter near such evil. No matter what.

 

 

 

 

 

He sat down and took a good look at the big picture...waited as he woke up to the fact that this whole thing was set up...even Buffy becoming his guide, the whole thing might be just another version of her getting him to do what she wanted--to be of service to her all over again.

 

 

 

 

 

He felt a tearing then...a hurting and he knew he had hurt her there with that thought on the other side of the fabric of time and space and he was glad for a moment, spiteful and indulged himself with painful thoughts knowing they would hurt her too. The intimacy of their connected minds would be ‘nowt to what she could experience with him over there. Would he always, always be second and third in her experience? And why did he feel the need to be singular? Jealousy? Why did he always feel he was operating on limited information with her...she partnered with him...but kept everything to herself. When you did that...you used people. No more...time for front and center.

 

 

 

 

 

He felt her move around him landing like a kissing cloud...she was trying to calm him down...and he sighed--he would help Dawn; didn’t want innocence to be burned away in the world but he was still pissed about a couple of things and it was time for a showdown of sorts...

 

 

 

He asked simply but with a bite.

 

 

 

(Why are you here? Why don’t you go to him? Your husband. Where he is...why pretend to want to be here with me?)

 

 

 

 

 

Be careful what you say Spike, I took a vow with you...made a promise.

 

 

 

 

 

(I release you from it...is that why you let yourself be killed? So you could be with him?)

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

You’re angry...you’re hurting...remember me and look at it more closely...

 

 

 

 

 

(Fine. Fine. Be enigmatic. But you set it all up and now I’m in it and I agreed; but you don’t have to stay now to watch over my shoulder to make sure I do it right)

 

 

 

 

 

And then he calmed a little and thought to her.

 

 

 

 

 

(You can go if you want...)

 

 

 

 

 

Silence while she read him.

 

 

 

 

 

Are you asking for a divorce?

 

 

 

 

 

Was he?

 

 

 

 

 

Why do you keep sending me away?

 

 

 

  

 

He felt the calm truth of it permeate his anger and touch his heart with a ping of her pain.

 

 

 

 

 

And then suddenly he asked.

 

 

 

 

 

(Why didn’t you call me? Why did you send me away?)

 

 

 

 

 

It tore out of him with such blind need...Buffy had to respond with:

 

 

 

 

 

Do you really want to know?

 

 

 

 

 

And from the position she was in, the loving place she spoke from, he knew it could only be the truth...but he was a warrior of the battlefield and of the heart as well. He could take it.

 

 

 

 

 

He nodded. He did want to know. He felt she had loved him back there at the end in the Hellmouth, and what with these dreams, these other worlds reconfirming their potential...he still couldn’t, after all these years reconcile that knowledge with what had happened after the Hellmouth...

 

 

 

 

 

He nodded and waited.

 

 

 

 

 

Sweet loving cloud descended to hold him...prepare him...and he knew it would be bad and he was being held tight so as to not run screaming.

 

 

 

 

 

The world is wild Spike, what were you thinking? The world is wild and things...in-ordained and unforseen events...people can happen in the time in-between. You let something go in the wild world and you can’t control what happens.

 

 

 

 

 

He nodded as he took this in. She continued, holding his hand.

 

 

 

 

 

Why didn’t YOU call me? You let me go in a wild world Spike and then...life happened

 

 

 

 

 

Quiet

 

 

 

 

 

He asked quietly, almost incredulous.

 

 

 

 

 

(Are you saying that it’s my fault? I made this happen?)

 

 

 

 

 

Why didn’t you call me?

 

 

 

 

 

(You kissed him.)

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“I felt you give me over when you kissed him” he said it outloud as if the force of it was still too big for the inside of his mind.

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

"I’m sorry...”

 

 

 

 

 

And then she was there standing in front of him shining, glowing with her happy sad hazel eyes looking into his, telling him her truth.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

 

 

 

 

Just that. Simple and clean like the apology from a child that needs no explanation or embellishment, no-- ‘I’m sorry...but: (inset disclaimer)

 

 

Just: ‘I’m sorry.’

 

 

 

Just regret from a wiser, better, more humble Buffy.

 

 

            

 

Well, that was the towel in the boxer’s ring...how could Spike keep punching after that?

 

 

 

 

He looked into her eyes...and felt the truth of what she was saying but still...that wasn’t all of it...not the whole picture...he loved her, all of her, the good the bad and the beautiful--he did and does...but they couldn’t be equals or friends even until she came clean with him.

 

 

 

 

“That’s not all of it Buffy. You came after me...asked me to come front and center about what I was feeling...you pulled it out of me and into the open...made me give it voice, and doing that, gives it life...hope...you said you where there with me that night and I...thought, I felt you might love me...and then you turned your back on me...everything else between us belongs to ‘it is what it is’...and I get it...life happens and things can change and I’ve always wanted you to be happy...but feeling you love me like that and then having the rug pulled out--is the moment that has just about driven me mad...”

 

 

 

 

 

And here his eyes turned almost purple with the intensity of this emotional appeal. But his voice stayed quiet, simple, sincere.

 

 

 

 

“Why Buffy?”

 

 

 

 

Her hazel eyes grew wide and rimmed with light.

 

 

 

 

Pause. He could tell she wanted to touch him, to hold him as she told him this, and he felt his insides clutch like the moment before a car wreck.

 

 

 

 

“I did love you...you aren’t crazy...but then, back then, I loved you the way someone starving will love what is placed in front of them. You were all I had in the whole world....and when my world got wider...”

 

 

 

 

He watched her look down as if she was trying to keep to the facts...not explain, just stick to the truth.

 

 

 

 

“When my world got wider and there were more choices...so many other things were happening...and then when that happened, I felt you weren’t ready. And...and I didn’t want to wait.”

 

 

 

 

 

That was it.

 

 

 

 

Simple.

 

 

            

 

True.

 

 

 

 

He stared at her. Kept his eyes wide open to take it all in, his ears still ringing after a clanging bell.

 

 

 

 

He was afraid to look away but when he blinked she was gone.

 

 

 

 

Gone.

 

 

 

 

Pause. He sat down on a kitchen chair and let himself go blank.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He sat in blank for a bit...maybe an hour...and then...slowly, so slowly...so the thoughts wouldn’t hurt each other as they came together...he started to sew it all into something he could deal with.

 

 

 

 

 

The truth. It was the truth. It was her personal truth. He had felt it ring through him.

 

 

 

 

So.

            

 

 

 

He should feel set free now...right? Right?

 

 

             

 

The truth shall set you free.

            

 

 

 

And he waiting to feel the relief the truth should bring.

 

 

 

 

 

But instead.

            

 

 

 

Instead.

 

 

            

 

He felt something harden in his chest and looked inside himself to find a knot...find the source of this tight emotional block...it hurt...he pulled on it, he wanted to loosen it, he did...she had just told him her truth...the truth from back then...and it was the past now, it was gone, and he had heard it and now he should be set free, right?

 

 

 

 

And he wanted to let it go...suddenly just so tired of the whole thing. He wanted to let go...but it was with the force of his mind...not his heart and so when he reached into himself to pluck at the knot, instead of release, he felt...it get small...smaller, hard, harder, and the more he tried to pry it loose the tighter the knot. The harder it hurt.

 

 

 

 

He whacked himself on the chest to dislodge it using the ancient remedy, a body blow. But it wouldn’t move. It was hard even to breathe around it. Well, breathe as an expression.

 

 

            

 

He felt Buffy there...wanting to hold him...to love him down to calm...but that just amplified the pain.

 

 

 

 

 

He wasn’t angry with her...he truly wasn’t. He had asked and she had told him...and he should feel some measure of relief in knowing he hadn’t been mad...she had loved him...he should feel some measure of relief that the sentence served in his prison had a function, indeed as he was today bore witness that it had...that he had needed to grow stronger, and perhaps he hadn’t been ready...he should feel some measure of relief in history...that it happened all the time...stories of lovers supporting beloved through medical school, art school, law school, any kind of school...only to be let go two days after graduation...because, because...the education itself, they very thing, they had worked to hard to help their mate get...had ironically moved them past the ship.

 

  

 

 

He had helped Buffy grow...supported her and she had...she had fed off him, the only food available and...then had found herself grown past him. Needing a more complex diet to stay alive. You may love potatoes, but you can’t live off them forever...o.k....got it...

 

 

 

 

 

She had told him the truth and the pain he was feeling now...well...it...had nothing to do with her...it was more like the side effect of the physics of the thing. He was feeling the pain of the love he still wanted to give her...

 

 

 

 

The unused portion of the fortune.

            

 

 

 

He felt her try to hold his hand...and he shrugged her away...her doing that didn’t help him right now...it didn’t help...

 

 

             

 

It was still there, this cold hard coin of a fortune unspent. And with her gone, would he ever be able to spend it? Had he simply been hurt too badly?

 

 

            

 

He wasn’t angry...he wasn’t...but he hurt...he hurt...and he knew his hurting hurt her too...he could feel an almost tearing in the air around him. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him...maybe she had thought him strong enough to take it...and...he did...he was...he had asked...and she had respected him with the truth.

                                        

 

But it hurt...

 

 

 

 

Spirit Buffy loved him...he could feel it...but it was one thing to love spirit Buffy...and quite another to love a person here, in the third dimension. Perhaps, because it was so hard to do, it cleaned out the clock in an entirely different way.

 

  

 

 

And here it was: the truth hadn’t made him feel better...which meant...nothing might.

 

 

            

 

The truth eased his mind...he could stop working the problem...but not his heart.

 

  

 

 

All these years, thinking the great ‘why’ being answered was the solution...and it wasn’t...per se.

            

 

 

 

What if the solution could only be, the communion of love...the expression of love here, in the third dimension, in this hard hologram?

 

 

 

 

This what he was feeling now...and it wasn’t her fault...and he knew it...it was life...just the cosmic rule book on life and death...and here, him being both those things at the same time...but...he didn’t think he wanted to feel her around right now and...be reminded...

            

 

 

 

He felt her tear a bit as he thought this...and he said softly.

 

 

            

 

“I’m sorry Buffy...I need to be by myself for awhile...”

 

 

                        

 

And then he felt the room grow cool and empty...like something had come in through the back window and cleaned the space out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

The phone was ringing and he would have let it go if not for the maybe coming crisis and so, still a little stunned he went to answer.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah”

 

 

 

 

 

“Hello Spike...this is Penelope Kasinski”

 

 

 

 

 

Pause...silence as he took this in.

 

 

 

 

 

“Your publisher...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh yeah...hello Penny...sorry...was thinking about something else expecting a different call.”

 

 

 

 

 

“No matter...look I’ve been trying to get you for days didn’t want to leave this message on your machine...you are never gonna believe this, but some fan...some fan that simply loves or rather loved your work...your first two books, has named you in her will.”

 

 

 

 

 

The prickle sensation of gooseflesh warning brought his attention for and aft.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah...seems you made quite an impression with your ability to understand...really understand what it means to walk the thin red line trying to do good so close to evil. Anyway she, this woman has named you in her will and has bequeathed you her...”

 

 

 

 

 

Oh god...

