Justice Just Us Continued                   

 

 3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   13   14   15    16    17    18    19    20   Epilogue    

 

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Chapter 2

  

 

“You have to stand for something,

or you will fall for anything...”

  

Alexander Hamilton

 

*

 

It went very well. 

 

As stuffing the genie back into the bottle could go, as well as unringing a bell could happen.

 

Giles was pleased, if you could be pleased with seventeen slayers dead, 56 wounded, three still critical.  As gob stoppers and deadly worldwide organizations unwound for the present could go, it was a raging success

 

He wanted to kill Angel.

  

He wanted to wrap his hands around his neck until his head popped for his hubris, for his lack of vision, for his punk gangster approach to problem solving and justice

 

For Jenny.

  

Maybe in the end in would all come back to that and he had said nothing, had given no hint but it was there always, always there, because she would be his last love on this earth and he was still here and she wasn’t.  It was primitive but true.

  

And Angel’s stunning lack of comprehension and discernment of how energy moved through the world and the cosmos besides had been a one way ticket to certain disaster.

  

If the Judge didn’t sentence him to death--he would be put away for...a long, long time.

  

Giles had wanted to see Spike prosecuted as well for aiding and abetting after the fact....but Buffy has spoken for him and insisted that they hear what he had to say first.

  

The one called Illyria had been...severed, bisected And the other one, Gunn was in a coma, body, in a fever.

  

If he survived, various degrees of culpability could be determined as the truth unfolded.

  

It was known that Drogan had left the Well in search of Spike.  That he had been seeking Spike’s assistance, spoke to a certain degree of innocence on Spikes part.  But still, he had questions to answer.

 

Spike still seemed disconnected and under the influence of some kind of berserker dervish rapture and had difficulty focusing and Giles had suggested to Buffy that they keep him under guard (house arrest) until they could be sure the berserker element was under control

 

But Buffy didn’t want to send the wrong message, psychologically speaking, to the New Council or the other Slayers, or to Spike himself and so she had insisted on guard duty over him herself.

  

And so ‘guard duty’ became lost in translation somewhere along the way to nursing, hand holding and gazing fondly.

 

Giles sighed She had moved on...things were happening for her that bode well for her and the world at large And she had been keeping company with The Immortal, which seemed to be progressing...and while almost unbelievably arrogant and quite full of himself, he was a man...well, a man of sorts...at least, not a vampire...and her life had become smoother, (somewhat) and she was...happy.  Now Spike. 

Well, to his credit, he had stayed away from her, he had not attempted to contact her; that he knew of; so perhaps, once, in his right mind and back on his feet he would be on his way.  

Well...one out of two wouldn’t be bad.

 

*      

“She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna dew.

And sure in language strange she said,

“I love thee true.”

 

John Keats

*

Vi helped Buffy get Spike settled into the room across from hers. The plan was: easy access and to be within screaming distance if need be.  Initially there was a twenty four hour watch placed outside his door but after it was clear that Buffy hadn’t intended to leave his side, four slayers was relaxed down to two.

 

And that was for show, for the caution and cost of the whole thing and to leave nothing to chance now.  By this point Vi, Tedi, Chow lien and Babs had been debriefed and word of what they had seen had spread throughout the estate.

 

Buffy’s old friend or no, or maybe because of it--they kept a close eye on the doings.  But Vi had stepped up to be the mainstay...friendly face and all.  And the tone had been to keep it light.  More like servants; more like ‘how may I be of assistance to you versus how may I stop you from splurging on (another--we are talking plural here) murderous rampage’.

 

Polite.  They were in England after all and manners accounted for quite a good deal.

 

But they really needn’t have worried overmuch at this point about tact and social correctness regarding a certain war veteran/maybe criminal, because Spike still seemed out of it.  He faded in and out of consciousness but seemed quite peaceable when he came back into focus and after two days of this, some of the tension relaxed.

 

Buffy didn’t though.

 

She felt drawn, stretched over tight on the violin and now every lesson she had skipped in life loomed over her in the upcoming recital.

 

Instrument tucked under her chin, bow up and ready to play...and then forgetting, forgetting every bit of everything All the past months of practice, practicing how to live this new life and under the pressure of performance--didn’t know what to play.

 

Or something like that.

 

Vi had helped her cut the bloody clothes off him, bloody as in blood eeh!  Rather than bloody as in a curse at the world--but wasn’t it that too?

 

She had paused at the duster; it was encased, encased completely in the blood from different species of demon, some of which was vitriolic, acid based probably and was eating slowly but surely through the leather to get at the pearl of Spike skin.  ‘Oh no you don’t’ and the decision was easy to make.  It was just a jacket.

 

She cut up across the breast to both shoulders with very sharp shears. And then pealed the leather strips back from the ‘X’ marks the spot to see the alabaster treasure beneath

  

Bruised and bloodied and cut and scraped, but only a couple looked like they needed stitching

Vi had helped her get him settled, but she had taken care of the rest. Full purpose service thanks to 2,325 battles plus.  Ballpark of course, because who was really counting?

And now, here he was resting, and here she was resisting thinking as she sat by his side. 

Sometimes, sometimes her hand would creep in to touch his skin, like a little bug, a ladybug, so small in the world it couldn’t see the forest for the trees but still it finds what it needs and ends up at the table in time for dinner. 

 

His hand.  His arm.  His chest. His him.

 

Touching him was like feasting, each small gentle touch a great Thanksgiving.

 

Thank you Spike, thank you for being alive.

 

Spike.  It was Spike. 

 

And in a way, she was glad he was out of it, so she could take in the enormity of the thing; take him in, in portions

There had been some debate about force feeding him, but Buffy had vetoed that, she had blood ready in the small fridge in the room when he came to--but no.  Best not to make it easy for him to stay submerged, if he got hungry enough he would come out of it soon.  It didn’t seem a dangerous game.  Buffy trusted him. 

So she would come, sit by his side for a bit, an hour even and then get up and walk about.  Do a walkabout the room and maybe into the Hall.

 

Check with the slayer on duty.  She convinced Vi to go sleep in her room across the Hall--so she could be nearby if needed, but would still get some rest.

 

The new girl, Tedi, was on duty.  She was new, but a pistol and fit in well with Vi’s regiment. So, o.k. look up and down the halls, look both ways before crossing yourself and see?  All was good and she would go back inside the room to:

 

Spike.

 

She would sit nearby She would sit watching and waiting and knowing he could feel her there just as she could feel him swimming his way back up.  She would sit and wait until she would feel this condensation of pain in her chest, like a strange lump that needed loosening and then that urge to get up and walk it off.

 

This happened several times, and Buffy equated it to something like a cramped muscle, but only in her heart, and the heart was a muscle too wasn’t it? And you walked off a cramp didn’t you? 

 

It was late on the first day into evening when she felt, rather than heard, or saw him move, she felt him say her name. She leaned forward.

 

“I’m here...”

 

He opened his eyes only for a moment, just a moment, shutter open and into his unguarded soul she looked and saw him smile at her from deep within himself. His mouth and his face remained still as his eyes smiled his pure love up into her.    

Oh god, oh god.

 

As he was still so close to being unconscious, he hadn’t the protection of the ego, of polite barriers, of some way to modify the intense naked purity of the love he still had for her.

 

Oh god, oh god, oh Spike...

 

His eyes closed and the hitch in Buffy’s heart hardened into a hard knock that banged her about the cosmos.

 

So...he still loved her, he still loved her that much, maybe more, maybe...

 

She couldn’t breathe, so hard to breathe; she rubbed at her chest and tried to cough it out, the pain loosened but broke through on a sob.  She stifled it, put her fist in her mouth, doubled over and cough cried, one hand outstretched on the bed.  Taking his hand.  She coughed it out until she calmed down.

 

She shook her head.  What was the matter with her?

 

Spike was back, he would be fine, well, better soon; so what was the matter with her?

 

“You love so hard.”  She gripped his hand shaking her head.

 

“Spike, what’s gonna happen?  You love so hard.”

 

She pressed his hand up against her cheek and kissed his palm and waited.

 

*   

“She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept, and sighed full sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four”

 

John Keats

 

   

 

*

 

 

If he just lay still, kept his eyes closed and pretended sleep it would be true...eventually. And she would stay.

 

She was sitting at the desk writing something, keeping herself busy, she always seemed to be doing something when he woke and then, when he did--she would turn and smile and look into his eyes to see if he was in there and then...leave.

 

She had barely said boo or boo hoo to him.

 

He had that feeling, that terrible feeling of ‘I wanna go home’ but where the bloody hell was that?

 

He was watching her and he knew she could feel him watching.  She laid the pen down and turned to come to where he lay stretched out on the bed.  She had three bags of blood ready for him.  She sat next to him poked a straw in one and handed it to him...he didn’t take it.

 

She looked at him...in him.  He was back.

 

She took his hand and held it in hers.  They were quiet for a moment and then:

 

“Hello Spike...”

 

“Hello Buffy...” 

   

They sat in quiet as the warm welcome of being together flowed from one to the other and filled the room. 

 

“I’m glad you’re not dead...again...”

 

He smiled but didn’t correct her.  He knew what she meant.  Instead he asked.

 

“What’s all this then?”  He gestured at the four poster bed and fireplace

 

“You’re in England ...we teleported you back here...some kind of old castle...there was a few extra you know...”

 

“Yeah kinda heard about that...something about having an estate sale to pay off the national debt...”

 

She smiled...it was so good to hear his voice.

 

‘What’s going on luv?”

 

“You’re here...your friend Illyria is dead, Spike, I’m sorry, and...Gunn, is it?  He’s comatose.  It doesn’t look good for him.  We lost seventeen slayers, there are three still hanging in the balance...and...”

 

Spike cocked his head to look at her more closely, what was going on here?

 

“And Angel survived, but he’s under house arrest for the premeditated murder of Drogan the Innocent....”

 

Buffy watched him closely.

 

Spike drew in a breath and looked down and nodded.

 

“If I had the time and we all weren’t going to die already...I would have killed him for that.” 

 

Buffy nodded, it was what she thought, what she had hoped had happened, but still, she was more than a little relived to have him verify it.  Strange...she could accept Angel murdering an Innocent...betraying the cause so many on this planet had fought for, died for, worked toward...but not Spike.

 

Maybe it had something to do with Angel leaving her and Spike always coming back or maybe it was the intrinsic nature of both men but...still she was relieved her entire world had not been flipped upside down.    

 

“What happened Spike?”

 

“Went for him...but I was too emotional...he got the better of me...and by then it was...well...in for a penny...in for a pound...and as long as he was going to die anyway why not have him kill as many of them as he could before he did...see?”

 

“No, I understand that...I mean...What happened what led up to all this?  How did it happen?”

 

“Inch by inch, luv, inch, by.  Bloody.  Inch...”

 

Silence.

 

They were silent now, held prisoner by unasked questions and no, no, never, never, don’t ask, and don’t answer I couldn’t bear it...

 

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

 

“You said that already.”

 

Silence

 

Buffy looked down.  Fascinated by the dark blue quilt covering the bed.

 

(Her Question:  Why didn’t you call me?)  

 

(His Answer:  Would you have wanted me too?  Me with my needs and my love banging on your door?)

 

She lowered her head, bowed deeper.

 

Spike looked at her, looked at her but did not ask this:

 

(His Question:  When did you find out I was alive? Why didn’tyou call me?)

 

Buffy’s hand stroked the blue of the quilt...she stroked the quilt to give her hand something to do...she touched the quilt, because she couldn’t touch him...couldn’t give him false hope.  Wanted to touch him but not to break his heart.  Not to set it all in motion only to blow apart again... 

 

(Her Answer:    Just a few weeks ago, but how could I call you when I know you love me and I’m...I couldn’t bear to hurt you...)

 

Life was a joke, really, really most times just terrible, terrible, terrible...

 

Finally Spike found this to say and it was true.

 

‘You look good.”

 

He had seldom seen her peaceful or happy and it was certainly nothing he had brought her...so could it be true what everyone had thought, had said...that she was better off without him?  He had never made her that happy.

 

“You can leave Buffy...if...if you want to. Don’t have to stay on my account.”

 

She nodded and was a little sad that he had seen through her--not that she didn’t want to be here, but she certainly took no pleasure in hurting him.

 

Just whatever you do, she told herself, don’t say you’re sorry.  That will really hurt him, it is so patronizing. 

 

So she bit her tongue and held it in because, she was sorry.  She loved him, she loved him and couldn’t let it out because it would send everything into a direction that smacked a big brick wall...and not a kissy smack...a smacky smack. 

 

Here she was, ironically, the one to have to keep the love in.  For his own sake. 

 

She had too many lives inside her.  And how could the one she was beginning now include him?

 

“I can stay a little bit longer.”

 

Beat.

 

“Angel is going to go on trial, Spike.  He is being charged with premeditated murder and crimes against the cosmos.”

 

“So you said; Drogan...”

 

“That’s first on the list...”

 

Pause.

 

“Have you talked to him?”

 

“No.”

 

Quiet for a moment and then she asked softly.

 

“What happened Spike?  I thought...when I found out you were there...I thought that maybe it was good you were there--that you might help keep it real for him.  You know, call him on his ways...the way he can get.  I remember you telling me you knew him better than anyone else did...so what happened?  What was he thinking?”

 

Spike leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes for a moment.

 

He began talking with his eyes closed, just suddenly started speaking without preamble.

 

“When you lose something all at once, when something breaks in your life unexpectedly...it’s hard, but there is a good chance of making a come back...putting yourself back together because lets say...you were only broken in two...so you’re still half up.  Glass half full and all.”

 

Buffy leaned in and bowed her head, but she was listening.

 

“But...when you loose inch by inch, luv...when parts are broken off daily and you feel yourself being whittled down, losing by bits and so perhaps you try to fill in the missing pieces until your part ‘you’ and part something else, something borrowed maybe...until you are something made from the heart and something made from the mind...from something your heart tells you is true, something you know is true and something you think might be true, something you make up with your mind--and you try to think your way through.” 

 

He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts and see if he could put it better.  Someway to help them both understand.

 

“You think your heart isn’t working right, see?  Isn’t solving the problem fast enough and so the mind says see? See?  Look around, see what works.  And when you see how well the enemy’s tactics work on you and by god you know they have worked because you are already broken--then why not borrow what works, some of that kit for yourself?”

 

He looked up at her now and spoke softly.

 

“You should know pet, it almost happened to you.”

 

“Would have...except for you...”

 

Spike looked down at that and wouldn’t look back up until he could speak with a clear voice.

 

“He lost his world pet, bit by bit and replaced it with what he saw worked for the enemy--what he remembered working...in the old days.”

 

“The Stockholm syndrome?  Isn’t that where the victim identifies with the abuser?”

 

“Sure.  Part of that I think.  I’ve seen that.  The mentality of: ‘If you can do that to me and the world does not stop you than maybe you have a right to.’  Yeah...bloody hell...we all get a taste of that, don’t we?”

 

“So maybe he has a mild case of that?  Maybe he’s not right in the head--trying to adapt, crazy enough to try fighting evil with lesser degrees of evil.”

 

Spike shrugged and continued softly.

 

“And it might have worked.  But he lost people this year...and that doesn’t even count what went on in the years we don’t know about...but I saw him lose people he cared about, people he loved, either because of decisions he made...or fate...I can’t say...but I think he felt desperate for action.  For seeing some big payoff for it all...something to make the whole bloody thing seem worthwhile...”

 

“So he forced a situation--he manufactured an apocalypse?”

 

Spike said nothing for a moment, but yeah it was true...

 

“I knew something was up with him, we all noticed.  But I swear, I swear, Buffy, if he had gone dark, his Angelus, as you call him...I’ll just call him, ‘him,’ plus more him, but if he had gone dark I would have felt it...I swear it Buffy--I would have known...and stopped him whatever way I could.”

 

She sat still with her hands in her lap.

 

“So it is him.  Just him.  Just Angel murdering a holy man in cold blood.  Not Angelus.”

 

“Not the way you think of him, no...”

 

Silence.

 

She didn’t realized until just that moment how much she had been holding out a last hope that he hadn’t been there, he hadn’t been in his right mind...that it had been someone else...but no, it was always this: Angel’s will forced on the world.

 

Finally she spoke.

 

“This will go bad for him...I think...I was hoping...but, this is bad...”

 

Spike thought for a minute.

 

“Well just how much power does this Judge have?”

 

“Highest source of justice in the hologram, I’ve been told the consequences for this are intra dimensional.  He committed a cosmic crime.”

 

“Well...I was in it too...so to speak...”

 

“You were in the clean up...not the creation...it’s very different.  Intention is everything.”

 

“He didn’t kill Drogan with malice, I’m sure of that...more like a...”

 

“Sacrifice?”

 

“Yeah...”

 

“Did Drogan agree?”

 

“I’m sure he did not...”

 

“Then Angel raped his life away...”

 

She deliberately used an explosive word to make her point and then was instantly sorry at his fallen expression.  His dipped head.

 

She had brought it up, that terrible thing. That terrible thing.

 

“I...I shouldn’t have said that...not like that...I’m sorry...”

 

He looked up at her and saw she was indeed sorry and the incredible irony of her apologizing to him for that, where it was not needed, when there was a whole list of things she could apologize for but never would...like some crazy drunk playing darts and just kept missing the mark but nailed everybody’s butt at the bar with ease...

 

He smiled at the picture of a drunken Buffy in his mind and she drew her brows together in a question mark.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“What?”

 

“You.  Buffy...you knock me out...you are so upside down but right too.  How can a person like you exist in the world?”

 

“I’m a paradox.”

 

“You’re a pair of doves.  One black, one white, a loving hand in a cast iron fist.  You are The Slayer.”

 

“One among many.”

 

His eyes were wide, warm and moist.

 

“No, my love, you are The Slayer.”

 

Oh god, he said it.  Well not ‘it’ but part of it leaked out and how could he be around her and not have it leak out into words, looks gestures and touch? 

 

Impossible.  Strange. But he wasn’t sorry.

 

Something had happened to him when he went holy dervish...he had found something of himself he had lost since he had parted from her and come back a ghost. Come back ineffectual in the world. He had found himself and had trusted it and now he felt that faith rewarded in a stronger back, clear eyes and...yes an open heart...

 

A man’s strength in vulnerability, in an open heart--what a new century buster idea and haven’t we all been waiting for someone to pioneer this into our world since forever?

 

He looked into her eyes and held her gaze, unashamed of the love he knew she saw there.  He felt her touch it, taste it, want more of it; an almost starved look of wanting flitted across her face and then she looked down and fiddled with the quilt, her hands shaking.

 

He changed the subject.

 

“Does he get a defense?”

 

No need to ask who.

 

“If he pleads not guilty.  You’ll have to testify if there is a trial--“

 

“--I bloody well will not.”

 

“Spike.”

 

“I could kill Angel, I could, with my own hands but I will not turn stooley.  No.”

 

“Well...I’m not going to fight with you about it.  Sleep on it.  Think about Drogan and you figure it out.”

 

She stood and he knew she making ‘going away’ noises and suddenly it was out before he could stop it.

 

“Don’t leave Buffy...don’t go...”

 

It was spoken so from his heart that it reached through his body to hers. Her throat constricted and she was going to cry...oh god...

 

“Just stay and...”  Spike eyed the bag of blood still sitting by his side with the straw popped and poised for sucking.

 

“Stay and have dinner with me...”

 

He smiled and she smiled.

 

“Yeah.  That sounds good.  I am feeling puckish.”

 

He cocked his brow at that and corrected her softly, just, just barely keeping a straight face.

 

“Peckish.”

 

She twisted her face slightly.

 

“What did I say? Whatever.  I’ll have Cook send something up--say, what is it with this thing, this English thing where the ‘the’ is dropped before certain institutions like: go to hospital instead of go to the hospital.  Go to university instead of go to the university, call cook instead of call thecook...”

 

“Short cuts luv...we English living in a land of no sun and shortened lives will take or make any shortcut we can to get there faster...”

 

“I love you.”  

 

She said it.

 

Shock.  Silence.

 

They both were shocked by it.

 

And now it was there, just popped through with a life of it’s own and he would have to bear it, he would just have to, she couldn’t hold it in, just couldn’t hold it in...didn’t want to...

 

“God, Buffy...”

 

She crawled up onto the bed and tucked her head in under his chin and pressed her chest up against his side so he could feel her heart tell him so itself...

 

“Ah god Buffy...luv...”

 

He stroked her hair and kissed the side of her head.

 

“I’m glad you you’re not dead.”

 

“Me too...luv...”

 

And it was true.  Heartbreak on the horizon and she loved him and if she had to go on without him in her life--he would just have to bear it and who knew what would come from where in the world and it was still true.

 

She was glad he wasn’t dead.

 

He was glad he wasn’t dead.

 

He pulled her close and hung on in a wild world.

 

  

 

*

 

 

Chapter 3

 

 

“And there she lulled me asleep,

And there I dreamed--Ah! woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dreamed

On the cool hill side.”

 

John Keats

 

 

*

 

She stayed with him all night, tucked in close like a breast pocket holding a secret something.    

 

She stayed with him all night and he dreamed of a little girl, a little girl with pure, pure green eyes and his heart thumped, pumped, beat even with the band and what wouldn’t he do for that little girl?  He could see her there in his dream as her first best self, as the best idea of herself at the beginning of her life.

 

He saw a little girl who loved baby dolls.  She would hold them, force feed bits of banana and waffles dripping with syrup and he smiled and advised the baby doll:  ‘Eat up bit!  Of course Buffy knows best.’

 

He saw how she tried to love those plastic baby dolls into being.  Breathe them alive so they could grow up and go to school and get married too and make more babies.

 

He saw her try to love those inanimate things to life and they never did and it made her feel so sad and it’s all she ever really wanted.  Bring the dead things to life and they never would breathe and all she wanted was babies and children and the seasons that shake it all to glory and dust.

 

She turned her big green eyes to him and...

 

He woke up.

 

It was late or early depending on your point of view maybe past 3 am.  Vampire night clock.

 

She was tucked in, up close with her arm across his chest, she stirred slightly but he stayed still...didn’t want to wake her, she nuzzled his chest with her cheek and oh god is it all right to weep one last time? Just one last time?  

 

He felt the tears well up and roll down but he dared not move to wipe them away as he might wake her, no...no...let them fall.

 

And something from Shakespeare came to mind

 

‘It looks like rain...’  Banquo says to the stranger, to the assassin he meets in the night who replies:

 

‘Then let it come down...’

 

He was sad, he was comforted, he understood.

 

 

*

 

 

They woke up together, almost together, and lay there quiet, just two quiet souls looking into each other.

 

Spike stroked her cheek and she felt it, felt something had shifted for him during the night, he had found something, and somehow that meant she had lost something, she was close to loosing something glorious if she made a mistake, mistook the sign and went left instead of right into what she wanted, needed and...and she, she wasn’t sure if she liked it.  No, not one bit. 

 

His eyes were calm and loving as always but a little farther away...like he was holding something of himself just a little out of reach.

 

“What is it?”  She asked

 

“Nothing.  I’m good.”

 

She contemplated him.

 

“I’m good Buffy.”  He kissed the side of her head, her cheek, her lips, just a sweet feather light love kiss.

 

Their first.

 

They bowed their heads together and their foreheads gently touched.  Crown chakra kiss.

 

She pressed her cheek up against his and then moved her face slightly and kissed him back.

 

He felt that one all the way through to inner man make a move viscera.

 

He pulled back a little out of breath.

 

“Buffy...sorry, I didn’t mean...”

 

“I know...but I do...”

 

She moved to kiss him again and he held her away, just a gentle pause as he looked into her eyes.

 

“I’m not sure...this is such a great idea...I’m good Buffy, but...but I can’t pick up and put down...you know that...”

 

She was quiet.

 

It wasn’t a reprimand, it was the truth.

 

She rested her head back on his shoulder and leaned into him staying silent.

 

Oh Buffy.  Buffy. He couldn’t help it, he started to chuckle.  The thought of him pushing heraway...having to hold her love away from him--was funny.

 

It started as a rumble...

 

“What?  what?”

 

She looked up into his face and then caught the jist and began to smile. The smile sped up into an honest laugh and then they were both almost choking on good humor and cleansing tears.

 

Spike fell back laughing, Buffy fell back laughing until they lay there side by side gales winding down to giggles, to smiles, to sadness.

 

Buffy took his hand, clasped it and they lay there in silence...pure liquid love flowing between and connected by the universal gesture of friendship.

 

Boy and girl hand holding (the first phase, isn’t it?) 

 

Peace.  Peaceful and a sigh. 

 

And so they were quiet, very quiet...when it happened.

 

Their held hands tingled like the beginning bell of a chain reaction and then it was the feeling of the soft sweet air of a hot summer night blowing through them to clean the day away.  Stagnant air, bad memories, baggage of a hot day in hell cleaned out with the scent of roses and...uh...corn; maybe...

 

The liquid ease sped up to an electric jolt and a puff of explosion. Their hands felt fused together and maybe something permanent happened that day on the Hellmouth because it happened again, they saw inside the other’s soul.  Saw the weakness, the strength, and both were beauty, beauty and it wasn’t enough being outside and far away from someone so beautiful--it wasn’t enough...they wanted, needed to blend...

 

They turned to look at each other, to lean quietly into each other, shock, surprise and then there was this love thing, this cosmic bang bragging on a great idea.  Say, how ‘bout you two become...one? 

 

They looked into each other eyes, a bit surprised at first at the power and scope of the thing, a bit surprised to find the thing you have looked for all your life suddenly in front of you...and could love, could the next step really be this easy?   Not door slamming brilliant lights exploding but this, this, liquid warm gold softening cartilage and bones? 

 

Making bodies soft, life softer.

 

Spike stroked Buffy’s cheek luxuriating in the soft velvet of her skin skimming his finger tips.  She shivered, trembled really under this light perusal. 

 

She was shocked into quiet and...maybe a little afraid too, her lip trembled and he leaned in to press his cheek next to hers to quiet her.  He kissed her cheek.

 

Heaven.  God, this is what this reminded her of.  This soft warm feeling of being complete.  Finished.  Found. A haven on earth.

 

And...life lost.  Plans undone, everything she had stacked up and ready to run would be undone and blown away and soon--because how could she ever leave heaven again?  But this was earth wasn’t it?  And things could change very, very quickly.  Flip a coin and you’re living a new life.  

 

She pressed her face into the crook of his neck and breathed him in.

 

“Spike.”

 

She said it again like she had found something puzzling but wonderful.

 

“Spike, god...” 

 

He blew the world apart wherever he went and is this why she hadn’t called him when she had found out he was alive?  Once in his presence, once back together, the natural evolution of what they could be to each other would resume from where they had left off.  It felt as inevitable and as natural as a physical law.  As natural as gravity, as falling, as falling in love... 

 

(And is this why she hadn’t let Amerigo touch her?)  

 

A day with Spike could obliterate her.

 

Sensing her tumult, his hands were softly stoking her back, just soft, just holding, but keeping it loose too--in case she wanted to leave--

 

--No, no more leaving.  She felt the energy in her heart dip a bit at just the thought of leaving.

 

“Spike...I...”

 

“Shhh...tis al right luv...tis...shhh...”