 

 

 

 

 

“Her diary. Seems to be years of writing...It’s bolted and locked shut and it seems she only trusts you to tell...not her story as such maybe, but some version of what it’s like from the inside. I think she was a cop...some kinda of police officer...the way she writes the cover letter...anyway my instinct is screaming this could be hot, hot, hot and it’s got your name all over it. Well your pen name that is; Mr. Marcus O’ Really.”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“She didn’t like your pen name too much though...thought it was deliberately mysterious and upstaged the work: that’s a direct quote...but she would have loved to meet you in person...to see what you are really made of...but trusts the writing is a reflection...yaddah, yaddah...so.”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“Spike you there? You want take her last word....take...uh...what’s her name...oh here it is... do you want to take Elizabeth Summers’ last word and make it worthwhile to somebody somewhere?”

 

 

 

 

 

Unbelievable. Ablsoluteunfuckingbelievable.

 

 

 

 

 

What could be said? When god wanted something done...it got done...even if he was plan B, C, and D for done. And hadn’t he just been asking for the map of her mind and had gotten the full house from her and she had won hands down...but no...there was more. More poker. More poke her. Sometimes life just cracked over into funny. It’s why we laugh when someone falls down in a prat fall...it shouldn’t be funny...it looks like it hurt...but it is the unexpected event that makes you laugh.

 

 

 

He held the dry chuckle in long enough to say:

 

 

 

“Yeah send it to me...who knows maybe it will answer a few of life’s questions”

 

 

 

 

 

Penny cackled and guffawed and was already dreaming of a cover, they chatted for a bit more and then she hung up.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike walked to the back door and looked out at the Ben Franklin stove. He closed the door of the house against the night chill and thought.

 

 

 

 

 

“O.K. my old friend...O.K...I’ll listen...”

 

 

 

 

 

And this last was directed less to Buffy than to the great omnipresent map maker the deity designing and remapping the world of our hearts to be the Promised Land made holy only by our willingness...to forgive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next call came from Dawn and she seemed to have trouble catching her breath...

 

 

 

 

 

“So...so its o.k....you don’t mind too much?’

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s fine...but lets make this short and don’t say too much over the phone--no specific key words...I’d drive if I were you...see some of the country along the way...cash only though, NO credit cars not even for gas. Nothing.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Spike...I’m getting scared...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Scared means smart, Bit...there’s a place...better than mine...holy man has been hiding out for decades...iron clad....”

 

 

 

 

 

“Spike?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Make it fast...Bit.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Thanks.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Por Nada...be smart though, Pet...”

 

 

 

 

 

“See you soon.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Good.”

 

 

 

 

 

They hung up without saying goodbye.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

9

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy Bits, Bits of Buffy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They pulled up sometime afternoon; high noon and hello home team. Spike heard the gravel crunch of a vehicle as it pulled in off the dirt road and onto the long driveway leading up through the woods to his house. It was a good 200 yard drive, but he knew when they had arrived and he knew it was them. It had taken almost a week to go cross continent and with Dawn’s two children in tow...that seemed about right. Given stops and such.

 

 

 

 

 

He went to the front door and stood waiting just inside the screen door, watching the now inert SUV, engine clicking, cooling to a rest in the middle of his front yard.

 

 

 

 

 

They didn’t pop out all at once...uh...they didn’t pop out at all. They stayed, poised inside the prison of their mobile tin can as if stunned and were getting used to the fact that it had finally come to a rest. As if, once they got out...their old life would really, truly be over and with the journey done, it would be time to begin again.

 

 

 

That...or it was the safety, the familiarity of prison and freedom was scary and choices were scary...and so why not linger as long as you can by the prison gate...

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn got out first (of course) and Spike’s heart lurched, moved really around in his chest as he walked over to the screendoor to get a better, albeit, still covert look at her.

 

 

 

 

 

She was tall and slim and had her chestnut brown hair pulled back in a long pony. It swished about her like a horses tail as she turned her head looking for him...and then he said it outloud; “Nibblet...”

 

 

 

 

 

She couldn’t have heard him but she looked up and their eyes met through the screen door and he slowly opened it and stepped out onto the porch. He was barefooted, she noted, and somehow this made her start to weep. Don’t know why. She stood transfixed eyes wide, wider, as wide as she could to fit the image of him into her head...and then he stepped out into the sunlight and her hand went to her throat...

 

 

 

 

 

They held each other in their eyes and then in their arms. Love is love is love is love and it doesn’t fade and here you are, real and solid and what I’m feeling is the proof.

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn tucked her head onto Spikes shoulder and relaxed into him, her old friend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

Richard got out next...cracking his back and stretching and turned to open the side doors and helped undo the seat belt of the little girl nearest the door. And then they were all stepping out.

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn pulled away from Spike to introduce her family.

 

 

 

 

 

There were two girls of almost a like height, and their similar build and coloring fairly screamed ‘sisters’. So these were Dawns two children.

 

 

 

 

 

But then a boy got out of the far back, slowly, almost sullenly...maybe he was around 9 or so...Spike wasn’t good at guessing such things.

 

 

 

 

 

And he cocked his head and looked at Dawn in explanation.

 

 

 

 

 

But then he knew...before Dawn said a word he knew, from the way the boy moved, the blonde hair falling slack against his head, the bored listless expression commingled with physical grace and...well...polluted with some unnamed (HIM the other) genetic material...this was Buffy’s son.

 

 

 

 

 

Well, well...Giles didn’t exactly tell him this did he?

 

 

 

 

 

He felt Dawn take his arm and whisper close...

 

 

 

 

 

“Holly died, their grandmother died...we think she was...you know...and don’t be mad, Spike it was my idea...leaving with us was maybe the fastest getaway...and besides...family should stick together...you know?”

 

 

 

 

 

Her bright brown eyes held his and he said nothing, merely nodded. What was he going to say?

 

 

 

 

 

Children of Buffy, little bits of Buffy still alive on the earth be gone! Instead he asked this.

 

 

 

 

 

“Isn’t there another one?”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn’s smile was radiant as she leaned in the passenger seat and unbuckled a little girl, and obviously by the way Dawn was handling her...this was the payoff...the family prize....and if he was disappointed not to see gold locks when Dawn turned with the little girl in her arms....and if it was true that the coloring must have resembled her father, with her light brown hair and olive skin...and if all that may have registered as disappointment...her wide clear green eyes did not.

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn was saying: “Spike, this is Julie...Julie this is Spike...we’re going to be staying with him for a while...”

 

 

 

 

 

Julie looked him right in the eye and Spike felt a bit of a shard trying to work it’s way into his heart...and if that was a crazy cupid doing his bedevilment...he pushed it away...there was no way these kids were going to get to him.

 

 

 

 

 

But Dawn was introducing all round; “And this is Jackie my oldest, and Rebecca, sometimes known as Becky....

 

 

 

 

 

“Becka, Mom...” Becky corrected

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn rolled her eyes, “Yeah well...still working on the rewrite there...and this is my husband, my beloved Richard, one man in a million...”

 

 

 

He was of medium build, only a margin taller than Dawn...and it might have seemed odd in the natural way of things except for the easy flow of softness between them and called out: Mated.

 

 

 

Well, well, well...good for Bit.

 

 

 

 

 

He extended his hand to Spike...who hesitated only for a moment and then took the other man’s in a friendly firm shake.

 

 

 

 

 

“And this here...looking like he wants to drive the car off a cliff is himself, this is Artie...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike had to say it.

 

 

 

 

 

“Artie? Arthur? Buffy named her kid Arthur?”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn punched Spike’s arm and retorted with: “Yes, Spike...remarkably some English names can run around the history of the world and still have hutspa.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike chuckled but Arthur was scowling. He looked at Spike like he wouldn’t walk within ten feet of him and then Spike nodded to the youngster wanting to return the favor. Well, that was fine...he didn’t want to like the brat anyway...this would just make it easier to keep some distance.

 

 

 

 

 

Uh oh...thought Dawn...noting the exchange...this wasn’t good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

10

 

 

 

 

 

Conquest

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He realized what was happening of course, he had been around the cosmic matchmaker long enough to recognize the signs.

 

 

 

 

 

Now maybe Buffy’s hand was in all this...or maybe she was just a cog in the greater wheel...because goodness knows Spike didn’t believe in fate and those things people said...things like ‘oh that disaster happened...so this good thing could happen’--Spike didn’t believe that was true...for him it was more like...you made a decision and that set a stream of events in motion...you make a different decision and presto...different road...but equally as interesting and possibly rewarding depending on what you did with it.

 

 

 

 

 

There was a general overview about how you could fit into it all...which meant certain mutable events in history needed to be set as fixing points in the overall improvisation...but again if you fell down in a mutable event...it went to plan B.

 

 

 

 

 

So now, by introducing Buffy’s children into his life, he felt certain that someone, somewhere was trying to get him to see the value of the other road Buffy had taken...she was leaving him alone for now...and this particular machination didn’t feel like her...it felt more the United Nations trying to reconcile the border of two nations ready to go war by sending in the charm of children.

 

 

 

 

 

Well the charm of one of them at least. The girl...the little girl Julie...with her big green eyes and light brown sugar hair and looked...well...really nothing like Buffy...she had her own nature too and was as cute a tree twig in spring. Little green bud peeking at a new world. What was she, three years old? That would make Buffy just pregnant when her husband was killed/disappeared.

 

 

 

 

 

He had to be dead of course...could never imagine anyone willingly leaving Buffy...but that too, was his singular world view.

 

 

 

 

 

They had stayed with Spike for a few days after they had arrived. They were in the house and he was staying in the small cottage about 50 yards from the house...far enough for privacy...close enough for comfort...leaving space for the family to pull itself together in a new surrounding.

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn, her husband Richard, their two girls Jackie and Rebecca...now that was a pleasant surprise...Dawn and Richard both bright and ebullient and their children shining and intelligent--were so like their parent’s merry dispositions it was like a cosmic celebration of what a family unit might be.

 

 

 

 

 

It was like two bitty bits plus the original and Spike would often catch himself smiling, just smiling as Jackie (seven) and Rebecca (six) chattered on and went about the woods gathering bits of leaves and sticks to made up a play...a fine little bit of theatre to present to the family and all from the interior of a cardboard box.

 

 

 

 

 

It was only day three when the girls decided TV was just TOO boring, and so not to be caught complaining they got a box, cut out a space for their hands and staged a reenactment of their journey from Maine to Saskatchewan Canada.

 

 

 

 

 

Jackie was the instigator, the one who kept the play moving but Rebecca was no slouch and had some winning impersonations of her Mother and Father discussing ‘tinkle’ breaks for small bladders.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike laughed out loud. And when he did he saw Dawn relax...like some part of her had been holding her breathe waiting to see how he really felt about them being here. But his genuine mirth at the tiny puppet twig play and the adventures of Ms. Maple Leaf...no kidding that was what she had named the matriarch of the Leaf family...that Jackie was cunning...anyway Dawn was pleased and proud of her family and so glad Spike recognized the talents of her family members as well.

 

 

 

 

 

The littlest mite...Buffy’s Julie had been edging around the group during the little play...working from Richards lap to Dawns where she studied Spike covertly... and then slipped down from her Auntie Dawnie...abstentiously to obtain a cheese curl...but once in hand instead of returning to the haven of Auntie Dawnie...she edged closer to Spike’s chair...where he sat in the dining room upright...and then she, just as casual as if it was, ‘oh nothing’...she leaned against his right leg and sidled up closer to work her way so she was standing near the crook of his arm.

 

 

 

 

 

All he had to do...was wrap it around her...if he wanted...

 

 

 

 

 

He could smell her clean pure scent and sensed no fear...no, not at all...not of a stranger...or his strangeness...and he was not blind to how children were cautious with him. As they should be. Their inner instincts guiding them to stay away from the monster that should have stayed buried deep in the dark closet.

 

 

 

 

 

But not Julie...she rested her head against his shirt...

 

 

 

 

 

When Dawn saw...she looked at Spike to see his reaction and...well...he was a little stiff and puzzled too...he had no idea what you did with the childthings...

 

 

 

 

 

So Dawn picked Julie up and set the little girl in her lap and whispered...”Don’t bother Spike honey...he’s watching the play...”

 

 

 

 

 

Then Julie pulled herself up to whisper in her Aunties ear. “He smells like Mommy...”

 

 

 

 

 

She whispered it tiny and small and the room was loud, and the only two who heard were Dawn and Vampire hearing.

 

 

 

 

 

‘He smells like Mommy’...well that answered that...Buffy must still be around, just not talking to him or maybe she was giving him some space...or...ah...oh god luv...this must be hard on her to watch this...her children acclimating...was this hard? Or did being over ‘there’ give such a different perspective, that worldly things didn’t matter...but then he remembered that twinge of pain from her...when he had said...that thing and knew that wasn’t true.

 

 

 

 

 

(luv?)

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing. No response.

 

 

 

 

 

Well...he had asked her to leave...maybe that interpreted to ‘leave me alone’

 

 

 

 

 

Now he wasn’t going to cry about it when she did?

 

 

 

 

 

No.

 

 

 

 

 

His thoughts were interrupted by Dawn standing in front of him with Julie straddling her hip. Dawn said simply...brightly...

 

 

 

 

 

“Julie wants to give you a goodnight kiss...she...kisses everybody goodnight and...and she wants to give you a kiss too.”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn voice was bright, her voice was actually overbright and her eyes begged...’please...please Spike let her do this...it has been a good day after a very hard two months...please...’

 

 

 

 

 

“Oy aye...ta, littlest bit...”

 

 

 

 

 

And then all the girls broke into giggles at the funny way he talked, the funny things he said.

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn leaned Julie down and she gave Spike one sweet small peck on his cheek...and he felt something start to break up in that hard knot and he batted down...’no’. He thought...just that: ‘no’.

 

 

 

 

 

The girls were bobbing up and down excitingly...say me! Say my name! Me next!”

 

 

 

 

 

“Well there would be Major Bit” he pointed to a smiling Dawn near happy tears.

 

 

 

 

 

“And that would be ‘Bitty’ the blossoming playwright getting ready to go to bed there Bit”

 

 

 

 

 

Shrieks of giggles.

 

 

 

 

 

“And here’s our Bitty Bit mimicry extraordinaire...” He pointed at Rebecca and she shrieked and went into giggle convulsions--he said the funniest things...

 

 

 

 

 

“And our littlest Bit already half asleep and putting you lot to shame...letting the littlest Bit beat you over the heather to the land of nod before the bigger Bits...”

 

 

 

 

 

Ah too much, too much, Spike was too funny! And Dawn herded them away to the guest bedroom where they were camped out on sleeping bags (with a secret bag of cheese curls tucked inside Rebecca’s bag to eat after everybody goes to sleep...ha ha).

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn rolled her eyes at Spike as she pushed, pulled them to bed...but he could tell she was happy.

 

 

 

 

 

That left Richard in the kitchen doing the dishes...and Artie...still as stone and as uneventful, sitting, still sitting in a chair pushed up against the wall and far away from the group as he could get.

 

 

 

 

 

Given the choice of the two...

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah Richard...you making out a’right?”

 

 

 

 

 

He turned and nodded at Spike and tried not to stare. Well...you know...domesticated Vampire and as compelling as a having a Teradacital in doors as the family budgie...kinda hard not to.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike shrugged at Richard’s jolting reaction to his greeting. Spike smiled and said.

 

 

 

”You’re right mate...don’t ever get used to it.”

 

 

 

And having said it aloud Richard relaxed and smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

“Obvious...am I?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Only in the best manly protect your family kind of way.” Here Spike nodded backwards to Artie indicating ‘small ears’ and said.

 

 

 

 

 

“Step out for a smoke?”

 

 

 

 

 

Richard nodded and took in a deep breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a quick conversation but telling.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike liked this smallish dark man...dark eyes and hair...could pass for French Canadian.

 

 

 

 

 

“Speak French?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Oui...very well...”

 

 

 

 

 

“That’s good...let it be known...use it...let it be how people think of you, a French Canadian relocating. You...realize...this is a permanent move for you?”

 

 

 

 

 

Richard nodded. “My sister is empowered to sell the house.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Is she safe...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Jesus...” Richard shook his head and Spike could see he was afraid...but it was fear for his family. The good kind. Richard voice was hushed and almost sharp.

 

 

 

 

 

“What was Buffy into...what was she doing? She promised Joe years ago she would stay out of it...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike took a drag on a cigarette and considered.

 

 

 

 

 

“Not much I can tell you there, mate...what I know...won’t be repeated...for your own sake...and I cleaned up this end completely...but there will be those who may want to know if the cleaning crew is a threat, see? Best to go undercover completely. Your extended family may be safe...if you cut all ties with them. Well...conventional ties.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Jesus.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Sorry, mate...good news is, where I’m taking you lot is iron clad...completely safe...you can even make phone calls, use the internet...you can be specific...but the person you are taking to cannot. You understand? ‘Cept me here. We’ll set up code words...what...do the bareins know?”

 

 

 

 

 

At this point Dawn popped her head out. Cast a glance over her shoulder and then joined them on the back porch...a cat slipped in by her feet as she did...

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey...does she belong in there?”

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ll get her before I leave...she’s used to having her kittens here...not used to nesting somewhere else.”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn giggled at the thought of Spike and Cats and friends, friends forever and what cosmic ambassador brokered that peace agreement?--Spike shook his head smiling.

 

 

 

 

 

“Get over it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike ground his cigarette out and placed it in his beer can for good measure.

 

Pleasant hiss of flame going out.

 

 

 

 

 

“You always have to mind the trees...you know that right?”

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ll read up...” Dawn said and slipped her arm through Richard’s

 

 

 

 

 

“And there’s four different species of mosquito around these parts, around Moose Jaw...you best spray everyday...and not mind the pesticide...not with that virus around...”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn nodded and Richard looked pensive.

 

 

 

 

 

They were quiet in the night for a moment, just the gentle subterranean sounds generated by lack of light.

 

 

 

 

 

“Dawn tells me...you’re a Doctor?” Spike asked and Richard nodded. “So, you being a Doc can help brainstorm the Niles virus...more than me I expect...”

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ll do the research...” and Spike nodded, good...he would too. He was a good man.

 

 

 

 

 

“Thas’ good...shouldn’t be too hard to find a new job. There’s the three tribes nearby and in town. Oscars place will put you a little closer to civilization.”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“So that’s it? We’re here now?” Dawn asked and Richard standing next to her tightened his arm around his wife in answer.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike nodded. Spoke to Giles, in code of course, this morning...but...your Mam in law...well...they came to the conclusion of natural causes....but only cuz they’re baffled and...Rupert doesn’t like it. Not one bit”

 

 

 

 

 

“Wouldn’t we...we be safer here...nearby, with you...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike looked at Richard who took no umbrage at his wife asking that question...well that was good...the man knew there were different jobs for different men. Very good. They would be all right.

 

 

 

 

 

“Bit...you’ll be safer at Oscars...that place is iron clad--had to be, to house Oscar--he’s fine with it too by the way...saw the whole bloody thing coming probably...but whatever...you’ll be all right...but here’s the thing...” and Spike nodded in toward the house interior.

 

 

 

 

 

“What’s with the lad? He’s a weak link and is holding a dark spot in his head toward you lot...to you all...not good. No, not at all.”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn and Richard exchanged a glance...well that’s good too...they knew...no need to pussy foot around pretending it was o.k.

 

 

 

 

 

“Some one has to have a talk with the lad...bring him around to the straight and narrow...you have to be in this together and he’s planning seven different kinds of bloody revolt.”

 

 

 

 

 

“He’s angry...” Dawn said.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah...got that...but anger...lets things slip...he may try to punish you by talking at the wrong time...the girls...no problem, sharp as unsweetened lemonade...”

 

 

 

 

 

“He’ll come around...give him some time to get used to it.” Dawn took in a breath. “There is only so much we can say at a time...we have to live together...and neither me or Richard are gonna get into a yelling match with him...where would it go? He just has to come around...we...we have to live together...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike nodded...but there was something going on with the lad that was a caution. He looked like Buffy alright...blonde hair and clear skin...but he was tucked so far away inside himself...Spike couldn’t get a grasp at his nature. He was nine years old, old enough to know his own mind and be engaging in the world. Old enough to know better.

 

 

 

 

 

“Watch him.”

 

 

 

 

 

Was all Spike said as he lit another cigarette.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard made some mild excuse to go back in and finish with the tidy up...but maybe he was just giving Spike and Dawn a chance to be alone. To talk about the things they wouldn’t with him around.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike smiled and nodded after Richard.

 

 

 

 

 

“You did good, Bit, he’s rock solid.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Umm...” she looked at him through the screen. “I got very, very lucky...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike nodded...yeah...luck had a lot to do with it.

 

 

 

 

 

“What about you Spike...is...is there someone?” And her voice trailed down and she wondered for a moment if she had said something terrible but Spike just chuckled.

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah Pet...the way I loved your sister was like making something, building something grand...a cathedral maybe one of those huge ones in Europe...you know the kind...and a person can make only one of those...maybe two in a lifetime...and if it gets tore down...the thought of building another...is just...”

 

 

 

 

 

And here he shook his head.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m sorry Spike...really...”

 

 

 

 

 

He shook his head...”Don’t fret over it...the world is moving on pet, it is...can’t you feel it? Pretty soon there will be no place, no place for the likes of me anymore--anyway. I’m just here...” and here Spike smiled as if it was an ‘in joke’

 

 

 

 

 

“--I’m just here to serve until the end of the world, or the end of my world whichever comes first...it’s all right pet, truly...it’s what...I want...”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn nodded but she felt like crying.

 

 

 

 

 

‘What I said is still true...about those other worlds, Spike...there were good ones...that has to mean something doesn’t it?”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike took a drag off his cigarette and looked at her closely.

 

 

 

 

 

“Dawn...about that...uh...maybe I would like to read that journal...do you recall...that is...see, I’ve been having dreams of my own...and if Buffy was in trouble in one world...do you think it’s possible to help her from another?”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn considered that.

 

 

 

 

 

“I mean you being the Key and all...can you actually go there...or open the way...”