 

It wasn’t alright, it was impossible.  It’s the story that never should have happened,  it was a fox hole romance, love in the trenches, something pushed together by the extremity of wartime, it was impossible...but now impassable...because: ’how do I walk around something like this?’  This isn’t a rock in the road--it’s a mountain.

 

She had known she loved him...but the sorry experience of the world had taught her that you could love someone sure, but for god’s sake leave enough room to walk away...because, people did. They loved...but still walked away.

 

Most of them.

 

And how could she walk away from this?  He loved so hard--Spike loved so hard and his high watermark would drown them both...  

 

Spike was wiping her tears crooning softly, smoothing her wrinkled brow with his gentle fingers.

 

“Shhh...whatever it is--tis alright...”

 

And he kissed her cheek softly again. And then as if sensing her thoughts, he said.

 

“Whatever it is you want pet, I want for you...love you so, Buffy, truly...tis alright...”

 

Kindness.  Kindness cast the deciding vote. If indeed there was a choice in a hurricane.

 

She pushed her head against his chest and suddenly wrapped her arms fiercely around him and contrary to the unexpected force of her bear hug her voice was teddy bear soft.

 

“I...I...”

 

It was so hard, so hard to talk, so hard to breathe...

 

Her body was trembling with fear, but that was nature, just nature’s signal to nurture.

 

Spike kissed the side of her head, his trembling hand stroking her hair. Oh see, see that?  So he was feeling it too.  The earth quaking.

 

“Tis’ alright luv...truly...I know you have...plans...shhh...”

 

At hearing that, she knew he didn’t understand completely what was happening to her, she had to help him, and finally it came out on a gasp and it was unexpected and sounded almost like some worry that shocked her, some worry she needed to voice outloud.  It sounded like the final answer to a game show grand prize...almost surprised that she knew the answer and could just barely speak it outloud for fear it might, might still be wrong...

 

“I...I love you Spike...god, I love you so much...”

 

His body stilled, and she nuzzled her cheek against his chest as if this would push the words inside him and it did.

 

It did.

 

He stroked her hair in wonder and then leaned his head down next to hers, his poor runaway water crying a river into her blonde hair.

 

It wasn’t voiced but the next part could have been:  (What...what are we going to do now?)

 

Spike kissed her again and cried with her and held on.

 

It was the pleasure/pain of birthing/born.

 

Natural.

 

 

*

 

 

Chapter 4

 

 

“If you find someone, someone to have,

someone to hold,

don’t trade it for silver, don’t trade it for gold...”

 

Tom Waits

 

 

*

 

He slept so well, so deep and sweet it would have been a shocking disappointment to come back, to wake up in the hard world if not for being greeted by the warm breathing body pressed firmly up against his side.  A slender tanned arm resting on his chest. 

 

Yes.  It was nice to wake up this way.

 

And the simple thought made him smile.

 

Nice.

 

He imagined the world as a seamstress, a crazy patchwork goddess at her task so long her eyesight was quite, quite gone, or more likely, more likely, bored with the usual colors, the royal crown combo pattern and then in a moment of ‘lets just see’ whimsy, chose to stitch pink plaid next to a chartreuse tartan and so were the two hearts sewn together to be known as: Buffy and Spike.

 

That old cosmic bird must be laughing so hard there was a stitch in her side.

 

Trouble is; did Buffy know that they were stitched together and once together now, if undone again, the whole world could lose its true.

 

“Shh...no thinking...”

 

Spike started to say something and Buffy whispered again.

 

“Shh.  I heard that. No thinking.”

 

Pause.

 

“Huh. I understand that that might be a California girl’s prerogative...but when in England ; one might be compelled to practice the King’s English inside your head and out.”

 

“Oooh get you.  How very swank.  Is it being inside a castle, some kind of metamorphosis?”

 

“Osmosis.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“It is the science of when in Rome-- “

 

And here of course he cut off at mention of...that.   That place and what it might mean to her.

 

“See what happens when you talk?  Spike speak is like an accident waiting to happen.  Words banging up against each other.  You should get that mouth insured.”

 

He stroked her hair but said nothing.

 

“Cuddle, no thinking...”

 

He sighed and kissed the side of her head and wound his arm tighter around her.  Poor Buffy. He kissed the side of her head again, the heat of her body and soul drew him in, intoxicated him, and made him feel weak and heroic all in all.

 

A hell of a woman.

 

She sighed and snuggled in closer, and they lay in peace as the morning light leaked around the heavy curtains draping the French windows.

 

So calm, as peaceful and as close to floating or flying anybody could get outside heaven and then Buffy’s stomach gurgled.

 

“Uh...I heard that.”

 

Gurgle again, louder this time.

 

“A team of makeover artists in Egypt doing a nose job on the Sphinx would have heard that.”      

   

 They didn’t move.

 

“You hungry?”

 

“A bit.  You?”

 

“A tad.”

 

They didn’t move.

 

The subtext was, of course: ‘If we move out of each others arms the whole wide world might come between us.’

 

It was not a groundless fear.

 

Another Buffy tummy gurgle. 

 

Oh this was no good, she hadn’t eaten last night. She hadn’t even dared to move far enough to get out of her clothes.  They had just gone into their love coma together and how long could one really live on love?  What were there stats?

 

“You know...” Spike began reasonably.  “Living on love only works for so long and then after a while it’s just two skinny bodies looking like a Picasso painting in a garret with the candles burned down and crumbs on the floor.”

 

“Huh.  Shoulda ordered out.  Gone online to pay the electric bill.”

 

“Well, that’s you, a born problem solver.”

 

She turned her head into his chest.

 

“Just take one problem at a time.”

 

Buffy’s stomach gurgled again, Spike continued:

 

“Bodies so skinny they look like ET’s.  And then everyone, the tabloids, the all in all will confuse love’s last gasp with a close encounter gone wrong.”

 

“Ew.”

 

“Well...yeah...”

 

“You’re appealing to my vanity aren’t you?  Good homespun advice like: ‘always wear clean underwear in case you have to be taken to the emergency room’--keep your body in good shape for the police photographer.”

 

“Uh...I prefer the poetic version.”

 

She sighed.  “We’ve been in the army too long.  The humor is getting dark, battle ground humor.  Too long.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

She raised her head to look at him and then stroked his face.

 

Long pause as she watched his face become solemn.  Finally her soft fingers coaxed these words out of him:

 

“Don’t think I’ll be killing anything for a while, pet...”

 

She continued to look at him and said softly.

 

“Shh...it’s OK...I know, I saw it...it...it was too much...I know...it was way too much...”  and here her voice drifted down as if she was speaking to herself as well.

 

“No more.”  Spike said succinctly.

 

“No more.”  Buffy repeated softly.

 

Pause.

 

“Could stand a shower.”

 

“Oh you didn’t like the sponge bathing?”

 

He arched his brow at her and almost smiled. 

 

“I’m sure I did.  I’ll like it even more when I remember it.  Tell me, will I remember a gaggle of young nubile slayers washing me down?”

 

“Heavens no.  Your body is for my eyes only.”

 

He turned slowly and gave her the beginnings of ‘the look’ and she felt a tingle and pleasant tightening in her womb. 

 

“Oops.  Did I say that?”

 

He chuckled but didn’t pursue it further.  If things were changing, well, developing between them from where they left off--she would have to do a lot...well, all really, of the first moves.  She would have to be very clear.

 

“Please tell me these aren’t Gile’s pajamas,” Spike commented.

 

She snorted.  It was a pleasant honking sound.

 

“No, just the standard issue estate PJ’s.  I picked out the midnight blue myself though.  Hey. It could have been orange...well, a kinda pumpkin color.”

 

“Thank you for the mercy.”

 

“No prob.”

 

Pause.  The sun was really creaking in over the drapes and stretching across the ceiling and getting serious about breaking the day into pieces of ‘time to get up.’

 

“OK, getting up on the count of three...”

 

Buffy kinda nodded.

 

“One...”

 

Beat.

 

“Two...”

 

Beat.

 

“Three...”

 

They didn’t move.

 

 

 

*

 

 

Chapter 5

 

 

“Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget...”

 

John Keats

 

 

*

 

 

If there was pain, he didn’t feel it.  Angel knew his arm was missing, he could see it gone...he could still see, he could still hear.  If he stayed very, very still he could just about hear the rattle, hum and squeak of world moving, going on, moving on with the weight of, well...the world on it’s back.

 

Good.

 

Time for someone else to take over, he was done.  This wasn’t a pout.  This was out.  He had planned on dying, he knew now, that he had wanted to die, to be killed.

 

In his mind, he was already gone, and now for the most part, his world was too.

 

He was aware, dimly aware sometimes of her, of his her (the road not taken and god wouldn’t the world be a better place now if they had all just leaned left instead of right out of her mind and with Connor of all people and would he ever really forgive her for it?) bellowing at him in her royal Queen C voice. 

 

She had been ranting, raving his errors at him and he had tuned her out, but now she had changed tactics, turned down to sweet and low and sometimes took his hand.  Yes, he sometimes felt her take the hand that wasn’t there.

 

Now, temper spent, she just sat there quietly with him.  Holding him next to her heart and it felt strange. It felt...good...solid maybe, steady and sure and maybe there wasn’t a word for how it made him feel--maybe the closest one might be: permanent.

 

And then he thought he heard her mutter.

 

“Don’t worry.  Spike will help you.  He owes me one.   Or two. Or ten.”

 

Angel’s brow pulled together.

 

Help him do what?       

    

 

*

 

The soft dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong of the

grandfather clock in the library brought Giles out of his reverie.

 

10:00 a.m.  Still early in the day but late for Buffy to be up and about.  She was always an early riser and of course she was still with Spike.

 

There.

 

Not worry, not exactly, maybe just the preliminary body warm up to the wrinkled brow.

 

But she had ordered breakfast or was it almost brunch now and that had included several more pints of blood--so that meant they would both be up and about.  Soon.

 

God, he hoped she knew what she was doing.

 

A lot of effort had gone into placing them in the current position; a lot of planning on both their parts.  Effort and...personal loss too.  Loss for Buffy.  He sighed, he knew that.  Giles acknowledged that he asked quite a deal of her, but when the situation presented itself, it had to be her--it wasn’t as if she was replaceable in the plan.

 

And truth to be told...hadn’t he seen it as an opportunity to keep her from the burgeoning madness happening in Los Angeles ?  True, they hadn’t known about Spike until a month ago...well, he had known for almost three months, but no matter.  The issue was this.

 

Spike was not a team player.  He blew in and blew up and Buffy could not afford to have her focus diverted at this critical phase.  She could not afford to be associated with him.  The cost was too high.

 

Giles shook his head and removed his glasses and tossed them on the desk.

 

He.  Did. Not. Enjoy. Being the heavy hand with Spike.  He...appreciated all Spike had done for her, for them over the years, he truly did.  But he was wild.

 

Wild card.  Loose cannon.  Ship wreck.

 

And something else...he now understood Buffy’s attraction to him, her affection for him. 

 

Such unbending fealty would be a narcotic to a woman who had suffered the rejections she had from the men in her life.  But hadn’t there been exceptions enough in the steady examples of himself, Xander and, yes Spike too--for her to know men could be constant and so perhaps her tie to Spike, her need for the devotion he gave her, might be somewhat diluted by now.

 

And of course there was someone like The Immortal taking an interest in her.

 

That had to mean something.

 

That had to help increase her worldview.  Spike had had his time and place in her life, he had been a great help and succor to her when no one else had been.  But now the whole world was open to her.  She didn’t need someone like Spike anymore.

 

Giles winced at the coldness of his own thoughts. But wasn’t it true?

 

And Spike loved her, that was plain to see, and perhaps, perhaps if Giles spoke to him, explained things, perhaps he might remove himself for her own good... and for the good of the world.  

 

Perhaps if he came face to face with how bright Buffy’s future could be...without him in it to distract her...he might remove himself.  And, or, if Buffy herself saw what she stood to lose, she might reach the same conclusion.  Hadn’t she already been leaning that way? 

 

There was nothing to raise the red flag about, not yet...and it never occurred to him that he may be interfering in personal matters that didn’t concern him, because Buffy (as The Immortal already suspected) was a world treasure.

 

An investment in global harmony.

 

Giles sighed.

 

Spike.

 

Failing that, and as a last resort--there were other ways to deal with him.       

 

His gaze came to rest on the phone as he considered them.

 

 

*

 

 

Chapter 6

 

 

“When the rain comes, they run and hide their heads,

and might as well be dead

when the rain comes...””

 

Lennon/McCartney

 

 

*

 

The cold water from the shower hit him hard and it was the rain coming down and he was back in the alley again and he was killing.

 

He was ripping any body that stood against him asunder.  Thunder clap and roll and the die, die, die my darling demons.

 

He didn’t hear the tap on the bathroom door--he had left it ajar, but he didn’t hear her calling him, only when the rain stopped--NO. 

 

No.  It was the shower.  It was the shower and Buffy was gripping his wet shoulders, she was rubbing her hands briskly along the shoulders of his dripping, shaking body, now she was pulling his cold body into the warmth of hers.  She was stroking his head and crooning him back.

 

The first thing he heard was something mid sentence, something like:

 

“...water is ice cold...come on Spike, come back, should I be worried?”

 

“No...”

 

She had worked his arms into a warm robe--(when had that happened?) and was tying it around his waste.  She asked softly.

 

“What happened?”

 

Spike drew his trembling hand over his wet hair.

 

“That, my love, is whas’ known as a flashback. Now it’s official.  I’m a war vet.”

 

She nodded but said nothing at his weak quip. She understood trauma.

 

She blotted the water off his face with a dry towel until he took it from her and finished the task.  Finally he said.

 

“I don’t ever wanna kill again, Buffy.  I mean it.  I’m done.”

 

He had said it already, but she had to understand this is who he was now. 

 

Killing was one of the things he did best and would the ‘ex’ part of warrior matter to her?  There was that time after being ensouled when he was done with it all and she had...well, goaded him back, no thas’ not fair--he came back to it...because, well, it was what he knew about himself.  Safer haven than William, but he was through now, with or without her, he was done. 

 

She didn’t look at him but said this.

 

“If I’m not there yet...I’m close behind you.”

 

He nodded.  It had been too much.  It didn’t matter if the body count had been 90% demons--the soul couldn’t tell the difference.

 

Life was life and death was death and right or wrong it still hurt.  It hurt the soul to kill; it kept tabs on the difference between white and black, right and wrong--but just barely.  Spike had gone berserk with no intention of coming back, he had killed, well, he didn’t know how many, without thought, or mercy, and his holy intention had kept him upright and made it possible, but the soul had a say too, it could call ‘uncle’ and now it had and he could see that the whole thing had brought him just a breath away from being permanently mad.

 

Would have too, save for Buffy love on the other end coaxing him back.

 

And, she did love him...he felt it, somehow, miraculously, she loved him...

 

They wrapped their arms around each other again.

 

It just felt too good not to indulge in this wonderful calm comfort in a crazy world.

 

“I won’t ask you to.” 

 

It was Buffy’s voice muffled against his chest.

 

Spike nodded, tummy gurgled.  Spike murmured.

 

“Uh oh...serious conversation just outvoted for a sit down meal.”

 

“Ooh la, la...”

 

“Please, pet...in consideration of the long standing enmity between Limeys and Frogs--French?--”

 

“--Kiss?”

 

He laughed.  Quick.  She was too, too quick and brilliant to boot.   He loved her.

 

Before he could say anything more, she gave a demonstration on his open laughing mouth of the afore mentioned lip smack attack.

 

Just a little something to warm the mouth before ‘Breaky’.

 

 

*

 

 

They were having such a good time together, she didn’t want to leave and then she thought--why should I?  It felt natural, it felt good and wasn’t ‘good’ the green light for ‘go’ ?

 

Sure it was. Pain meant ‘stop that now, really, cut it out’ and good meant...mm...mmm good for you, you found something, someone to make you happy.

 

So she stayed.  She went across the hall to change clothes while Spike dressed into the dark green shirt and jeans she had rustled up from the staff. 

 

She...had had to cut his duster off, and given what he was saying about no more battle axe baby--maybe that was symbolic.  The jacket was covered with blood of course and perhaps it could be mended, but he hadn’t asked and she wouldn’t mention it until he did.  Maybe it would just fade away into history.  His boots were wrecked, just shot to shit and he would have to tolerate wearing the loafers for now.  No socks.

 

It could be a look. 

 

She dressed casual warm in a light blue sweat shirt and jeans to match his mode.  She found herself dressing quickly as if she dared not be away for too long.

 

She crossed the hall and knocked briefly before entering.

 

He was just finishing buttoning the green shirt and looked up as her breath caught.

 

Color.  Spike in color.  She was staring.

 

“What?”

 

She simply pointed a finger timidly at him and said:

 

“Pretty.”

 

He winced a little at the feminine but she could tell he was pleased.

 

He shifted gears. 

 

“You ready to see him?”

 

Buffy’s face dropped slightly.  No need to ask who.

 

“No.  No.”

 

“I need to see him.”

 

Silence.

 

“Alright.  He’s here. On the estate, under guard of course...but...I’ll take you to him...but I’m not going in.

 

Spike nodded.

 

“And Charley...he in hospital?”

 

“He’s here too, in the basement there’s a first rate medical facility, Angel had to have his arm looked after...there...there is a morgue too, in case you want to see...”

 

And here her voice wound down as she thought of her own dead and wounded.

 

“I’m sorry Pet, I’m so sorry.”

 

Seventeen she had said?  Seventeen slayers killed?  It was low casualties considering the odds, but still, any loss is terrible to a commander.

 

She didn’t reply to his condolences but nodded her head and headed for the door.  She opened it for him and he stepped through it and into the hallway.

 

English estate indeed.  This was a manor, if not borderline castle.  He looked at the tapestries and antique chairs and davenports lining the hall and whistled appreciatively.   

 

“What is this place?”

 

She closed the door behind her and nodded to Vi and Tedi standing sentry ten feet down the hall and then turned to Spike.

 

“When The First was on the warpath, this place was donated to the Coven.  Friends of Giles, remember?  So they could go undercover.  It’s an old estate--“

 

“--Castle.”

 

“--uh, yeah, castle, on the border of Scotland it has been used as sanctuary for centuries...or so it seems.  We kept everybody together; we thought it best, until everything could be sorted out. Everyone debriefed.”

 

Spike was looking down the hall at the objects de’arte, half listening.

 

“Fallen off the moon and into a pie, eh luv?”

 

“Huh?  What?  Where do you get these expressions?”

 

His brow pulled together as he looked at Vi and Tedi and he answered her idly,

 

“’From my Mother wit’--who’s that?  Is that our Vi?”

 

Buffy smiled, “You wanna say ‘hi’?”  She nodded toward the girls, indicating they could approach.

 

Vi, a battle veteran with a stone cold will by now, but still, face to face with the master vamp, became a little weak kneed again.  A little tremulous.

 

“Hello Spike.” she said simply.

 

“Hello Vi.”

 

“You remember me.”

 

Spike snorted and smiled warmly and she glowed in response.

 

“Not likely to forget the red headed chit, what was scared so bad, your teeth rattled hard enough to bite me own nails for me, am I then?”

 

She smiled wide and Tedi pushed her glasses up on her nose and gaped:

 

“You?”  she asked Vi. 

 

Tedi didn’t need the glasses--not since the slayer power came to call, but she liked how they hid her face.  A decoy to hide behind and now she adjusted them again while she looked at Buffy and indicated Vi. 

 

“Her?”

 

Buffy explained to Spike.  “Vi has a sterling rep now--she’s the flame that burns through everything.”

 

“Yeah...not surprised.  Had my money on you hothair, but you knew that, din’t you?”

 

Vi looked him straight in the eye and remembered all the sessions where he had pulled her aside to show her the weak spot in her fighting, all the times he had shown her how to improve herself based on herself--to fight from who she was, not some ideal. 

 

Yeah, she knew he had taken a special interest in her, and she had always wondered if it was because he was afraid she was weak, that she might fall down soon.  Now she understood it was because he knew the seed would fall on soil and not rock.  She was capable of learning. She nodded at him.

 

“Thank you Spike.”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

“I’m gonna cut in before this goes on adinfim--‘k?  We’re taking a tour of the place; can you guys stay at least thirty feet behind or so?”

 

They nodded and remained standing as Buffy led the way down the Hall.

 

Spike sighed.

 

“Ah they grow up so fast, luv, don’t they then?”

 

“They do old man, they do.”

 

He didn’t question the guard or seem to resent it either, just a matter of course and a wise one at that.

 

They were only twenty feet down the hall when he stumbled a bit and she tucked her arm under his to steady him as she muttered.

 

“Hey, ‘old man’ was right.”

 

He harrumphed grumped something grouchy as if practicing his line for said status and she asked softly.

 

“You wanna go back--lie down maybe?”

 

“No.” 

 

Firm.  Unless, unless the ‘lie down’ offer was inclusive...hmm...how could he tell?  Did she say: ‘lets’ lie down or ‘you’ lie down or--‘

 

“No, no I need to walk it off.  ‘Sides wanna see Charlie...and the Poof.  Might as well be sooner than later.”

 

“O.K. I’ll give you the tour.” and she tucked her arm more firmly under his for comfort and discreet support.

 

Finally he grumphed out this: 

 

“‘Old man’...huh...old man indeed, with a pretty chippee on his arm--thousands will think I’ve millions, and you’ll be wanting me for the extra pounds you can gain.”

 

She laughed out loud and oh dear god it was a good sound.

 

“Spike...”  she shook her head,  “now would that be English pounds as in money moola do the hoola happy, or swing your hips to burn off the English pounds pounded in with Shepherds Pie, Chicken Pie, and Fried Pie?”

 

Now it was his turn to laugh and she thought: (I could live the rest of my life this way.)

 

She stroked his forearm with her free hand and then finally rounded down to a nice pitty pat.

 

“Well, old man, consider it a payment in advance toward role reversal when I go ole biddy and I’m your Tote Bag.”

 

Silence.

 

He lay his right hand over her fingers tucked around his elbow and they were silent for a moment.  God, was she joking?  He would do that, if she wanted, he would, he would...did she know he would?

 

They walked slowly in silence for a few minutes, feet fall softened by big thick throw rugs...hard wood now...now soft again.  

 

He was right of course, walking got the animas going.  Moving was good medicine.  Moving with the world, with each other.  Tucked in close, moving together like this felt like the old days out on patrol, but new too, deeper, softer somehow.  It felt like dancing...or...Buffy felt a flush and Spike chuckled.

  

“What?”

 

He evaded, well, deflected her query, some observations (scents) best be kept quieted away.  Instead he said.

 

“These paintings on the wall, these portraits...have you ever noticed in these old families there is always one feature, one prominent feature passed from generation to generation and here, see?  It’s the nose.  Look at it. Patrician.  Dominates the face like--even the women have it, see?”

 

She rolled her eyes.  He was one to speak of noses.

 

“I heard that.”

 

She remained mute and he asked.

 

“No kidding what is this place?  Persian carpets on the floor, Roman, Greek statues, T’ang dynasty horses--collectable eclectables through the centuries--“

 

“It’s a one stop shopping center.  Meeting rooms, full library, hospital, staffed kitchen, plenty of guestrooms, war room and...and this is where Angel will be brought before the Judge.”

 

“Huh.  Now how does a place like this stay under the radar?  Magic will only do so much for so long--“

 

“--Yeah about that.  Yeah, we used the portholes to teleport you back here, but yeah you’re right, it costs too much energy in the long term.” 

 

Here she took a breath as if to say:  now for the bad news.

 

“There are tunnels, really long tunnels that cars can drive through to get on and off the estate.  So there is a way to get on and off the estate in a limited capacity.  If we time the traffic--but we have to take the worlds, well, governmental satellites into consideration and considering the large amount of traffic coming and going on the local roads...well, that might raise questions.  Angel’s hearing is tonight and rather than try to call anybody back--anyone involved is being held on...and, you know, people will be released in small groups over the next few weeks, but for the moment, we are all, with some exceptions, gonna stay here until it’s all over.”

 

Spike was silent for a few moments.  That seemed to raise more questions than it answered, but one thing at a time.  First of all...Buffy using the pronoun ‘we.’

 

Which we?  Who was ‘we’?

 

“Where’s Giles in all this, Buffy?”

 

“He’s here.  You’ll see him soon...Spike.”  Her brow drew together and he waited while she gathered her thoughts.

 

“Spike...Giles is so angry.  I...the last time I’ve seen him this angry...is maybe that time after Jenny was killed...murdered.  He has that same cold...purpose.  He hasn’t said...but I think he means to have Angel executed or at the least put away in a small box...forever.”

 

Spike stopped and Buffy paused to look at him.

 

“And you, pet?”

 

“I can’t think.  I can just barely think about it without seeing red.  Killing Drogan...like that...was like murdering a Slayer...”

 

She looked up at that and Spike looked down and after a few seconds she asked quietly.

 

“Tell me, would you have murdered a Slayer like that?  When you didn’t have your soul, I mean, would you have killed a Slayer, chained up, broken, flesh burned off, bleeding and in cold blood?”

 

(Never)

 

(I thought so)

 

But this is what was spoken next, and it was Buffy.

 

“First time we faced off, you threw your weapon down, so it would be an even match, a fair fight maybe, and besides, a warrior in battle is different, there is agreement, it’s not...murder.”

 

“You don’t understand--”  Spike said simply.

 

“--I do.  Buffy replied emphatically.  “That’s just it.  I do. Angelus tortured, murdered and Angel tapped into those old ways to get a job done.  He decided that the ends justify the means.  And.  And it never does Spike.  Never.”

 

She said it almost like a challenge and he said nothing, he was listening so she continued.

 

“It never does.  Who wants to live in a world where we have to kill five to save six? That’s...insane.  We do what we do, what we cando...but it can never, never be a numbers game. It.  Can.  Not.”

 

Spike nodded.  “I’m sorry pet.  I’m still taking it all in.”

 

“I know.”

 

And then together as if of one mind they started moving again.

 

Oh there, look at that painting. 

 

Huh. 

 

Nice Rueben.  Round chubby naked girls, Spike raised his brow at the painting, at the girls frolicking nudie nude in the woods and Buffy tugged him past.

 

He smiled. 

 

Good. 

 

Good.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Charles looked bad.  Very Bad.  Just no other way around it.

 

Buffy and Spike stood outside the thick glass walls separating visitors from the interior.

 

They were both warriors and knew the look, the pall, the pull of death. He was not going to live.  His dark honey brown skin going chalky.  Blood flow, life force draining, fading away.

 

Spike felt Buffy’s hand sneak into his but they said nothing.  False hope was ridiculous in the face of such truth. Say nothing, just observe.  Be the observer to honor a life leaving this earth. A noble life.

 

Spike raised Buffy’s hand to his lips and deposited a chaste kiss on her knuckles.  She went warm inside and how odd, how odd this casual gesture could reach so deep inside so quickly.  But maybe it wasn’t odd, maybe this is just the way it would be now between them.  God, could life be that easy?

 

He was saying something now.

 

“You wanna go check on your girls?  See how your Slayers are fairin’?”

 

She looked at him.

 

“I’ll be alright.  Truly.  Could I go inside though?  Just bear witness like?”