 

 

 

 

 

“But Spike now you’re talking about the paradox...if I was to step into another world...it would instantly fracture into another ‘other’ world...just by virtue of me being there. And the ‘other’ world you wanted to affect originally...wouldn’t even be touched. Get it?”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike thought for a moment...”Think so...but I had a feeling...I swear I could feel the nature of what was going on in these others worlds changing, softening...as we...I...changed...here...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Well that makes sense. Sure. Like placing something warm next to something cool...whatever is the most dynamic will win the argument, they are different worlds, but we are still neighbors to each other...and yeah, I agree, I’ve felt that myself...what happens in one back yard and can influence the energy of the other...without directly tampering...sure...what are you thinking Spike...something specific?”

 

 

 

 

 

How much to tell? Well it couldn’t hurt and she may have an idea.

 

 

 

 

 

“Buffy was pregnant in one of them...it was earlier on...in a version before the Monks brought you in...she was still in school...”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn waited... a little shocked but hey o.k., she had seen some majorly weird recombination’s of events so why not and then Spike said--

 

 

 

 

 

“With my child...that is, that Spikes child. Do you remember anything like that?”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn was already shaking her head while she absorbed the shock,

 

 

 

 

 

“No, no...I remember them all...but you know there are gazillions of versions...and I think I saw the ones that I...and Buffy needed to see. Me, because I needed to see that love and effort is worthwhile...with all the examples of love going wrong, falling down around me...seeing the Spike and Buffy’s I did helped to balance me, to help me have some kind of hope about love, so maybe...I would accept Richard when he came along. Some of them I think Buffy needed to see...through me by proxy...cuz she read my journals...because it was something she needed to know...my guess is, that the ones you saw were specific to hit you a certain way.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Well it worked.”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn shrugged. “I’ll look into it and see if I can get a feeling about what else it might mean. All I can say...is that if it’s still bothering you...maybe there is something you can still do about it.”

 

   

 

 

 

Spike nodded and dropped his cigarette into bottle and listened to the fssht of fire going out.

 

 

 

 

 

Problem was...they all still bothered him.

 

   

 

 

 

    

 

    

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The morning the Bennett family was packing the car for their new home...Julie had wandered off in the confusion and Dawn went white when she couldn’t find her in her field of vision...Spike saw Dawn’s face and sniffed the air and said..

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s all right I’ll get her...”

 

 

 

 

 

He had found her in the cottage, by the kittens of course...small furry bodys were a narcotic for young fingers...

 

 

 

 

 

“Hello littlest bit...your Aunties missing you...”

 

 

 

 

 

She had turned her small face up to his and motioned for him to come down to look.

 

 

 

 

 

“Thas the Mamma...” and she pointed at Missy.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike nodded, “And a good Mamma she is...”

 

 

 

 

 

And then he told her the story of the Mom Cat telling him about her kittens stuck in the Ben Franklin stove and well...maybe he embellished Missy’s heroics a bit but why not? All heroic tales get shined up a bit and on behalf of the unsung trials of mothers everywhere nothing could get buffed up big enough to match day to day stress. Watching Dawn with the bariens these past days had taught him that much. But now Julie was nodding her head solemnly as if understanding and wisely agreeing with it all.

 

 

 

 

 

And then suddenly she asked.

 

 

 

 

 

“Will she die?”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike choked and pretended not to understand.

 

 

 

 

 

“Best come to your Auntie now...she’ll be wanting you...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Do the Mamma’s go away?”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike leaned down and looked into her eyes to gauge her ability to understand.

 

 

 

 

 

“Not usually...Mamma’s live long and watch the kittens grow up...sometimes...only sometimes the Mamma goes away...but only to go to heaven to save the best seat for the rest, see? And they spend the time making cookies...and...er popcorn...and saving the best seat for everybody for when they can stop by...that’s how much they love their kids see?”

 

 

 

 

 

Julie was listening and nodded. She knew all about heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

“My Daddy’s in heaven.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike nodded...pulling the little white kitten from the box...

 

 

 

 

 

“No doubt...no doubt...here let me show you how to pet...er...Pet...nice and gentle now...”

 

 

 

 

 

And her little hand patted the soft fur so lightly in mimicry of his action, his heart just about busted.

 

 

 

 

 

“Can little kids have two Daddies...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Sure...sometimes...when the first one...goes away and can’t come back...”

 

 

 

 

 

With the kitten still in between them she wrapped her little arms around his neck and whispered.

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re my Daddy.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spikes heart a little bitty melt-o-way and he very gently held her with his left arm...and kissed the side of her head.

 

 

 

 

 

And it was done.

 

 

 

 

 

          

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

He was carrying her out of the cottage, her arm wrapped around his neck when he saw Arty squared off and staring at him as they walked toward the SUV...Spike looked at the boy...then detoured with Julie still in his arms to where he stood...arms crossed in front of his body in that...ah god...Buffy mannerism. He loved the boy for a moment for that look of righteous anger and that bit of Buffy come back to life...until he spoke.

 

 

 

 

 

“You knew my Mom...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Uh...yeah...long time ago...”

 

 

 

 

 

Art looked at Julie happily residing in Spike’s arms and all Art could think to do was tear this picture down...tear this down and bring back the world he knew.

 

 

 

 

 

“She didn’t love you...she loved my Dad...”

 

 

 

 

 

Well that seemed clear.

 

 

 

 

 

And with the uncanny perception of children he had caught the whiff of the thing beneath the thing.

 

 

 

 

 

But what to say?

 

 

 

 

 

She may not have grasped the meaning of the conversation but she sensed Spike’s disquiet and Julie chose this moment to announce to Spike:

 

 

 

 

 

“I love you...”

 

 

 

 

 

Well this just disgusted Arthur and he stalked off and Spike turned to Julie and said:

 

 

 

 

 

“I love you too hinny...”

 

 

 

 

 

And it was true.

 

 

 

 

 

He kissed the side of her head again and she leaned into him and tucked her face into his neck but he kept his eyes on the now almost running boy.

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah...he might be trouble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11

 

 

 

 

 

Boxing Day is Stupid

 

 

 

 

 

      

 

Months went by, the season changed, past Fall and into early Winter...as if that distinction mattered in Saskatchewan...and he wasn’t alright. He didn’t get better. He didn’t like the country... the woods...nature and no pavement to skateboard on...TV but nothing to watch and for Christ sake get a satellite and as time wore on and the Bennett family settled in to their new lives THAT just irked him more and more. The more comfortable everyone became, the more new routines, the more new friends were made, the more he complained.

 

 

 

 

 

He had been quiet at first...bearing all in stony stoicism, but as the new family unit grew used to each other polite restrictions were eased, and he was letting them know all about it all the time.

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn had admitted to wanting to smack him. On the butt of course...but he was way too old for that anyway...and certainty an old fashioned whuppin’ was out of the question in a Doctors household but that just tells you how far he was pushing everyone.

 

 

 

 

 

This house was stupid, the music on the radio was stupid, and his cousins were stupid girls.

 

 

 

 

 

The school was stupid, all the kids were stupid, the food was stupid, and Boxing Day was stupid, day after Christmas and there were presents at Christmas and having another day was just stupid...like these stupid Canadians were just too stupid to get it right the first time and on and on he went, he was going, determined to tear it the whole world down when Spike came in.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike had told Dawn and Richard and the girls all about Boxing Day the day after the big day, about how this was the day the Churches used to open the collection box and give to the poor and how that evolved into a tradition, setting aside a day to give presents for those who served...people like the postman, and the grocer and nurses and such and they had been delighted...Spike had used the day as an excuse to not be there on Christmas...let this new family have this first Christmas Day together...and then they could all get together on Boxing Day have bowl of punch and invite those that lived in service...

 

 

 

 

 

The symbolism wasn’t lost on Dawn and she had assured him that he was family...not a ‘friend’ and it was no use trying to create some false distance between himself and the girls, especially Julie; surely he knew how the little girl loved him and yes, he better take it seriously, little children’s hearts could break too easily...but Spike had insisted he wasn’t going anywhere and that this would be a great way to break in the new Holiday Day in their new country and Dawn had seen the wisdom of this.

 

 

 

 

 

We are Canadians now.

 

 

 

 

 

So in he came...bag of gifts for all and when Julie came running squealing to throw herself in his arms yelling Unca Spike! Unca Spike!

 

 

 

 

 

Art lost it and went another round of what all was stupid and not muttering either but quite outloud and in your face and outer space too.

 

 

 

 

 

Boxing day was STUPID...these presents were stupid...this family was stupid...

 

 

 

 

 

When he hit:

 

 

 

 

 

“Canucks were stupid’”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike saw red--what had he told him about calling Canadians that? He could call Oscar that...because there was affection in it...but not a comment to make in general...no. He put Julie carefully in Dawn’s arms as he exchanged a look with Richard who nodded.

 

 

 

 

 

On and on he was going...hiding out stupid, and did they think he was stupid? Didn’t they know he knew they were running away? And why did he have to be here? This wasn’t his stupid problem...he wasn’t stupid enough to let this happen...why should he suffer? And he wanted outa here he wanted to go--

 

 

 

 

 

And all this at full lung power and for the world to hear besides.

 

 

 

 

 

“FINE.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike announced and moved so fast no one had seen him grab Art and carry drag him into the bedroom...until they were left staring at the empty space where he had been.

 

 

 

 

 

“Get your kit...you’re going...”

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m not going anywhere with you...”

 

 

 

 

 

“You are you know.” He said it like a death sentence. And then Dawn and Richard appeared in the doorway behind them.

 

 

 

 

 

“Dawn, Dick...this barein, this child is coming with me...would you pack his kit?”

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn started to object but Richard asked: “Where you going?”

 

 

 

 

 

“We’re going to straighten out what’s running crooked...aren’t we then?” and he bore such a look and an almost growl at Art he was shocked into silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“You disrespect this house...this country...these good rare people in a sodding world...you angry? Fine...be angry...but get angry at me, this is my operation...my look out and I’m bringing you to task for tipping the boat. Be angry...I don’t care...but use it...I will not allow you to turn your words into a weapon to hit what’s innocent...you shame your Mother with that mouth...”

 

 

 

 

 

By now Richard had his sleeping bag rolled up and Dawn had run to the kitchen and had actually packed him a goody bag of all things...with cookies and turkey...and...what else she could roll fast and pack?

 

 

 

 

 

Richard was pulling warm clothes from the closet and threw them in a bag.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike just about carried Art back to the living room and they stood by the door.

 

 

 

 

 

Rebecca and Jackie were standing by the Christmas Tree eyes wide and crying a bit...Julie was weeping openly and she raised her little arms to Unca Spike...in confusion.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike leaned down and kissed her head and whispered “It’s all right Julie...your brother’s feeling grumpy and he needs to work it out...we’ll be back...”

 

 

 

 

 

She was still crying but her face wasn’t as crumpled.

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn and Richard met him at the door. Dawn muttering: “hope you know what you’re doing”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike said; we are all together in this and he’s dropping the ball” And then he pointed at the girls crying:

 

 

 

 

 

“Take a look at this Art...look at your cousins crying, at your little sis...what you should be watching...taking care off...instead the anger in you coming out to stick them all till it hurts. How long you know you’ve been hurting them and didn’t stop? You think words don’t hurt? How many words? One word? Two? That the kinda man you want to be?”

 

 

 

 

 

Art looked up but kept his face cool and distant. And Spike pulled him out of the house and into the Jeep and then drove out along the road.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You don’t know me...you don’t know anything about me.”