 

And his voice choked a bit on this and in answer Buffy went to the glass and tapped on it.

 

Dr. Abernathy, a tall cool blonde of a fill in the blank age nodded and pressed on a green button near the door and the glass partition slid open.

 

Buffy leaned up and kissed Spike on the cheek and he stepped into chamber. He watched as Buffy moved down to the next glass partition.  Clever idea, these glass walls, no privacy, but one could monitor and guard the whole of the floor all together without diminished value of care.   What was this place?

 

Two of the critical were isolated for heightened care, but the other two seemed to be housed on down the line in a larger dormitory room.  That could only be good, meant two of the Slayers were off the critical list.  That should ease Buffy’s mind somewhat.

 

He stood inside Charles’s death chamber and watched Buffy through the glass as she approached a fallen girl, sit by her side and gently take her hand.

 

God, Angel, what were you thinking?  You complete wank...   

 

He turned away from the scene and approached the comatose Charles.  He looked, well, out of it, but often, often, like burning bright at the last, people could swell at the end, swim up to the top to say farewell and then toss the world off like an unneeded wool coat at midsummer.

 

He nodded to the doctor and stepped carefully around the wires tubes and such and stood by Gunn’s side to wait for the end.  It wouldn’t be long now.

 

Spike looked at Gunn’s body, quiet except for the shallow of breathe in, breathe out.  He wondered about taking his hand the way Buffy had taken her Slayers...but had they really been that close and in then end did it matter?  A being was passing away, and if he and Gunn hadn’t become best mates in that terrible battle--who would?  He wouldn’t be here now if not for him watching his back and that’s a fact.

 

He took his hand.

 

It was...hot.  His brow pulled together and he cocked his head to look more closely at Charles.

 

He heard the Doctor behind him say as if in answer to his unasked question.

 

“Fever.  Terrible fever...we’ve tried everything to fight the infection, to fight infection...or shock...but nothing...”

 

Spike nodded and looked back at his fallen friend.

 

His dark skin chalky, blood flow so reduced now, so close to death, his skin was taking on the almost blue hue of passover now...time to go... 

 

“Bye Charlie...ta...”

 

It was all he could think to say.

 

There was no response, no last clutch at the life that was so hard on him at the end, just his flesh growing cool, and his skin, deprived of oxygen going blue, and his scent...his scent...

 

Spike felt the sudden shock of adrenalin fueled by instinct and maybe that extra sense gifted by Dru...oh.  Oh.  God.

 

Not. Charlie.  Not Charles, Gunn was already gone.

 

This was Illyria.

 

 

*  

 

 

Spike stood back and thought hard. 

 

No, no he was sure, this was Illyria all right. 

 

Ah...Buffy?

 

He looked over his shoulder for her and found her raising her head as if guided by instinct to his eyes.

 

The look he sent her put her on instant alert.  She barked something to Tedi who was chatting to one of the girls in the dorm and then Tedi was on the wall phone in a blink.

 

These girls could move fast.  Well that was good.  He watched Buffy call to someone in the hall and then Giles stepped into view and then after a brief word with Buffy he pulled his brows together to look down the length of the partitions to Spike.  They exchanged a look that could only be described as ‘accessing’ and then after that was completed, his eyes scanned the area where Spike stood for potential danger and then followed Buffy. 

 

Spike was already herding the medical staff out of the room, gently but firmly insisting they leave the area.  One look from Buffy and Giles outside the glass door helped expedite the emigration.  It was hard for healers to leave a patient--especially a dying one.

 

Outside the glass room now, Buffy looked up into his face, her concerned eyes asking the silent ‘what’?

 

“That’s not Charlie.  Buffy, that’s Illyria.”

 

“Illy who?”

 

“An old one...”  Spike said.

 

“Christ.”  That came softly from Giles.  “From the well...”

 

‘Yeah...”

 

“But...”   Buffy’s brows pulled together as she tried to puzzle it out.

 

Spike cut to it quickly.  He didn’t know how much time they had.

 

“It’s still asleep, or in taking over or whatnot, but that is Illyria. It must have gone into Gunn out there on the battlefield--when...Fred’s, when the host body it was in, was...stopped.”

 

“You’re sure.”  This from Giles.

 

“Oh yeah.  The symptoms seem right, from what I heard when it took Fred, but moreover, I spent some time with it, fought with it, got to know its signature.  That in there is the bloody great God, Illyria.”

 

“Fuck.  NOT another GOD.  NO.” Buffy bit out.

 

“Buffy...you swore...”  Spike said simply, sidetracked by this eighth wonder of the world.  Buffy ignored that and focused on the second coming.

 

“Spike, but she, uh, he, er, IT was fightingwithyou...”

 

“Yeah...but only cuz It’s agenda matched ours for the moment.  It got attached to Wesley and when Wesley was killed--it was on board for vengeance.  But I gotta tell you, that was all under reduced power.  Got It’s life force shortened quicker than usual--and it was one hell of a Hell beastie back when it first come through with the Id, the Ego and ‘I’m all that’ to boot.  Not sure what happens when it repeats the whole process again.  What say Rupert?  Oh and hello to you to by the way.”

 

“Consider amenities exchanged, and to keep to the point.  Just how strong?”

 

“None of us separate or combined could stop it.  I learned it’s fighting style, so I can handle It full throttle for a spell...but...but I don’t think that’s such a good idea the day, lad.  Or you might have two problems on your hands, if you take my meaning.”

 

Berserker Spike.

 

Yes, yes, thought Giles--that could be a problem.  Once a pathway to such power was discovered it would be easier and easier for him to access it, but just as difficult in proportion to control or come back from.   

 

“Buffy is quite advanced, more so than when you were in association--“

 

Spike looked at Buffy and almost smiled, the waves of power coming from her needed no accompanying testimony.

 

“No doubt, no doubt...but err on the side of caution, eh?”

 

“Yes.  Quite.” 

 

The Hall was filled with Slayers now.  Busy bees, beware my sting and Vi was already breaking them into groups, creating flanks down both sides of the hall way and sending some back up the line to guard exits.

 

Excellent lass.  Buffy brought Spikes attention back to front and center.

 

“It was fighting with you, you know it, maybe better than anyone...alive, maybe if it sees you when it...comes through, you can talk to it.  I don’t want a battle, especially here, not if we can avoid it.”

 

“It should go back to the Well.  It doesn’t belong here, dreadfully out of time and place.“  Giles murmured.

 

“Spike?”  Buffy asked.

 

He winced and shrugged.

 

“What can I say?  I agree. But Illyria has a mind of its own and unless you feel compelled to bang your thinking bits up against a brick wall--I’d suggest to take one issue at a time.  If it comes back all Gung Ho and Ghengis Kahn the answer is self evident.”

 

“So you need to be the first thing it sees--maybe that will help focus it...Illyria is it?  Any other way to subdue it...Giles?”

 

“Not without research.  It took us months to work our way around Glory.”

 

“God.”  She blew out in a small puff of air.

 

Uh...sorry...Buffy rolled her eyes heavenward in apology--not that one, the other not so friendly ones.

 

“So shot of Spike it is--how long do you think we have?”  Buffy asked

 

Spike shook his head and they turned toward the Doctor and she shrugged.

 

“At the present rate of deterioration...anywhere from ten minutes to...”

 

The flat air tone of life signs done gone filled the space where they were talking.

 

Without a word they moved as a team.  Giles hit the green button on this side of the door Spike moved through the opening with Buffy flanking his right and Vi spotting him up left.

 

Funny, how someone you knew for so short a time, once in battle together could become an old friend.

 

“Here’s hoping” Illyria felt the same.

 

 

*

 

 

Chapter 7

 

 

“Time it was, it was a time of innocence,

A time of confidences

Long ago it must be

I have a photograph

preserves your memory...

there all that’s left you...”

 

Paul Simon 

 

*

 

Gunn’s body bucked wildly on the hospital bed and would have been thrown off it and onto the floor save for vampire speed.

 

Spike braced his arm across his chest to hold him down and when Buffy moved to hold the other side, Spike shook his head ‘no’ at her.

 

No strange hands, no strangers...well, relatively speaking.

 

Nothing to register attack.

 

When the body stilled.  Spike let go and stepped back a bit.

 

A masculine hand tinted blue shot out cobra fast and snatched Spike’s arm.

 

Illyria’s eye’s popped open in Charles Gunn’s face.  But he was gone.  He was gone; these eyes, this hard, resolute brick gaze was all Illyria.

 

Spike throat clenched but he shook it off...poor Charlie, good Charles, great man goodbye.

 

“Hello Illyria...”

 

“Spike...”  It croaked out.  “My pet Spike...”

 

“It’s me an all...no worries, eh?”

 

He felt Buffy shift her balance behind him, she was standing on the balls of her feet ready to bounce and pounce.

 

He sent a silent, ‘not yet pet, not yet’ back to her and felt her breathe (barely) in response.

 

“Spike...”  Illyria shot up to a sitting position and gripped his arm harder and as he winced in pain, he felt Buffy poised, ready to react and if the pressure got to be even to be a hair more--his arm would break and so would Buffy’s patience.

 

“Now, now ‘Leary...”  he cajoled “let’s take it down a notch for the sake of me backhand--wouldn’t want to ruin this season’s lawn tennis for me would you?  I’ve got me whites all picked out.”

 

“It hurts, Spike...it...hurts...”  Illyria croaked out in a low puzzled voice. 

 

It’s body was still ramrod hard but it allowed Spike to push it back down into the bed and loosen it’s grip somewhat.

 

“What hurts, mate?”

 

“It never...hurt, before.  There is something sharp, something sharp caught in here.” 

 

And with this it turned its head in that odd stiff way peculiar to Illyria/Fred and looked at him while it pointed to its chest.  It’s heart.

 

“Oh aye...mate, that’s heartache; that is...most...probably...”

 

“Some one...”  And here Illyria jerked harshly and looked accusingly at the people, the small humans who dared to look it in the eye--who dared stand face to face.

 

“Some one put something sharp inside this shell...it hurts.  Remove it. NOW!”

 

Giles said swiftly.

 

“I assure you, no one has placed anything inside you--we were not even aware of who you were until a few moments ago--“

 

“--Who is speaking to me?  What human speaks to me?”  Illyria looked to Spike for explanation. He sighed.

 

“Leary...it’s over Leary. It’s over.  Stop fighting.  Just.  Stop.”

 

Remarkably, this simple logic worked for the moment.

 

Illyria cocked its head and turned its attention inward again.

 

“It...pains me Spike...it...Wesley is dead. And this one...this shell is too, Charles Gunn...and, and...Wesley...”

 

Water slipped from out of Illyria’s right eye, and then, so as not to be outdone, a salty drop fell from the left one as well.

 

Illyria raised its hand to its face and felt the water there.

 

“What is this? Why is this body leaking?”

 

“Tis al right mate, it’ll be better now, just let it come...it’ll help ease the pain...”

 

“Spike?” 

 

“Yeah mate?”

 

Illyria’s gaze was fixed, almost frozen, almost terrorized...

 

“...Wesley...Wesley...”

 

And so was the quiet conclusion to the almost battle in the basement.

 

A Master Vamp, A Master Slayer, A Watcher, and A Loyal friend all bearing witness and the brunt of a God’s grief at being found earthbound and heir to all, ALL that comes with it.

 

 

*

 

 

Chapter 8

 

 

“Earth Angel, Earth Angel

Will you be mine?”

             

 

*

 

‘God.’  Buffy thought, ‘What next?’

 

“Time to go see the Poofter, luv.”

 

Drat.

 

“You sure?  Sure you’re not too tired?  Go have a nice lie down?”

 

“Nanny?  You nannying me, you Ninny?”

 

She sighed. 

 

“Have to luv, don’t ask me why--cuz I don’t know.  Don’t like the guy, ‘spose I never will, and as I said before; he was dead wrong in what he did and if I could have got me hands around his throat that day I would have twisted his head for it...but...”

 

“O.K.  But if you get all depressed and everything, don’t cry to me.”

 

“Oh come on.”

 

“Well maybe a little bit.  Seeing as how you handled the whole Ill God thing so well, I’ll save you a bit of shoulder.”

 

“That’s right big of you.”  Spike took a breath while they were walking the way back from showing Illyria its room, next to Spikes.  (Great) And then Spike said.

 

“Yeah, Illyria should be all right now, if it runs true to form--just let it roam around, like a cat or something, it will have to get into every crack of the place to know the territory inside and out, but if was going to go hog wild--it would have bored us to death by now.”

 

“Did you just pun me on purpose?  Or by accident?”

 

In answer he gave a little evil laugh and she smiled.  God she loved him.

 

“I love you.”

 

That stopped him.

 

He stopped and turned her sideways and...softly, so, so softly he stroked her cheek.

 

“Thank you Buffy, Thank you for loving me...”

 

Nothing to say to that--her eyes grew wide and moist.

 

They kissed, softly, lightly, feather tickle to enjoy, to maximize the nerve endings shooting the delightful news to nether regions.

 

(Look!  Look! Eh!  He/She is here!  The one we’ve waited for!  GOOD! GOOD!)

 

That she would kiss him, before he was going in to see Angel wasn’t lost on him.  But it didn’t seem like she was doing it on some strange purpose to grate on her old love, he really didn’t believe she had that kind of cruelty in her--it was more like...a statement in fact. 

 

O.K. Spike my boy...you know how she can be, just take it step by bloody step with the girl.          

 

Rona greeted them at the end of the stone steps and there was a moment of catching up, exchanged pleasantries and then Buffy said. 

 

“O.K. I’ll be upstairs, probably in the library, cuz this is as far as I go.”

 

Spike nodded.  She left enough distance between her and Angel so they wouldn’t sense each other. Even if the affair of their hearts was cold and done--there was still the master vampire, slayer thing.  She was serious.  She didn’t want to be involved with him, didn’t want to be near him; didn’t want to hear his excuses.

 

So what was Spike doing here?

 

Vi and Tedi had caught up by now and flanked him with Rona in the lead and down they went together, down a long corridor where Spike saw Slayers parked intermediately along the way and they nodded to them as they passed--if Spike recognized a girl he called out her name and she would start, flush a bit and babble something about ‘welcome, welcome back Spike...’

 

The corridor was lit by electric lights but, Spike noted with appreciation, there were sconces on the wall--for emergencies probably.  For electric shorts.  These blighters thought of everything.

 

Rona stopped outside a door.  It was flanked with two slayers on both sides.

 

Rona spoke into a cell phone and then there was the triple click sound of locks being released.

 

Ah...clever...the release to the door was controlled in a separate location. Great security.  What was this place?

 

The door opened into the Hallway, Spike noted, not into the room--another security measure.  No blind side for the guard, nothing to trip you up or get caught on from the inside. The control all came from without.

 

And then Spike realized, subconsciously he had been assessing the strengths and weakness of the place...as if he would what?  Bust Angel out?  Put a nail file in the cake? 

 

He shook it off.  Whatever it was, Angel was deep in it now and should be brought to task.  It’s just...

 

The room was Spartan in a Japanese way. No furniture, (nothing to break up and use as a weapon) no windows (nothing to dust the vamp with daylight), just the futon and cushions and the poof himself with his back propped up against the wall in his shirt sleeves...with the one half empty...dangling, just hanging there as empty as his eyes.

 

Blank.  Completely blank.  He hadn’t expected that.

 

Angel pissed, Angel sulking, Angel brooding, Angel ready to tear the walls down but not Angel out of commission.

 

Spike cocked his head and stepped well into the room.

 

“Angel?”

 

Nothing.  Not even an eye batting.

 

‘‘Peaches?”  

 

The dreaded nickname and still nothing.

 

Spike stood for a moment considering and then rested on his haunches to better study his grandsire.     

 

Well, he wasn’t about to try to coax him or thrash the great lump into talking to him, bugger, it wasn’t his look out...still...

 

“Angel, they’ve got a doomsday device all warmed and aimed at yourself, not saying you don’t deserve it in clover and spades, but you best look sharp and figure out what you want to say.  Tell your side, so to speak.”

 

Nothing.

 

He sensed a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look but it was gone.

 

Ghosts.  Of course there were, in this old place?  It’d be unnatural if there weren’t. And ever since he’d come back one himself he had been more than a little sensitive to them and theirs ways and means.

 

He looked back at Angel, and he could have sworn he had been looking at him directly for a moment but now it was gone.

 

“Alright.  Alright have it your way.  Just stopped by to tell you Charlie’s gone...but Illyria, well that is, Illyria in Gunn’s body, is still here.  Just thought you should know.  Seventeen Slayers dead, Wesley and Charlie...so far, with everybody hoping that’s the end of it.”

 

No response.

 

“Good bye Angel.”

 

And with that, he went to knock on the door when he heard:

 

“So she loves you...”

 

Spike stopped, hand poised in mid air and said without turning around.

 

“I think so...yeah...”

 

Pause.

 

“I had that once...”

 

What could he say to that?

 

“Yeah...you did...”

 

“Once...once upon a time--“

 

“--no fairy tale, mate.  That’s your problem, you think all the hard works done and all you have to do is ride destiny like some sodding horse into town...”

 

“--out of town you mean.”

 

Spike said nothing.

 

“You get it all now Spike, the girl, the guts and the glory of the fight--you get to be the one up so high you can only fall down. What if she loves only when you’re perfect--

 

“--never been perfect, mate, no worries there--“

 

“--now you get to fight for me Spike my boy, you champion me now and let’s see how well you like it....”

 

Spike spun around to give him a good cursing, to tell him just how far he could stick his fight up his lower intestines...but he was gone.

 

Angel was blank again.

 

Spike crossed his arms and kicked lightly at Angles feet sticking straight out on the floor.  

 

“Why, you wank.  You sodding great pile of poof.”  But the cursing sputtered down quickly under the reality of his condition. 

 

He was gone again, he had swum into view for a moment and maybe it was the scent of Buffy on him, maybe he had surfaced to see her, only to find him. 

 

Spike shook his head.

      

He was in it now.  Deep in it and the Judge or whatnot would have their way with undead great lump.

 

So be it.

 

He knocked on the door, it swung open and he left without a backward glance.

 

Cordy cum etheric body of Cordial Chase Queen C indeed flickered into a blink behind Spike and if he had turned to look, he might have seen in that fractured time byte--her sweet...

 

...smile...

 

 

*      

 

“Don’t you wonder some times ‘bout sound and vision...?

...I’m gonna sit right down

waiting for the gift of sound and vision...”

 

David Bowie

 

*

 

Spike found his way to the library...eventually.

 

He took a few twists and turns to avoid two ghosts, specters maybe, that he saw along the way.  One of the ghosts looked Victorian, high collar and ruffles but that last git was in kilts so who knew from when and where and he just didn’t feel like chatting up the locals and by now Buffy had called off the dog, so it was just free range Spike getting far from the maddening crowd and in this old haunt...it was a trick.

 

Just he and his lonesome--after the confrontation with Illyria and any temptation to go berserk had been neatly avoided--Buffy had gladly given him the posy of peace.

 

Peace loving Spike.  All the blood washed off and everything.

 

Still, he noticed that the Slayers he met along the way, the women wandering through the halls neatly avoided him either by averting their gaze, quick glance and then eyes skipping away or the more obvious bluster stance...the ‘hey buddy...you wanna a piece this?’ pose.

 

And so he was sure, quite sure his reputation had preceded him.  

 

Whether it was the berserker element or the Slayer of Slayers, did it matter?

 

Because here it was, truth was truth and they had a right by god, to ignore him or challenge him for killing sister Slayers, and family feuds could wax long, and please, please not a challenge, not a showdown, not now, not ever. 

 

He sighed.

 

Buffy, with her inestimable capacity for forgiveness and mercy was and would be an exception.  There was Vi of course and some of the other girls that liked him, even preferred him in training, but it was a minority...and that is as it should be.

 

He had been placed under his own recognizance, which was another display of the faith Buffy was placing in him.  That he wouldn’t tear off to parts unknown and he wasn’t under house arrest either.  She had made that plain.  The guard had been a caution and for his own protection and now that he was stamped good to go.  He couldn’t.

 

Where would he go?

 

Especially now...with things moving, things happening between him and Buffy, and he loved her, he loved her deeply, but having toured the manor and seen the extent of the operation he had to admit.  He loved her, but he wasn’t sure he loved her world.  Her new one that is.  This one.

 

The organization, the hum of bureaucratic machinery.  Society. 

 

(If only it could be just us.  Just her and me.)

 

And suddenly he understood some of her caution in contacting him. She had foreseen this, this possibility that he might not fit into her new world.

 

He had found the library, found the books and had that immediate visceral reaction that he had had since a child.  He calmed down.  Maybe it was the smell of paper and board or leather mixed up with bindings and some kind of sense memory and he calmed down.

 

He stood there in the center of the room it was late afternoon already, early evening really and if he had wanted to find Buffy he could have easily...but he needed to think.  He needed to be quiet for a while and just think.

 

He found a high backed green leather chair facing the fireplace and away from the double doors.  Cleared a stack of books from the seat, placed them on the floor next to the chair and flopped down into the chair.

 

He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles and let himself go blank...just let go of the obvious and float around a bit, just let the heavy sink to the bottom of his mind to see what floated up.  There was something he was missing, his instinct was trying to push something up and he couldn’t see it.

 

Yet.

 

It had something to do with Angel.  With how he had just let go of himself, how he wasn’t making a stand or even an attempt to explain himself.  Had the brooding aspect of his nature just suddenly taken over and now it was all about punish me, oh punish please?

 

No.

 

There was nothing of that kind of submission running through Angel’s energy, even in that brief exchange between them, Spike could see that.

 

It was Angels fault, clearly it was Angels fault, it was a manufactured apocalypse just as untidy as anything Angelus could hope for and he should be double stomped for the premeditated murder of the good friend he had in Drogan, for the man that considered Angel his brother.  It was his fault and yet there was an aspect of this that bothered Spike.

 

Because there was fault and there was...grievous fault.

 

Culpa culpa mea maxima culpa.

 

 

And if there were layers in fault, there were layers in justice as well.  And if Angel stayed silent, if he stayed silent--would the true nature of his guilt meet with the proper corresponding justice?

 

Not likely.    

 

So what was this to him?  If the stupid double wank, with his think hunk of brick head couldn’t figure it out, what did it matter to him?

 

He felt his mind speed up and see something, the glimmer of an idea and the rush and shutter click of doors opening and closing and then slamming back open and then he was cursing outloud, cursing five different shades of a blue streak and in several languages as well finally rounding down to a nice bit of Latin.

 

And then simply.

 

“Bugger.  Bugger all.”

 

What had happened to Angel...could have happened to him, to almost anyone, almost, almost to Buffy, but her own moral center pulled her out of the fire...but the short end is, that what had happened to Angel could have happened to anyone who thought they had a hotline to heaven and the Powers that Be and then...simply got. It. Wrong.  Mucked it up, because someone had trusted them and...they got it wrong.

 

Who was to blame in such a situation?  The parent or child?  The parent for trusting the child or the child for getting it wrong?

 

FUCK.  Fuck bloody all bullocks.

 

He was pissed because he saw how it could be done, how the argument could be made and it would still most probably land Angel in the clink...but it would be...truer...but still shouldhe?  What had Angel ever done for him?  

 

The stack of books he had placed by his feet fell over spilling sideways across the floor--had he knocked them?

 

He looked idly over at them and his attention was caught by a title.

 

Coleridge.  Huh. He liked Coleridge.  Used to, that is, William kept him good as Bible.

 

Spike picked up the book and scanned the pages and then stopped the fanning to read this:

 

‘...And all our dainty terms for fratricide;

Terms which we trundle smoothly o’er our tongues

Like mere abstractions, empty sounds to which

We join no feeding and attach no form!

as if the soldier died without a wound;

As if the fibres of his godlike frame

Were gored without a pang; as if the wretch,

Who fell in battle doing bloody deeds,

Passed off to Heaven, translated and not killed;

As though he had no wife to pine for him,

No God to judge him!  Therefore evil days

Are coming on us, O my countrymen!

And what if all avenging Providence,

Strong and retributive, should make us know

The meaning of our words, force us to feel

The desolation and the agony

Of our fierce doings?...’  

 

 

Spike closed the book before he read more, had to shut the words out.

 

Quiet.

 

This wasn’t about Angel at all--this was about himself.

 

He remembered quite vividly stretching himself on the cross in the cemetery chapel and realized this was about himself.  This was about the kind of man he would hold himself to be.  What he would be held accountable for, what he was willing to do to help someone.  You don’t escape judgment...for anything.

 

It was an easy thing to jump in to help a loved one, a beloved, hadn’t he, even as unsouled vamp de luxe, been capable of that?  But now he could see it was quite another act of courage to help someone...you detested.

 

The fact that it was Angel...well that made it the tough part of the test didn’t it?

 

Submission.  Submitting.  Needing judgment and the black burned out and hadn’t he received both those things?  And wasn’t the nature of truth, of exposing everything as it is in order to secure true justice the same as protecting the twit in the alley who didn’t know enough to take a different route?  And didn’t his grandsire who seemed incapable of intelligent action, didn’t anyone deserve the same?   

 

Didn’t the helpless need the protection of mind and well as muscle?

 

Long pause.

 

It was getting late.  He would have to find Illyria or rather Charlie in Illyria to see if it was possible.

 

He wasn’t sure of his own motives, no not at all, not sure if he would do this to help roast him or help him and maybe this wasn’t about defending something impossible or defense at all really, maybe this would be simply about justice. 

 

(And avoiding judgment for himself.  Bloody hell.  Or not.)

 

The true nature of rendering justice the way Providence might.  Which meant: the truth.  The complexity of truth.

 

And that meant laying everything, everything open to view.

 

Ah...this was making his head hurt...like muscles aching after a workout.

 

The clock in the Hall chimed the quarter hour and Spike thought of Buffy. 

 

Uh oh.

 

Well, he would have to deal with how she felt later, first things first.

 

 

 

 

*

 

Chapter 9

 

“Here Comes the Judge, here Comes the Judge, here comes the Judge...”

 

Flip Wilson

 

 

*

 

 

Buffy kept looking over her shoulder expecting to see Spike at any minute.

 

She was seated at the back of the room, well as far back as she could place herself, but the solarium...well, courtroom now--had already been half filled by the time she arrived that she was forced to sit mid way back.

 

The solarium was large enough to house one hundred people and been converted into the meeting place for the hearing.  Chairs were placed on both sides and went almost three quarters of the way around leaving the center open where the Judge and Angel would be.  There was a clear path from the doors to the center of the room, for easy access to the Judge, Buffy imagined.

 

It was in the evening.  It had been decided to have the hearing in the evening to allow Angel, the vampire, the advantage for mental alertness.  Not that it would appear to matter.  She hadn’t seen Angel since the arrest. But had heard he was almost comatose. She hadn’t seen Spike since he had gone to see him and Buffy sensed that he had needed some time to himself and so she stayed away...but now...where was he?

 

Perhaps he just didn’t want to watch this, god knows she didn’t.  But she felt she must and as arresting officer she had to be here.

 

She looked briefly around the room and saw her fellow slayers, and some of the different faces she had seen on the premises.  The hearing was open for all present to attend.  She knew one of Drogan’s life long friends and companions were here but she hadn’t made his or her acquaintance and scanned the eighty persons in attendance for likely contenders, but she lost interest quickly...