 

 

 

 

 

They were back at Spikes house...and Spike had placed two chairs across from each other had gestured for Art to sit in one while he sat in the other...and so they had sat looking at each other for...about forty minutes until Arty cracked.

 

 

 

 

 

“You don’t know anything about me.”

 

 

 

“Well...the way you been acting...why would I want to? You gotta give a bit get something. Do nothing...nothing will happen guaranteed.”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“So is this it? We just sit here...this is how you are going to straighten me out.”

 

 

 

 

 

“No. You are going to straighten yourself out. I’m gonna watch.”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“Suppose I wanna stay crooked...maybe it feels good to get mad...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Get mad...yeah...stay mad? Stay mad and you’ll go crazy...you’ll go crazy if you stay mad Art...and try to drag as many as you can with you. That really, really what you want? You want to go crazy enough to destroy the world? And stand against everything your Mother fought for all her bloody life since she wasn’t much older than you now?”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s not fair.”

 

 

 

 

 

“What? Specifically?”

 

 

 

 

 

Art didn’t reply just looked down.

 

 

 

 

 

“Life huh? Well...yeah, you’re right...it’s not fair...or it might be fair but in a way we can’t see.”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“There is no where for you to go. This is it. You say you’re not stupid...then you know about what’s going on don’t you? Knowing that and still you get so mad you go shooting off...well...it can put everyone...your baby sisters life in danger. You get me? That’s how big this could get.”

 

 

 

 

 

Beat.

 

 

 

 

 

“How much do you need to know before you get scared? You want me to tell you terrible stories of what a demon would do to your Auntie? To your sweet cousins who try to cheer you daily? I’ve seen ‘em. What? You one of those boys what wants to rip the heads off kittens? Cuz that’s what your words and actions do everytime you disrespect your Aunties heart.”

 

 

 

 

 

Art’s head was hanging but still he couldn’t let go of the list the list of things that were NOT FAIR.

 

He made a last stand.

 

 

 

 

 

“What do you know about it? It’s not that bad...if we could just go back to the way things were...”

 

 

 

 

 

And here his voice cracked a bit and Spike could hear the tears behind it and thought, oh thank god...he has a heart after all.

 

 

 

 

 

When Spike spoke, his voice was softer.

 

 

 

 

 

“How far back and to where? There are monsters in this world...real ones...and there are people like your Mum who protect the world from them. When I saw you stand there that day with your arms crossed like that, it could have been her...her inside you...and then you pushed her away...you push the best part of her...the part that does justice and wouldn’t dream of hurting an innocent child with hard words...I saw you push her away from you...now I know you felt her that day...maybe saw her too...so why did you do it? Why do you push the best part of what you can be away?”

 

 

 

 

 

And suddenly Art’s face cracked and crumpled and harsh hard sobs cracked his chest until Spike feared for his ribs holding his poor heart in place.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike waited until he calmed a bit and then it came out and when it did it sounded like a crack of thunder:

 

 

 

 

 

“She...she never loved me...”

 

 

 

 

 

The shocking familiarity of the phrase stung Spike to silence and brought sympathetic tears to his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh god...oh god...no...not that...Buffy...no...

 

 

 

 

 

Art dissolved into tears and such was his pain...Spike knew it had to come from someplace...someplace real...but not that...god no...

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah...lad...lad...what makes you say that?”

 

 

 

 

 

Art swung his head in low slow swoops and simply said again through almost hiccups.

 

 

 

 

 

“She...she...I loved her so much...I love her...but she never loved me...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah...lad no...no..”

 

 

 

 

 

Art leaned forward on his hunkers, his head hung down...Spike leaned down to talk to him

 

 

 

 

 

“Tis not possible...not her own child...tell me, now, what is it that makes you think that?”

 

 

 

 

 

And Spike trembled while he waited...oh god what if it was...nothing, nothing specific just ‘a feeling’ that would be the worst...because...that, that might be true...

 

 

 

 

 

“My Dad...I remember my Dad yelling at her...before...he...and he said...she didn’t love anything but the world...she loved the world...not the people in it...that...that she didn’t care about...us or him and maybe her vampire would put up with it but...but...she, like...owed us more...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike was listening intently trying to see Buffy in the picture...

 

 

 

 

 

“You‘re a vampire aren’t you?” Art raised his tear stained face.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Show me.”

 

 

 

 

 

“No.”

 

 

 

 

 

Pause.

 

 

 

 

 

“Maybe later...when you’re calmer...and older...like 32.”

 

 

 

 

 

Arty calmed a little at that...at talk of the future...of continuity...

 

 

 

 

 

“What did she say? Cause you realize that’s your Dad talking when he’s mad and afraid for her...that he might loose her or you all...and he might be saying anything to get her to stay safe.”

 

 

 

 

 

Art thought about that as he breathed himself to be a little calmer.

 

 

 

 

 

What had his Mother said?

 

 

 

 

 

“I...don’t remember what she said...nothing I don’t think...or she said it so quiet I couldn’t hear. Anyway she left...and then he left a little later...I think...and didn’t come back. And now she’s gone too...she didn’t love me...enough to stay...”

 

 

 

And here Artie hiccupped into another round of sobs and Spike sighed.

 

 

 

 

 

Ah Buffy...

 

 

 

He waited while Artie composed himself somewhat...giving Spike time to think as watched Art wipe his face and nose with his shirt...

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m sorry lad...you’ve had it rough and no mistake...I never knew your Da...but if your Mother married him I’m sure she loved him and that he was a good man...that said...you have to know your Mother was the reigning heavyweight champion slayer of the world. If she was needed...she was needed. She lived to serve, your Mum did...”

 

 

 

 

 

Art said the other thing weighing on him.

 

 

 

 

 

“She loved Julie...used to hug her and hold her...and...”

 

 

 

 

 

“And what? Not you? What, a big strapping lad such as yourself? I’ll bet you 9 to ten you kept saying stuff...like ah...Mam...the guys are watching...I’m not a little kid anymore and you’d kinda push her away playful like, right?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you saying it’s my fault?”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike was stunned for a moment at the shocking similarity in words...at the phrase...he paused, careful now...listening to his heart...listening for...her instructions...what would she have him do?

 

 

 

 

 

But she was never good at speaking her mind...out loud at least. Suddenly he knew what to say.

 

 

 

 

 

“Your Mother was not good at words was she? At expressing herself out loud...not many outward signs...see...a soldier gets too used to hiding her feelings...and maybe...maybe they’re there...what you feel is true...is true...and you have to have faith that there’s a reason why you love your Mom so much and maybe it’s because...(and here Spike’s own voice broke a bit)...maybe it’s because she loves you too and that maybe...love’s not crazy.”

 

 

 

 

 

Arthur said nothing, just hung his head lower.

 

 

 

 

 

“I wanna show you something.”

 

 

 

 

 

And Spike led the way into his study...pushing the door open wide.

 

 

 

 

 

Stacks of notebooks were laid out on top of the large desk...

 

 

 

 

 

“Look at that. Your Mam may not have said much but it was there tucked deep inside and she put it here on paper.”

 

 

 

 

 

“These are hers?”

 

 

 

 

 

“I think it’s o.k. to tell you she wanted some of this in the world somehow...and a lot of it...a lot of what I’ve read so far has to do with how much she loved her family...you...how proud she was...what hopes she had...you have to remember something...she may have loved the world...but she fought so you could have a world to love too. Now if she had it in her hands to make it better for her kids and didn’t do it...what kind of parent would that make her?”

 

 

 

 

 

He was lying...well he hoped he wasn’t. He actually hadn’t read any of it yet.

 

 

 

 

 

He had out and out lied. Just took an old fashioned gamble. After it had arrived, he had piled them on the corner of his desk as if the preparing, the potential of reading was the same thing as actually doing the task...it was hard...he hadn’t wanted to read them.

 

 

 

But now the lad needed something badly...and he took a gamble on Buffy’s better deeper nature. Because there had to be something...simply had to be something in that mix for the lad. Only...now...now he would have to read it all to find it. Damn...

 

 

 

 

 

“So she sent this to you?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Not exactly...she sent it to Marcus O’ Really...”

 

 

 

 

 

Stunned Silence for five beats of the clock.

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re Marcus O’ Really? Vamp aside, world class warrior aside...a two bit writer and Arthur was ready to fall down in a gasp.

 

 

 

 

 

“She used to read you all the time...she’d read parts outloud to me...put stuff on the fridge...man...she loved you...she loved you...”

 

 

 

 

 

And that casual phrase and in through the back window accidentally but spoken with such force, such truth...but still...still ironic. But...Spike thought...what was irony but truth broken apart and put back together by monkey logic?

 

 

 

 

 

She loved him.

 

 

 

 

 

In this world...and not from the perspective of the other side...here in the third dimension she had loved him, she had loved his mind and soul in this world, through the words in those books, she had loved him...when she didn’t know it was him.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike looked at him and inclined his head at this new odd thought:

 

 

 

 

 

“We’re gonna be friends aren’t we?”

 

 

 

 

 

Art thought about it for a moment and cursed softly.

 

 

 

 

 

“Damn.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

They went back to Dawns...Spike thought it best to right the upset milk as quickly as possible. The lad would lose less face if they came back that same evening. Also it wouldn’t do to have the worry of the thing on Dawn’s and the girls minds. Richard...well doctor he might be...and here Spike grinned at the thought of the thrashing Richard had wanted to prescribe to the lad...but hadn’t felt it was his place. And when Spike had stepped into the role of patriarch over Arthur...Richard had sighed with relief.

 

 

 

 

 

They sat quiet in the Jeep for a moment before going back in. They all heard him pull up of course and Becky had peeked out the window at them only to be pulled away by a mighty Dad hand.

 

 

 

 

 

Art was looking down at his hands and didn’t look inclined to move. Finally Spike spoke.

 

And when he did...it flowed with the sincerity of childlike poetry.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m sorry lad...I truly am...that life isn’t working out like you’d expected. Living with your next of kin is never...kin. You listen and take what they have to say...different...I get that...so you don’t want them to tell you what to do...I get that...so what that means is...you have to fill in the blank...you have to step up then and fill in the blank yourself. You understand me?”

 

 

 

 

 

Art drooped his head a little lower but Spike would take that as...well... a partial nod.

 

And then fifty cents into the news stand and here was the headlines:

 

 

 

 

 

“House full of girls, eh? Them giggling, getting on your nerve...wanting to put gel in your hair?”

 

 

 

 

 

Art looked up so sharply Spike laughed.

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh aye...well then...sure with your Uncle Richard gone most often working two different jobs...you’re trapped in a small house full of female.”

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s not that I don’t like them...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh I get it...” thinking about that last year living in Buffy’s basement with the tap dance of many teenage twirlers over head...oh yeah...he got it.

 

 

 

 

 

He was about to say something when Art beat him to it.

 

 

 

 

 

“Aunt Dawn...” here he cleared his throat; it must kill him to ask something of Spike.

 

 

 

 

 

“Aunt Dawn says you know how to fight...that you’re some kind of fighter...and the way...you moved...so fast...earlier tonight...I.....I...”

 

 

 

 

 

And here the words were breaking down into putt putts of effort. Spike was waiting on him, almost enjoying the lad’s effort to ask a favor...a true favor...not a demand...like what he had been doing since he had arrived...he almost smiled while he waited and then felt a nudge. Her nudge. Presumably. Huh. First time he had actually felt her around since their tiff, or his huff...whatever...and she must really want this to be the first one to break the silence...