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a panel in the wall separating and then slipping into the wall to reveal a wide passageway leading down into the recess of the castle.  A moment later Rona came down the hall with Chow lien and Babbette walking along both sides of Angel who was bound tightly in a wheelchair being pushed by a Slayer, whose name Buffy always seemed to forgot.  She kept changing her hair color see?  And Buffy blamed her inability to remember her on that misnomer.

 

She looked at Angel.

 

His face was slack, eyes dull and unresponsive and seemed oblivious to his surroundings. 

 

Great.  After everything he had done or almost undone--he was the one to look like the victim here. Great.     

 

The Slayer Buffy couldn’t remember, wheeled Angel into place on the lower right side of the Chair set for the Judge--and the room was so quiet, she could hear the wheelchair wheels making a soft squeal on the marble floor of the solarium.

 

She looked up at the glass panels of the solarium, she looked at the night sky, the moon was rising now, and could be seen there, just there above the rim of the roof and she thought: ‘how strange, how strange life is, how things can change but the moon still doesn’t.’

 

It wasn’t an original thought, but it was right.

 

And suddenly she realized why the Judge had insisted that the hearing be held in the solarium.

 

‘Those is glass houses, shouldn’t throw stones...’

 

This was just the hearing but if Angel didn’t respond to the charge--it would be over for him.  He would loose by default and receive the harshest measure of punishment the court could assign.  It had something to do with respect.

 

If he didn’t respect them with a response, the court would not respect Angel.

 

Buffy shook her head and breathed out on a sigh, and then became still and waited to see what happened next.

 

 

*

 

 

Of course she never imagined it would be Spike carrying a large book under his arm making his way up the center aisle toward where Angel sat ensconced in his wheelchair.  Or Illyria following slowly behind, its head turning from side to side canvassing the crowd of small humans as if permanently puzzled by their persistent existence.

 

Buffy tried to catch his eye as he stood next to Angel and he risked a look back in her direction but she couldn’t read his expression beyond that wall he could put up when he wanted to keep the world out.

 

She felt a ping of rejection and then saw him look back at her again and briefly just barely shake his head which translated loosely to ‘can’t talk now...talk later.’

 

Her brows pulled together and she looked down at her hands.

 

What was he up to?

 

Illyria was standing behind Spike and little to the left but appeared to be more interested in night sky than the company it kept.

 

Buffy was watching Spike again and she saw him look at the Judges chair and cock his head as if studying something interesting.  Buffy looked at the Judges chair but didn’t see anything and then a moment later the air was shimmering about the chair with a sparkling white light slowing gaining cohesion until a form became visible.

 

Buffy could make out the white robes; no, no they were grey, grey robes and then the white hair of an elder woman.  She came into focus then and it went from any elder woman to...oh my god.

 

It was the keeper of the Scythe.  The Slayer elemental.  But Buffy had witnessed her murdered.  She had seen Caleb the Preacher break her neck.  She looked closely; no, no it was her all right.  The wide set, clear wise eyes, the handsome features and the unmistakable aura of power.  More now, than when alive, but it was her, oh yes it was.

 

Of course she was a Judge.  TheJudge.  Buffy smiled.  It would be all right.

 

Whatever it was, this tangle they were all in now, with someone like this woman at the helm to steer the ship--it would be all right.

 

 

*

 

 

It was beginning.

 

“I am The Judge at this hearing, if we proceed to trial I will sit in Judgment there as well.  As Angel of Los Angels stands accused of crimes against the cosmic order, an intradimensional entity was necessary for this occasion.  As such, I am authorized and I may access the akashic records at will to search for interconnected truths and relevancy.  In the event of a trial I will be joined by two supplemental judges in order to maintain the balance we so strive for.”

 

She took a moment to look around the room establishing an energetic connection with all present.  She lingered for a moment on Buffy, but her expression didn’t alter and Buffy remained very still.

 

She began again.

 

“At this, the hearing we will hear the charges and the plea.”

 

She looked at Spike and spoke directly in a way that brooked no dilly dally.

 

“You sir”

 

And here she indicated Spike with a long elegant finger.

 

“State your name.”

 

“Spike.”

 

Well that was to the point.  There was an almost laugh in the gallery, and had it materialized, it would have been for him not against him. 

 

Funny Spike. Funny.  thought Buffy. (What are you doing?) 

 

The Judge looked upward as if searching the space just above her head.

 

“You are Spike, of the ethers, also known as William the Bloody, also the Slayer of Slayers.”

 

“It looks better in print.”

 

Now there was a gentle chuckle from the galley and The Judge looked sharply at the crowd and then back to Spike.

 

“I do not see how this situation calls for levity Mr. Spike.”

 

She seemed to be waiting for an answer.

 

“No...er Mum...no it doesn’t”

 

“’Your Honors’ will do when addressing us, Mr. Spike.”

 

For the life of him he couldn’t see the plural but, hey--

 

“Yes your Honors.”

 

“Yes, indeed.”  The Judge took in Angel’s blank stare and incapacitated condition and she addressed Spike again.

 

“Explain your presence here Mr. Spike.”

 

Spike nodded and stepped aside to look first at Angel then at the Judge.

 

“If this ‘un here doesn’t say anything on his own behalf and all and as he seems unwilling or unable to...uh demonstrate the common sense needed to bang two bricks together to make cheese...I’m, that is...I’d like to...whas’ the word Leary?”

 

Illyria brought its head around in a slow turn to contemplate Spike.

 

“Petition.”

 

“Yeah, I’m gonna petition the court as this ‘un nearest living, uh...so to speak, relative to act as his advocate on the grounds of diminished capacity. Although, thas’ a qualitative difference believe you me, if you knew the bloke.”

 

“Citing?”

 

Spike looked blank and Illyria spoke out in Charles voice.

 

“King George of England vs the World Court regarding the events leading up to and including the American Revolution.” 

 

“Yeah, thas’ right, Your Honor...s--King George was off his nut see? And his son spoke for him to the world court.  And whether he was really crazy or not is ...uh, immaterial to the, whas’ the word, latitude, the latitude the court is obliged to grant until competency can be proved.”

 

“Yes, yes I can see the case.  Very well Mr. Spike, this court accepts your petition of advocacy in the event Mr. Angel does not speak for himself.”

 

“Thank you your Honors”

 

“Now will the prosecution read the charges?”

 

All attention shifted to the man standing in brown tweed who seemed to have materialized from the people in the gallery.  He looked plain and ordinary save for the sharp, very sharp gleam of intelligence in his eye.

 

“Mr. Blighton,”

 

A moment while the Judge scanned him.

 

“Yes Mr. Harry Blighton of London--I see you and recognize your right to speak for Humanity and Cosmic order, please continue Mr. Blighton.”

 

“Your Honors, I would like to defer the reading of the charges to my senior council.”

 

“And where, is said Council, Mr. Blighton?” 

 

The judge inquired, her voice slicing with just a bit of an edge, but sharp enough to take heed, take heed...

 

The Judge continued.

 

“We have all managed to be at the appointed time and place, why has--“

 

Just then the double doors leading from the inner house to the Solarium burst open and there was a hush as heads turned in a swell almost like an orchestra leading up into the intro music to burst in a BANG; and there he stood.

 

It was The Immortal.

 

 

(Bloody hell.)

 

 

*               

 

 

Chapter 10

 

 

“You don’t need a spotlight

You so electrifying...

 

...You don’t even need to wear that little busteae

You famous baby,

Like Wild Bill DeCoohney...”

 

Nicholas Tremulous

  

 

*

     

He paused for a moment like an athlete hung suspended at the very height of their personal best, all six foot two, dark eyes, dark waving hello hair of him.

 

Athlete captured by a photograph in his best extremity, there, the rush, the power and the promise of more to come, there was an almost gasp in the room and then he began to move down the center aisle and the moment was broken and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. Ah see!  Not a statue or a god come to call and the place is a mess; look, he’s alive--just a man.  But not mortal.

  

Buffy’s eyes followed him, as did everyone in the galley.  He had that kind of charisma, the kind that held your attention close, almost exclusively...almost.

 

Her eyes slipped sideways to take in Spikes reaction and she was surprised to find she couldn’t quite read him.  She picked up something, though, maybe something like disdain colored with caution.

 

This was not good.  On sooo many levels.  What was he doing here? 

 

Wait a minute, she was confused, just who was she supposed to be rooting for now?

 

Once The Immortal reached the deck he took his position as lead council and had eyes only for the Judge.  He didn’t appear to be registering Spike at all or even Angel for that matter.

 

The Judge was speaking.

 

“The court recognizes The Immortal from times past, and services rendered as chief council for the prosecution, we recognize his world status and present authority on criminal and international law.”

 

Now she paused and looked hard at The Immortal.

 

“Mr. Immortal, I must begin, by warning you, this court will not be razzled, dazzled or tap danced upon by your impromptu theatrics.  Do not think a display of showmanship is ever a substitute for creative debate.  I will not have it, sir, I will not.”

 

She paused as her quiet voice rang round the room, and then continued.

 

“Consider future displays of self aggrandizement as tantamount to contempt of court and I am close to that decision now if you don’t successfully explain yourself, sir.  This is a serious business, sir.  A serious business.”

 

Spike refrained from laughing outright, only, only by sucking in his cheek and biting down.

 

If the Immortal was as shocked as the rest of the room by the old woman calling the roman god walking to task, he didn’t show it.  He bowed his head, well, inclined it, really and spoke low, it was low, masculine, musical, dipped lightly in Italian accent and of course....perfect.

 

“Your grand Honors...”

 

Spike snorted and the Judge gave him a sharp look but said nothing and when she interrupted The Immortal her voice was low and deadly.

 

“--Don’t take that tone with me Mr. Immortal.  I am currently of the ethers and not subject to the sway of material bindings and thrall.  I would strongly suggest you rely on the force of your argument and not the sway of your hips.”

 

And now icy hard:

 

“Is that understood?  The whole world is watching, sir and the seven heavens besides and I will not have your vested interests tainting the purity of these proceedings and risking all to a mistrial.  You are not here to work the vote, sir--save your politics for its proper forum.  Are we clear?”

 

Pause.  When The Immortal didn’t answer right away, the Judge addressed Mr. Blighton.

 

“Mr. Blighton are you prepared to read the charges?”

 

The Immortal interrupted by clearing his throat and when he began his voice was low and pleasant sounding but the intoxicating musical quality was gone.

 

“I beg your pardon Your Honors, I humbly beg your pardon, I forgot myself, and accept your admonishment and it will not happen again.”

 

Pause.

 

“Very well, Mr. Immortal, this court has heard eloquent arguments from you in times past and reminds you, that the debate is the most vital aspect of the day’s proceedings.  Now, please explain why you have insulted this court and the defendant with this late...arrival?”

 

“Your Honors, may I approach the bench?”

 

Pause.

 

“Yes you may.”

 

He stepped up close and leaned in to speak confidentially.

 

“I admit to having a previous association with the defendant and there are personal reasons and connections to concerned parties that might have inhibited my effectiveness as advocate for the Cosmos, and so the very able Mr. Blighton was to be the primary Barrister as I remained in Rome .”

 

“And now?”

 

“In the face of the personal appeal of old friendships and new alliances, I was reminded of the importance and far reaching consequences to the nature of order and balance in the world and though, I...may lose the...proportion of myself, that is, even if I do not know my own strength sometimes, and overreach my power...I still remain the best advocate for the World and so I have brought myself forward post haste.”

 

Silence as the Judge studied him.  It was not lost on her, that he apologized and explained his using thrall, as ‘overreach of power’ in such a way that stood as a slight slap to her and to the world for just not being big enough for the lion to walk around in.

 

He apologized and took it back smoothly in the same breath.

 

But...this same trait made him a great barrister.

 

She decided.

 

“Will you apologize or will you not, Mr. Immortal?  One or the other, sir, but you can not have it both ways.”

 

She looked at him until he bowed his head under her scrutiny.

 

He looked down, thought, and then shook his head as if reprimanding himself and then replied sincerely.

 

“I’m sorry for disrupting the court room and wasting its valuable time by turning its attention towards myself.”

 

“Did you hear that Mr. Spike?”

 

And although he had spoken quite quiet and all sotto voche that didn’t discount vampire hearing.

 

“Uh...yeah...yes, your Honors.”

 

“Very well, than I can assume Mr. Angel heard it as well, if he is listening.”

 

Pause as she looked around the room and then the Immortal went back to his place without even sparing a glance to Spike.  It was as if he were alone in the room.  Well, that is, alone with the Judge and the audience and the untold millions watching from the ethers.

 

What a prick.

 

The Judge spoke again and her voice was calm, even and unruffled.

 

“Will the prosecution read the charges against the defendant?”

 

“I will your Honors.”  said The Immortal.