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s just...I...like you said...maybe if I got out of the house more...and...”

 

 

 

 

 

Nudge.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike smiled at the thought of torturing both Buffy and the lad by not speaking up, forcing him to draw it out, forcing her to pound on him...ah old times...

 

 

 

 

 

But instead of pounding, Buffy choose pound cake...a sweet treat and the nudge turned into a warm glow that permeated his heart until it ended on a single drip of...please...

 

  

 

 

 

Oh all right.

 

 

 

 

 

“Lad...you want I should teach you to fight? Is that what you’re asking?”

 

 

 

 

 

Arthur looked down but nodded.

 

 

 

 

 

They sat for a moment in silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“Fighting is an honor, lad, ‘tis...power...a responsibility. You haven’t shown me your stripes on that...yet. But...there...is your baby sis, and the cousins home alone a lot...and your Auntie...who is clever as an Einstein daydream...but a clutz.”

 

 

 

 

 

Here Arthur almost smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

“Oi...don’t disrespect that...she is what she is and has her gifts...but battle isn’t one of them...And your Uncle is a Healer...a different kind of fighter...so it may do for you to learn some skills...BUT...but, you’ve got a lot to learn lad.”

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

“Well...don’t you?”

 

 

 

 

 

Art had to do it...he had to give something to get something...life was really that simple sometimes.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes.”

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t eloquent but it would do.

 

 

 

   

 

“I’ll tell you what. It would take time...a very long time for you to learn how to fight the way I do...even in a fraction of a fraction...you got the time for it? The stomach to stick it out?”

 

 

 

 

 

Art looked at him and then looked through the front window.

 

 

 

 

 

“I...I don’t know...”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike stared at him waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

“But...I want to find out...” Art inclined his head toward the house. “I feel trapped in there...sometimes...trapped in a box...like I’m, I don’t know...missing something...like I really don’t belong there...it makes me...crazy sometimes...”

 

 

 

 

 

His voice drifted down but Spike had been listening closely and that was a fair and honest statement and he could work with that.

 

 

 

 

 

“I tell you what. I’ve got cords of wood...what needs stacking and loading to take to the Skokomish and to your Auntie here...you come by, say...three times a week and start with that lot. It all begins with chop wood, carry water...lad...it all begins with understanding your place in nature...understanding the path of service. Your Mother was at service to the world...you need a taste of what that means...before we even get close to fighting skills. You might find out after a year or two of that...well, maybe you find out this path isn’t for you...well and good...but you will find out who you are.”

 

 

 

 

 

Arthur bit back the comment of protest at the thought of this scenario and instead nodded his head.

 

 

 

 

 

“Well...all right then...we’ll start this weekend...that work for you?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah...yes...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes, what? Oh come on say it...its fun to say...designed to be a belly blaster and a percussive just short

 

of a curse...”

 

 

 

 

 

And here Arthur did smile. “Yes...Spike...that sounds...o.k...”

 

 

 

 

 

And then Spike turned off the engine and got out of the Jeep with Arthur following suit. Spike found himself almost chuckling...well, a little evil laugh really...

 

 

 

 

 

“Wear work clothes...”

 

 

 

 

 

And Art grimaced a bit...but...but...

 

 

 

 

 

Spike’s attention was drawn to the flurry of footsteps rearranging themselves inside the house...could almost see Dawn instructing everyone to just ‘act casual’...there, there put a video in...let’s be watching A Christmas Carol and barley even look up to notice they’re back--and where were the presents for Spike? It was Boxing Day after all, so this night would be all about Spike.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike smiled. Silly lass.

 

  

 

 

 

He already got his present.

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy was back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So they had punch and never even had to punch it out. It wasn’t the lightest most jubilant Boxing Day in the history of Canadian fight or holiday flight but it was a beginning. It was clear immediately that something had been resolved. Something had changed. And Arty wasn’t right as rain right away...but he got better...day by day he would get better.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

Julie had crawled up onto Spikes lap and had promptly fallen asleep but every time he tried to get up to lay her in her little bed...she would rouse and cling sleepily with little feeble arms that had the strength of forty Godzillas to deter him, all the while she protested. “No Unca Spike...no...”

 

 

 

 

 

And Dawn would smile and bring him a plate of cookies and a beer.

 

 

 

 

 

Finally everyone was worn down enough to sleep...and Julie was deep enough, nothing would wake her and it was time to go. Spike nodded to Art and he nodded back, both said nothing but he had overheard Spike making the arrangements with Dawn and Richard for Art to come over and do some work around the place and he had calmed at this. As if until it was spoken aloud...Spike might change his mind.

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn and Richard agreed easily enough...Dawn had questions, Spike could tell...but that was for a private conversation. Later. It wouldn’t do for Art to feel them talking about him just yet. Let things settle a bit.

 

  

 

 

 

When the evening was over, Spike said his goodnights and Dawn hugged him hard at the door...clung to him really until he gave into his longtime affection for her and hugged her back.

 

 

 

 

 

She was crying a little into his neck and he smoothed her hair and kissed the side of her head.

 

She kissed his cheek and finally pulled away. Nothing was said. No words ever would fit into that space and so neither even tried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

He drove home slow. It was snowing and the big thick plops of frozen water thudded softly, plunking soft on the windshield. They were soft little bits of nothing but big enough to change the landscape.

 

 

 

 

 

He thought about what he might need to put undercover from the lad. Some of Buffy’s diary to be sure...the weapons...and Excalibur...yeah he definitely needed to hide Excalibur from Arthur...

 

 

 

 

 

Well, now that’s funny. Was that supposed to be cosmically comic? Or...something to pay attention to...he was Buffy’s son after all...Buffy’s son...born in New England...oh great...was there something going on here? Maybe there was something to the lad he should note.

 

 

 

 

 

The snow was coming down heavily now and looked like it meant business and maybe even a world conquest. One by one the little flakes would overwhelm the world. Well...there was a lot to do in the coming days...

 

 

 

 

 

Just one thing at a time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

12

 

 

 

 

 

Read

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When he got home...he poured himself a whiskey and stood in the door way staring down at the pile of notebooks...on his desk. Buffy’s collection...some of the journals where fine...leather bound and beautiful...some where spiral notepads sealed in zip lock baggies to hold the works in place. She had written whatever, whenever she could...and here it was.

 

 

 

 

 

Ah Buffy...lamb.

 

 

 

 

 

And the thing happened that happens sometimes, most times and as well as he knew her faults...he was softly surprised to find himself wondering...”Ah, Buffy lass...when did you become...ordinary?”

 

 

 

 

 

And then he was feeling something entirely new. It was a kind of pity mixed with compassion.

 

 

 

 

 

Whatever could be said about his own relationship with his own Mother...he had never doubted her love for him. Never.

 

 

 

 

 

If he had to track the landscape of his own ability to love as he did, as strongly as he did...it would have to go all the way back to the foundation his Mother had laid in her pure almost angelic affection for him.

 

 

 

 

 

It had set the bar high. And...he now believed constant love and fealty was possible because...well...he had had it as a child.

 

 

 

 

 

He had been blessed. He had been lucky. He sipped his drink and sat behind the desk and looked out the window at the snow changing the world he knew into something softer.

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy loved her son...of this he had no doubt...but...to have her son, for Arthur to doubt it so...spoke volumes of the deficit in Buffy’s character. Her inability to open her heart in mutual expression had become a habit, a terrible precedent that had extended to her child.

 

 

 

 

 

Of course it was true. For how one behaves toward a stranger is how one behaves toward the loved ones. One indicates the other.

 

 

 

 

 

It was a terrible character flaw. He remembered Finn and he sharing a bottle long ago...he remembered that Finn hadn’t believed she loved him and he, himself, hadn’t believed it...and now her son.

 

 

 

 

 

One time...maybe...two times...huh? Three times was the universal game over, verdict in.

 

 

 

 

 

Ah Buffy...luv...

 

 

 

 

 

Now he understood why...well...when she had told him...she was sorry...it had sounded so...different. From her new perspective she would be able to see that the wall that had been around her heart--that dam was a damn, a curse really at those she loved.

 

 

 

They could feel love in her...but were never sure...just never...sure...and because she kept it dammed--it damned her.

 

 

 

 

 

She had said she was sorry...not as one of those things people say just to move life along...just one of those things you are supposed to say to hurry this moment into the next expecting everyone to just get over it. No.

 

 

 

 

 

She had said she was sorry...because it was true.

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah my luv...I get it...I think I really, finally do...”

 

 

 

 

 

But what about the lad? Can you drop by so he can feel it too? He needs something real, luv...

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing. No response.

 

 

 

 

 

No, she couldn’t come to Arthur. Her son needed her too much and...perhaps if he sensed her presence...it might never be enough...and he then he might spend all his life looking for her again and again through Mediums or somesuch...

 

 

 

 

 

No...the state he was in...Arthur needed to live life in the moment. Couldn’t be looking over his shoulder always.

 

 

 

 

 

Not like Spike. Ahumph.

 

 

 

What then luv? What?

 

 

 

 

 

The answer lay before him of course. As he had intuited. It lay somewhere in the volumes of journals and jangled thoughts and accounting of the life and loves of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

 

 

 

 

 

He pulled the first notebook on the pile to him.

 

 

 

 

 

Plain purple spiral with the wire going wild at the top. The book of someone who just grabbed whatever was at hand. No date on the cover. He was sure once he opened it he could find the time frame of where it belonged...but that meant opening it.

 

 

 

 

 

Opening her. Being inside her again. Being inside her but never having her too...hearing her talk about her husband, Angel, Radcliffe (there he named him) the loves of her life and not...

 

 

 

 

 

Bullocks.

 

 

 

 

 

Here it was really. To read these journals would be...to understand her. And when you understand someone...you forgive. Completely.

 

 

 

 

 

“Well...” and here he took a sup of his whiskey drink and acknowledged the burn as it lit a path down through to viscera--alcohol as Prometheus running torch in hand lighting the virgin world changing, changing it all forever with the light of knowledge and never going back either.

 

 

 

 

 

“Well...at least I’ll get the answers to all my questions right luv? And what could be worse than what she had already revealed on true confession day?

 

 

 

“Let’s see what’s inside that Buffy brain of yours.”

 

 

 

 

 

He picked up the cover letter Penny had tucked under the top cover of the purple notebook, the envelope was sealed with; ‘For Markus Eyes Only...” scrawled on the cover. He carefully ripped the envelope open, pulled out the paper and started to read.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Mr. O’ Really

 

 

 

Oh Really? Right. As if that moniker of brand us incredulous would be enough of a smokescreen to hide the genuine hope and affection and high regard your work reflects about the nature of human beings who try against the impossible odds of living sometimes just day to day.

 

 

 

I was struck time and again and believe me, I can take a hit, by your humor and heart and mind and soul. The ability you have to look into the complex emotional situation and patiently reveal what is going on in its best most compassionate light.

 

 

 

Are you the designated Christmas tree lights untangler in your household?

 

 

 

That is how I see you. The guy in the background, no one remembers to call to the table but is always there to help when it all falls apart and people may starve.

 

 

 

I’m sending you my diary...it is all true.

 

 

 

Thank you for opening your heart the way you have, I love how you love. I wish I could be more like you. But the fact that characters like yours exists at all--even if in the imagination...is something...isn’t it?

 

 

 

It gives me hope. Please use my stories if and how you can--you have an intimate understanding of the supernatural world of which you write...perhaps my story will help you somewhere, sometime help you tell more.

 

 

 

If you cannot use it or after you are finished please contact either of the two people listed below through their email. They will instruct you where to send it.

 

 

 

If you are reading this, you will not be able to contact me...as...well...I’ve died...and most likely will stay that way. Third time’s the charm. Anyway...you have received this as a result of my will and it means if you are reading this, you are the best choice to champion my story.

 

 

 

Love,

 

 

 

Buffy Summers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

The first thing he thought was...huh...funny that she signed with her maiden name...but maybe that was part of the way she saw The Slayer, still as she was when first called. He didn’t know about the protocol. So maybe that meant something and maybe it didn’t and then the second thought he had was...ah...there is that trace of petulance...the call from a royal...but then realized it really wouldn’t be fair to judge Buffy on that...when it seemed she had...well...grown past it.

 

 

 

It would be like holding a mature wise adult accountable for what they did as a teenager. The lesson had already been learned...and more criticism so far after the fact would be...well...mad...

 

 

 

        

 

And it had already been established that ten years in the gaol hadn’t driven him mad...so let it go. Let her be.

 

 

 

 

 

That resolved...he read it again...and this time, he heard her mind and heart speaking to him...like they were intimate friends. And they were. Like they were trusted comrades. And they were. Like...they were lovers. And they were.

 

 

 

 

 

It read like a love letter...it was a love letter to an intimate of the mind and he might have been jealous (him and his jealousy problem) but it was too, too funny because the intimate...was he.

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy would drive him mad, she really would.

 

 

 

 

 

Just then one of the notebooks slipped off the desk and fell to the floor

 

 

 

 

 

He picked it up. It had the photograph of a lion cub on it and Spike’s heart lurched a little as he was reminded of the sweet almost childlike aspect of her nature. She had picked this notebook out. She had gone shopping with the kid and used that as an excuse...but still...she had bought this notebook for herself. He knew it.

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy.

 

 

 

His hand stroked the picture of the baby cub looking at the camera with its head cocked to the side.

 

 

 

With a gulp he began to read.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I oiled the hinges on Arty’s bedroom door this morning...clever me! Glory of the toolbelt aside...I figured rather than open his door only a little bit up to the squeak mark...why not remove the squeak so I can swing the door open and get a good, a really good, good night look of my sleeping boy. Slaying done for the day and monsters back in the closet, ( mostly) and him there so beautiful that I remember why...

 

 

 

 

 

It was almost 3:00 a.m. and he hadn’t had to go far to find something for Art to read...this would do...this would do very well. The simplicity of the task, the simple statement was clearer than a mountain of prose. Prose could looked staged...like you were writing for the generations. But something like this was...real. It would help him. It would.

 

 

 

 

 

The journals were what Spike expected and they weren’t.

 

 

 

 

 

The notebooks were full of things like that...small simple observations...day to day musings and deeper questions too. Contemplation of the nature of justice, the measure of good in evil, and evil in good and what was the formula that made one hold sway over the other?

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy had been doing some deep thinking after the Hellmouth...and he was only touching the tip of some of her thoughts. He agreed with quite a few of her conclusions, and funny thing, this...she did not mention him by name...not in anything he had read so far...but damn it...if...if those weren’t some of his own thoughts coming back to him in her writings.

 

 

 

 

 

They were distilled, grown and bearing fruit, these were well drawn conclusions where before they had been merely questions, questions he had asked her...about the soul...what it meant...the change before and after...surrendering to love and using it as an active force for change. Where was god in love? Was god love? Is that why he felt compelled and kept coming back to the chapel in the cemetery? Why he had stretched himself on the cross to burn the demon to bright...and be only love left and soul...What if he had had the strength to stay on that cross, what would have happened? What if she had stayed with him? Was he a case of arrested metamorphosis?

 

 

 

 

 

He had had so many questions...so many observations...and he had thought she hadn’t been listening to him...back then...that she had thought him raving. But.

 

 

 

 

 

He was here...here in her ideas. She never mentioned his name...but he was there nonetheless. She could never have drawn these conclusions through a different set of experiences.

 

 

 

 

 

Not Angel. This discussion of ideas was a treatise on the nature of free will choice.

 

 

 

 

 

It was there and undeniable. She had never called him, spoken to him, wrote to him...but she had thought about him daily.

 

 

 

 

 

Well...that made the pair of them then.

 

 

 

 

 

He went back to a notebook, a leather-bound one this time (must have been a gift) and fell asleep reading.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(sleeping in beauty too)

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

13

 

 

 

 

 

Companian

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He awoke late in the afternoon and lay still. Still, just be still, lay still and let it happen. Quiet.

 

 

 

 

 

Quiet.

 

 

 

 

 

And then...and then...let it be O.K.. It was all O.K.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spike gave Art that small paragraph to read but nothing else...he wouldn’t let him read her diary...it was personal and too soon...he would edit it first...young eyes and all...and besides he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. But one thing was clear...this could be an important work. A very important piece of writing.

 

 

 

 

 

He sighed.

 

 

 

 

 

Time to call Giles...this work was too important to hold to himself...and there were a couple of things to go over anyway. Oscar had called him from Montreal (the lad kept moving further and further East) and it seemed he had decided it was time to go public...and no better way to do that than with the council and so ‘would Spike make the call?’ Of course...secretly Spike had yearned to see Oscar and Red square off so he could take the side bets. Yeah that would be something to see. He had been putting it off so why not pluck two birds with one hand?

 

 

 

 

 

And Oscar had said something interesting to him...something simple...he had said: “You did good Spike. Real good. Things are moving fast now, shifting daily...you guys changed so much...it might not happen the way I was afraid it would. It might be o.k. now...”

 

 

 

 

 

Or something like that. And not that Spike lived off compliments...what did he care really...but this genuine praise bordering on gratitude from his friend from the Bastille...meant something. He didn’t understand the context in which he was speaking...but he was glad that Oscar felt better about the direction the world was taking. And strong enough to go public. Huh. And maybe he would even get laid someday.

 

 

 

 

 

It was fun to see him proved wrong for once. They would see each other again.

 

 

 

 

 

When he called Giles to let him know he had the diary; Giles fairly shouted Bloody Hell to him over the phone...words like: exclamations like: ‘thank god’, replaced with ‘how the bloody hell’? And when Spike relayed the strange tale of how Marcus O’ Really came by the fifteen year diary of Buffy the vampire Slyer there was silence: And into the silence Giles said this:

 

 

 

 

 

“Spike...Buffy bequeathed her diary to you in her will...that is as Spike Williams...I...confess to being curious as to her state of mind...and...I’ve been looking into it...and...well...the thing is, when you didn’t show at the reading of the will--it was forfeit to her second choice. I...I could brain her...sending something as invaluable as that to a total stranger. No offense...well you know what I mean. I only found out when I tracked the diary to the list of personal effects she bequeathed. I’ve been with a lawyer for the past four months trying to get the name of the second party. And now...it’s you...how...very...extraordinary...”

 

 

 

 

 

Such a thing was not coincidence of course and already Giles was planning to check various prophecies for mention of Spike...and Buffy. Together. No...this, this was incredible...

 

 

 

 

 

Spike shrugged it off and made a promise to make a safety copy and to take care of the originals and then Spike told him about Oscar...and Giles seemed genuinely quite interested and they discussed schedules and the sooner the better and could Spike come as well to make the introductions and...and ...the Slayers would like some tips on training...and uh...bring the diary too?

 

 

 

 

 

Spike kept it loose...but yeah...he might be able to leave for a bit...but he was going to hang onto the diary for a while until he had read the whole thing at least a couple of times...but he promised to make a copy of the whole thing...and they had hung up. He didn’t feel like talking anymore, no more decisions...not today.

 

 

 

 

 

He went out the back door and looked at the sunset. The gift he gave himself each day now, the sun.

 

 

 

 

 

The sun over snow. The fading gold blowing the blues into purples.

 

 

 

 

 

She had sent him the interior of her best kept secret mind...twice...once to Spike because...well...because he was really the co author of the ideas and no doubt...she...had wanted him to understand her with or without his willing and the second time it was to Marcus O’ Really.

 

 

 

 

 

The first time she had asked him to jump.

 

 

 

 

 

And the second time...she had jumped.

 

 

 

 

 

She had jumped into the unknown...to send her journal to a stranger was a true leap of...faith. Without her knowing...super higher consciousness aside...

 

 

 

 

 

She had come to him.

 

 

 

 

 

It was backwards, yes, she was a paradox, no doubt, but maybe...that made her...just an ordinary woman too. A human being. Of sorts.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

He saw it completely in character for her to take such a risk. Walking into the Hellmouth with a handful of maybe Slayers and himself dressed in garage sale jewelry had been an enormous leap of faith.

 

 

 

 

 

She was capable of jumping...so why not with him?

 

 

 

 

 

But then...hadn’t she? Hadn’t she jumped into a new ship with him on the sea of love went she sent him her children? She must have had a hand in that...or at least veto power.

 

 

 

 

 

Initially, he had thought it was a way to use him yet again...but wasn’t it true that after the first couple of days and after getting to know them, he began to look at it as less of a burden and more as a...gift?

 

 

 

 

 

She had given him the dearest thing she had...and he, in turn, could give back to Buffy...the gift of loving them.

 

 

 

 

 

The Native American’s believed one gift should be exchanged with another...it kept the relationship in...balance.

 

 

 

 

 

It was a matter of mutual respect and all things being equal.

 

 

 

 

 

It hadn’t been her intention to burden him...but to bless him...

 

 

 

 

 

And being the children of her body...and him, that is, her husband...wouldn’t some part of him have to be grateful for that too? That the miracle of Julie would not have existed if not for Buffy and this Radcliffe fellow? He loved Julie and felt he could love Arthur...and none of that if not for the wildness of the world.

 

 

 

 

 

For wild beautiful Buffy.

 

 

 

 

 

That was Buffy. It was the miracle part of who she was. Is. He amended. She still...is...

 

 

 

 

 

And he nodded up to her in a salute and--

 

 

 

 

 

--The great cosmic matchmaker called ‘it is what it is’.

 

 

 

 

 

Accident from intention. Whatever.

 

 

 

 

 

If the whole thing didn’t twist the mosaic of life into even tinier bits of incomprehensible shards to cut your mind on...what did?

 

 

 

 

 

(Buffy...please...)

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

(I’m so sorry...luv...I’m sorry I hurt you...)

 

 

 

 

 

Pause. Stillness...no qualifications...no ‘but’ and nothing says ‘I forgive you’ like saying: ‘I’m sorry too...’

 

 

 

 

 

He felt her hand slip into his and the gentle sweet strength of her soul.

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you for forgiving me...

 

 

 

 

 

He did...he well and truly finally did...

 

 

 

 

 

(No...thank you....)

 

 

 

 

 

No...thank you...

 

 

 

 

 

Quiet for a moment as they chuckled together.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike walked out onto the back porch to share the sunset with her.

 

 

 

 

 

Hello Markus...Mark-us...

 

 

 

 

 

(Hello Diary of a Mad Housewife...)

 

 

 

 

 

I’m sorry.

 

 

 

 

 

“I know luv. Me too.”

 

 

 

 

 

For what?

 

 

 

 

 

Pause.

 

 

 

 

 

Well?

 

 

 

 

 

(I’m trying to think up something.)

 

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

 

(What?)

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry, I was stuck on the word ‘think’

 

 

 

 

 

They chuckled together.

 

 

 

 

 

And then Spike offered and he tried to keep it casual...you, you don’t have to stay with me; you know...if you have other places...other people...

 

 

 

 

 

Pause...he wanted her to be happy. And then he felt a wave of sweet love wrap around him...for trying, for being noble when she knew how hard it was, how he loved her company and she chuckled...

 

 

 

He isn’t here Spike. Well...not in the way I am. The logistics of the hologram and different dimensions can get gooey, but the shorthand version is--he went back...to earth again.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike puzzled this out...of course reincarnation happened...the whole demon from hell thing taking over a human body was a form of retread. But why would he leave?

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes when a relationship...is out of balance...one soul might return to experience unconditional love from the person they were out of balance with...and there is no better way to do that...than to come back as a child...my child...

 

 

 

 

 

Spike’s brows shot up...Arthur? But the timing was...wrong...wasn’t it?

 

 

 

   

 

Spike...

 

 

 

 

 

Pause

 

 

 

 

 

Stun gun and a whack at that.

 

 

 

 

 

“Julie? Radcliffe is...Julie...mmy, my Julie?”

 

 

 

 

 

Spikes suspicions started to sharpen. What was Buffy’s saying? Oh no...not again...no.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike, no one is trying to trick you...no one is trying to trick you into loving Julie.

 

 

 

 

 

Silence. Spike was silent.

 

 

 

--My love, you keep thinking in terms of us and them...and maybe there is an us and them...but that’s not us anymore...we’re not them...we’re ‘us’; all of us, not them, oh forget it--snap out of it! We’re all on the same team now...and you mean to tell me you are going to keep that little girl away from your heart, you’re not going to give them both--you’re not going to give them all everything you got stored inside you...(and believe me having kids is emotionally expensive and now you can spend some of that cash)... because part of the story just got out of your control?

 

 

 

 

 

Spike scratched his head. “Come on luv...just gimme a minute to take it in...it...it’s...strange...”

 

 

 

 

 

Well...I didn’t know who she was when I was there...I just felt she needed a lot of love...don’t worry...the knowledge of who she is...er...was...will slip away from your day to day experience...she is still a little girl...a sweet little girl who loves you very much Spike. You know that.

 

 

 

 

 

“Uh yeah...but why tell me now?

 

 

 

 

 

Well...why do you think? To mess with your head of course...scramble your quaint notions of how you think the world is with how it really is. We’re on the same side...sweet cake...

 

 

 

 

 

“Sweet cake? Did I hear you say...sweet cake?”

 

 

 

 

 

Um...sweet meat? No...no...I have to use some kind of...sweetie pie endearment...definitely a pastry...

 

 

 

 

 

“No not really. You really don’t.”

 

 

 

 

 

Spike ran his hands over his face...Buffy was trying to distract him...get him to laugh...finally he said:

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s...it’s a little hard to take in...so...your daughter is...the father to herself.”

 

 

 

 

 

No...you’re her Dad. She picked you to father her.

 

 

 

 

 

Buffy.

 

 

 

 

 

He felt something that felt like a Buffy sigh and then:

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes the soul or spirit doesn’t enter the body until birth....it could happen...but that’s not the thing...the thing is this. I needed to balance things out with him...er...her...you know what I mean.

 

 

 

 

 

“And you’re good now. You two.”

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah.

 

 

 

 

 

Silence as Spike thought about his own relationship with her...of course he thought about their own imbalance and he felt her chuckle in response.

 

 

 

 

 

Well...I thought I had made it clear that I was saving the best for last.

 

 

 

 

 

He smiled now, he had too. She was just too sweet, her honey soul pouring all around and in him too. And he sighed...well...a bit.

 

 

 

 

 

Spike, it would take me all of your life and an eternity besides to give back to you what you’ve given me. Even when we were apart...I could feel you still loving me. And I needed it, you...I did...I do...I used it, I did, to help me stay alive...to have a life outside the one I had...to feel important. And if it’s true I needed a...well...broader diet to grow...as a wife...as a mother...it’s also true...I loved you best for being the staple. The steady potato on the deserted island. Cuz you can do just so many things with the potato, you know? Mash it, boil it, peal it, gravey it up and butter it down and did I say fry it in oil too? Oh...and A1 sauce on fries... too, too good...uh where was I? Spike, what you told Dawn, about the Cathedral you built being torn down...was well...just plain wrong. I am that Cathedral. How many times did you save me from the world and from myself? I couldn’t count them...me, my life, the children, our children, none of that would be... if not for how you love me.

 

 

 

 

 

Silence, Spike’s head was bowed.

 

 

 

 

 

Love?

 

 

 

 

 

His head dipped lower.

 

 

 

 

 

Are you crying?

 

 

 

 

 

“No.” A little too emphatic.

 

 

 

 

 

You gonna cry?

 

 

 

 

 

“Maybe...” A little softer and then: “Ta, luv...thanks...”

 

 

 

 

 

“Well...at least you’re polite.”

 

 

 

 

 

And then she was there beside him...he could see her, her blonde hair falling down around her shoulders. And she moved to stand next to him at the railing on the back porch and now he did cry. The joy of seeing her...seeing her. Buffy. She smiled at him and asked in an offhand way.

 

  

 

 

 

“So you gonna give Julie a kitty?”

 

 

 

 

 

He looked at her...his eyes brimming over and water slipping over until it was hard to see the very gift of seeing her. He took her in...her eyes, her gold, her glow...and then (of course)

 

he shrugged and said on an exaggerated exhaled breath.

 

 

 

 

 

“Sure...”

 

 

 

 

 

She narrowed her eyes at him a bit until he laughed.

 

 

 

 

 

“Sure. Yes. Yes. If it’s all right with Dawn...yes, she...that is my Julie can have her pick...but she should take two...because contrary to popular belief...cats aren’t loners. They need a companion.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes they do.” Buffy agreed

 

 

 

 

 

He sat down on the steps and she followed him. He watched her.

 

 

 

 

 

“Huh. You can sit. When I was a ghost I couldn’t sit...how come you get to be able to sit?”

 

 

 

 

 

She leaned up against him...her lips didn’t move but he heard/felt her say this:

 

 

 

 

 

There are other things I can touch too.

 

 

 

 

 

“I knew it. You shagged me in my sleep...didn’t you?”

 

 

 

 

 

She just laughed and wrapped her arm through his and they were quiet for a moment; looking at the fading light of the sun glowing just over the tops of the trees.

 

 

 

 

 

Finally he said.

 

 

 

 

 

“Had a dream last night.”

 

 

 

 

 

Uh hm...

 

 

 

 

 

“And one the night before...”

 

 

 

 

 

I like the one from last night best.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah...yeah that was a good one.”

 

 

 

 

 

We changed worlds with that one Spike...

 

 

 

 

 

He had to ask.

 

 

 

 

 

(Buffy and the baby are o.k. now?)

 

 

 

 

 

Pause for a moment and he thought she wouldn’t/couldn’t answer but then:

 

 

 

 

 

Yes. With Dru passing so early--that Spike needed a new family unit and...and he goes to get the soul...so he will be safe around the baby...

 

 

 

“So early?”

 

 

 

 

 

Last night changed things...that level of mutual trust moved like a wave throughout time and space...it was catchy...ahem...even we caught it....and we started it...how about that for paradox?

 

 

 

 

 

But Spike was still fixated on Buffy and unborn baby and girl done gone and whatever would she do? What had happened?

 

 

 

 

 

“So they are all o.k....”

 

 

 

 

 

Well you know...there are struggles...there are supposed to be struggles...it’s all about building muscles...but yeah...they stay together...and the de-chipped Spike we saw, comes back from Africa alright...takes a crisis before Buffy trusts him again...but sometimes...that’s what crisis is for...but...yeah the tough worlds got better and the better ones got best...

 

 

 

 

 

“Smarty pants.”

 

 

 

 

 

She just laughed and it felt like music in his bones.

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah, well everything is easier to see...when you’re not in it...down there in the mud of Earth; that is...

 

 

 

 

 

Silence for a moment and then he had to ask, he had to.

 

 

 

 

 

“Why not us Buffy? Why them...those other Buffys’ and Spikes’...and not us?”

 

 

 

 

 

No answer...and he felt her hold him tighter.

 

 

 

 

 

She didn’t say it...but he felt her drop something like a block of information into him...something that felt like this:

 

 

 

 

 

It’s all currents...all different currents in the same river...the same love...just sent different ways by whim and accident of fate or the danger of live performance...this isn’t film...this is ‘live’, Spike and things happen on stage that can’t be controlled...it is part of the excitement...but part of the danger too...that’s why there are so many variables, so many different worlds...so the over all picture is truer than any single one world. It is a montage...creating one final vibration...one final statement...

 

 

 

 

 

She held him close here.

 

 

 

 

 

We love each other...and that impossible love made real has changed every single world for the better we have ever been in together and us being here like this, well, this is part of it all too, some Buffy and Spike had to do what we’re doing now and we got elected...it turned out to be us...but in the end...

 

 

 

 

 

“The world is wild Buffy...”

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, luv...

 

 

 

 

 

Silence as they held each other and watched the sun go down.

 

 

 

      

 

And then in the dark...the quiet thing only dared asked in the dark.

 

 

 

 

 

(...miss you luv...still miss you so much...can I...I don’t wanna live forever...can I ever come and be where you are?)

 

 

 

 

 

 Pause

 

 

 

 

 

She didn’t say it in words...this is was too complicated to be communicated through words but quite suddenly he understood why she had gone into that warehouse...and faced all those goons alone...because...someone, some someone, had asked her to. And she had been asked, because she had asked. She had asked: what can I do? How can I help? How can I grow? All those years of feeling forced to be The Slayer and in her best moment she had jumped into the lions den--because she had wanted to...all, all, so that Jackson would fall down, but by his own hand and she could be here now...at this moment to answer this, his heartfelt request...and there was a humility in asking that couldn’t be equaled by bequeathing...wasn’t there?

 

 

 

 

 

It was complicated and twisted together but somehow seeing it as a broken puzzle put back together

 

by a graceful hand made sense. Made the terrible bearable. It was an answer too. To ask is to open and nothing happens if nothing opens.

 

  

 

 

 

 He felt the increase of her hand in his and she held on like the happily ever after depended on it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

And she held on.

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

And she held on.

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

And she held on until the end of his life past children growing and triumph and tragedy and love and peace secured in the world and there was no place for him and who he was and his demon was actually the final weight on the world dragging it back holding it from shifting to a lighter dimension and...then...then...it was time, finally time for happy landings and beyond and holding his hand into heaven besides so he wouldn’t slip sideways, ever, ever, held it so tight that his end was their beginning,

 

 

 

 

 

Because sometimes...sometimes...it pays off to love someone.

 

          

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Epilogue