 

 

“Angel of Los Angeles, otherwise known as Angelus in the nether regions and Liam O’Hara in the world, this, the world court the highest authority of balance and justice in the seven heavens and the earth incarnate in all its dimensions beside do charge you with the premeditated murder of Drogan the Innocent the Holy Keeper of the well and beloved of Humanity, we do charge you with malice afore thought and willful acts leading up to the near destruction of the world through Apocalypse through wanton disregard of the law of cause and effect; we do charge you that with the afore mentioned acts, of setting the balance of energy asunder up to three dimensions to the left and right and untold disharmony in Alternative Worlds, including a direct correlation to three world ends in A/U’s already determined and all the souls of the living beings therein, present approximation set at 12 billion souls--but not excluding ends still yet to be determined; we do charge you with murder in the second degree of Robert Fallings, Viet Nam veteran living on the street and murdered in the alley debacle; we do charge you with murder in the second degree of Ahemed Amin; Ali Amin; Tony Helinski;  Barbara Misk--all murdered in a convenience store by a Blastock  demon that escaped the Slayers net; we charge you with the murder in the second degree of Omar Rawlings, murdered in his car two blocks away from the alley, we do charge you with the second degree murder of Miles Abrahams, Ruth Abrahams who upon seeing the debacle from their rear window did end their own lives and that of their grandchildren Peter, and Sasha, in anticipation of saving themselves from a more violent end. We do charge you with coercion and conspiracy to commit murder, using Loren of Pythlea to murder one Lindsey The Hand; We do charge you with murder in the second degree of the Slayers most noble: Lynn Gretonak; Georgia Niles; Agnes Miles; Hoshi Matsui; Aru Huek; Natasha Kuryikan; Celeste Mckinney; Honest Jenkins; Sarah Popafakese; Carol Wright; Moeka Jackson; Wilma Chan; Joan Lee; Jean Ann Perdout; Marta White; Suki White and Leneka Williams.

 

 

 

The room was quiet, stunned, The Immortal had begun with his voice strong but finished on a whisper, just barely able to get it all out...and he let the silence be...just be with the names hanging, ringing like a bell they would never hear again and it wasn’t until the throng eased and then someone sobbed and through that crack one by one they cried, inside or out for the brave and the innocent.     

 

And then the Judge asked.

 

“How do you plead?”

 

Angel said nothing, moved nothing indicated nothing, they waited a full five minutes in silence for a response, a silence accompanied only by small sounds of sniffing and choking and finally winding down to breathing. Just breathe.

 

The Judge spoke softly.

 

“Mr. Spike, it now falls to you.  How do you plead?”

 

Spike had to wait, wait until his own eyes were clear...there was no way to hide it--he had to wipe his own tears away, he had to wait until he could trust his own voice to speak without breaking.

 

The Judge, aware of his predicament gave him the time he needed.

 

Buffy clutched her hands to her hurting heart, still coaxing the pain away and thought: ‘Spike. Spike, love, what are you doing?’

 

Spike stood straight, stiffened his back and looked straight at the Judge--he was on the wrong side of this argument absolutely and without question but he would do it anyway.  He would offer defense for the thing who wouldn’t or couldn’t defend himself.

 

Yeah, it was official, he was an idiot.

 

He cleared his throat and began.

 

 

*

 

“Handmaiden.  On behalf of this great lump of a wank I plead Handmaiden, vassel or any somesuch version of a truncated life.”

 

Stunned silence.

 

“I don’t plead guilty or innocent, I plead being used, being used. The Powers That Be gave that big lunk of stupid enough power to blow up the world. That’s like trusting a child with a machine gun.  And whether they did or not in reality is immaterial to him thinking they did.  For them picking him in the first place.  How many great wads of blank have tried to end the world because God told them to?  Stupid, stupidity sure enough...

 

Silence.

 

“Am I to understand that you are pleading stupidity?”

 

“Oh aye, bloody stupid.”

 

Pause, she seemed too surprised to speak and then:

 

“Mr. Spike.”  The Judge spoke in a warning tone.

 

“Really your Honors, in this court...it’s...fair--I checked; I waylay the plea of black or white and say thee ‘gray’ and call for debate. I call for debate over the nature of guilt rather that the fact of it.  Open, full on, throw down word joust and then you decide what’s to be done with the git.  But get it all, all the shades of gray on the table.”

 

Silence.

 

“Let me get this straight--you are agreeing to charges of guilt--“

 

“--Oh aye, he’s guilty as all get out--“

 

“--Don’t interrupt me Mr. Spike, you are new to this process, so I will let it pass and I will listen because it is obvious you have respected this court enough to do your research...who is that behind you?”

 

“That’s Illyria...er well Charlie too, Charles Gunn, best legal mind in the west coast...er...was...”

 

“Yes well the call for debate may be requested, lets hear your argument.”

 

“Well you got the best of it already...plus this...”

 

And here Spike lowered his head and thought, and then started speaking with his head low.

 

“Is not about guilt is it then?  We all know he’s guilty, this is about examining the degree of guilt, to match with the...proper amount of Justice...”

 

And then he didn’t know it but he said The Judges magic word.

 

“It’s about balance...in’t?”

 

Silence as the Judge looked down and then spoke softly.

 

“Yes, Mr. Spike, yes it is.”

 

“Objection you Honors.  Precedent”

 

“Mr. Spike?”

 

“Oh watch this...go on Leary.”

 

Illyria cocked its head and the blue melted back to brown and it was Charles Gunn again and he was speaking in roses.

 

 

“In the case of the world court vs Joan of Arc; it was determined that because Joan sincerely believed she was receiving instruction from a higher authority she could not be brought to task in how that translated into the mundane world of men.  That she did have higher contact is evident, but the message of ‘spread this love into the world’ in the heavy third dimension translated in her mind to: conquest. ‘Spread’ became ‘conquest’...and so through the act of lost in translation between dimensions...some leniency was granted in judgment.” 

 

“Very well Mr. Spike I am satisfied, objection overruled.  Let the record state the plea reads: ‘Handmaiden in Grey.’ You shall have your debate after which the nature of punishment will be levied--is that understood?”

 

“Yes, your Honors...uh just one more thing...”

 

The Judge just looked at him imperiously with enough chill to wilt a less sunny disposition.

 

“A continuance, your Honors...so we can get up to speed, like, get to know all what they got on the wank--“

 

“Full disclosure?”

 

“Yeah thas’ right.”

 

“Very wise Mr. Spike, anything else?”

 

“Yeah...I have a bit, a year of law, but the rules of this court are different than Great Britain, ‘sides the fact that it’s been a bit, of time passed, that is--and in order to respect the court, behave proper and all, I’d like some time to prepare.”

 

Buffy smiled, smart Spike, very smart--there was the cunning warrior she knew, but what was he doing?

 

The Judge stony faced studied Spike.

 

“I have granted you some leniency and will grant you some little bit more, due to the sincerity of your intentions and the creativity of your argument, but use this time to be prepare and argue the depth and complexity of your proposal...or I shall be...put out.  How many days do you require?”

 

“I’m thinking...five?”

 

“I’ll grant you three full days we meet on the evening of the third. This court will reconvene in three days time at nine p.m. Oh and Mr. Spike?”

 

“Yes, Mi Lord, er your Honors?”

 

“Clean up your language and wear something presentable; or you will see the backside of my gavel.  Court dismissed.”

 

And with that, she faded away.

 

 

 

*  

 

 

Chapter 11

 

 

“You don’t need a film career...

You always on location...”

 ..you don’t need a stun gun

you stunning all the time...

 

...you famous baby, like Leon DaVinci...”

 

Nicholas Tremulous

 

 

*

  

It was late, but not too late.  It was only just after midnight, the hearing hadn’t lasted that long, but, my god it loomed large in people’s minds and it needed, simply needed to be discussed, disassembled, and addressed before anyone got undressed for bed.

 

Plus there was the other thing.  Him, he, the ‘it’ boy in town, the master come home to roost and now it was all about throwing down the red carpet and putting on the dog. 

 

And there was this thing that night could do that nothing else might, the remedy of cool dark blue air to ease the mind and hot debate--a little investment in tea and biscuits to ease everybody down for a good nights rest.

 

It was going to be a late evening and maybe the last get together before ‘it all’ began in earnest and so after refreshing themselves and dressing for the evening, everyone gathered in the ballroom and there abouts for a nightcap and the winddown.

 

Spike, oblivious to the party gestation, had accompanied Angel back to his cell, and had lingered there for an hour; he and Illyria trying to get some kind of response from the poof, with no luck.

 

Then rising up from the bowels of the building, he and Illyria had followed the sounds, followed the low hum of conversation to its source.

 

Of course he saw Buffy right away.  She was wearing a halter style dress of a middle green that showed the bare expanse of neck and back and offset her coloring in such a way that set her aside as one of the earths most dazzling features and best reasons to stick around.

 

His heart did the thing, the thing absolutely out of his control when he saw her; it did the slow warm in his cool body that was nothing short of hot honey feeding his spirit.  And she seemed happy, not well...as pissed as he might have supposed her to be and he might have been pleased altogether at the prospects of a good reception, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was talking and smiling up at that git. 

 

She was standing there talking and smiling up at...that git.

 

Spike couldn’t take his eyes off her.  Cliché but...bullocks.  What was she up to?  What was she on about?

 

Spike had gone from puzzled brow and double duh curiosity to full frontal naked expression jaw just about hanging open astonished.

 

What was she doing?

 

It wasn’t that she was acting all slit eyed, hair toss, double doe body femme la femme with da crème on top.

 

It was that she was acting all slit eyed, hair toss, double doe body femme la femme with da crème on top.  

 

Now, one might expect him to feel at the very least, consternation and at the very most some kind of soul obliterating pain at watching her do the slow incline cuddle up with another man, especially this crackpot.  Pot o’ crap.  (more apt)

 

Of course, one might expect that, but no, no...our hero was just mind slapped dumb and staring at this Buffy cum Marilyn M femme la crème and cream dreaming over this...blithering megalomaniac who everybody thought was just the bee’s knees.

 

He might have been upset, except: Who was this person?

 

He could barely recognize her.  He had seen degrees of her flirting or fawning with Finn or Angel or that Doctor Boyo, was’ his name, Glory or even with Wood--that whole little food fest he had observed in the restaurant revealed a glimmer of the way she could play. But nothing like this.

 

When he had watched her bat her eyes at Finn it always seemed to him, slightly out of character, like a bad or missed note in a beautiful piece of music--something inspired undone by a moment of kitch.

 

She had never been that way with him of course.  Thank god.  He would have laughed in her face.  She knew that of course and it was straight, always straight with him, no mask. No maybe me, maybe not me...

 

Oh god.  Thas’ it.

 

That was exactly it and he nodded his head slightly as if agreeing to some private conversation.

 

He had been closer to her real ‘her’ than any man she had ever been with.

 

And he loved her masculine way of up front and no frills, no fluff and no twirling tease.  He loved the masculine part of her nature that she kept hidden from these poofs. He loved the upfront forthright masculine aspect that blended so well with her feminine mystique.  To his mind, she was the construct of the perfect woman. Well, perfect for him.

 

So who was this?

 

Now he shook his head.  Buffy couldn’t be that dense, simply could not, he had faith in her deeper better self, he knew her godamnit and simply truly believed in her and so...  

 

She had to be up to something, and it couldn’t be about getting the git. 

 

She wouldn’t have to work that hard to get someone like The Immortal. All you had to do was get close enough to let him grab you.  Living, undead, or inanimate, Spike guessed it was all the same to that lout.

 

Of course he...could be wrong...he could be...but...

 

It’s not something you could say.  It’s not something you had to think about.  It’s there already, it’s something you know; it’s something you know about a person already.  It’s something you go to sleep knowing and you wake up knowing.  It’s on the list of things you know they would do or never do.

 

And he relaxed.  He watched her.  He watched her smile up into that crock’s face, incline her body toward his--pose all la femme and almost fatale, almost fatal to his heart, if he hadn’t recognized the thing.  She was flirting. She was posing and putting on a pretty face.  And it wasn’t her.

 

Spike looked at the Immortal’s hooded eyes, at his smiling face, all sanguine and approving of beguiling Buffy.  And Buffy there posing for him. Posing!  All pouty mouth and lidded eyes.

 

Spike almost smiled.

 

He leaned against the wall from his vantage place in the hall and almost smiled.

 

Maybe she was happy, maybe that was true and good on her, but if she was happy being around the Immortal, well, she would certainly never dare show him unhappy.  She surely would never show him surly, slappy, slap happy Buffy.

 

She would never dare relax enough to show him her true face.  She would never dare show him or Angel or anyone for that matter her true self. 

 

This Immortal was too perfect to accept anything less than perfection and just how long could anyone keep that up?  His outrageous body bed count was testimony to that.  Certainly no one could be perfect enough for him for long, that is, from his point of view.

 

And Spike knew The Immortal was no threat to Buffy.  She was better than that.  She deserved a better life than pretended perfection.  Thing was--how long would it take for her to figure it all out?  Whatever it was--she would have to find it on her own. 

 

Again, at this point in their lives, after all they had been through, including, especially including these past two days; it was something you knew...or didn’t know.  And no words spoken, or dramatic action, or even a come hither glance would do.  She would have to find it on her own.

 

He decided he could do with a drink--but not here. Best to leave before someone noticed him.

 

 

 

 

*



”You don’t need a theatre of truth to be absurd...

you famous baby...”   

 

Nicholas Tremulous

 

 

*

 

 

This was the thing, the thing was this thing that slowed down her insides whenever she was within ten maybe twenty feet of him.  She’d noticed it that last year in Sunnydale.  Frantic girls and cacophony and there he would be, standing in between her and bedlam, standing there beside her, and she would calm down.  She calmed down.  House crazy and she would go down to the basement. Sometimes, most times just to sit beside him, to warm her heart with his.

 

She did not know what would have happened to her if she hadn’t had that. And now, now it was happening again, and she was in this crowd of people, chatting and gently arguing about Angel’s case, Spike’s coup and she heard Dawn ask Giles why didn’t Spike just plead ‘not guilty?” and all the while she felt the lack of him that couldn’t be filled with conversation or activity, it was like a daily fix or dose of calm and where was he?

 

Oh now Giles was answering and she stepped away from the Immortal to listen to Giles’ response.  The Immortal touched her shoulder to regain her attention and she shifted from beneath his hand and gestured ‘in a moment.’

 

Giles was wiping his glasses, “I suppose...that is, it’s quite clever really, Angel is guilty, the evidence is irrefutable, Spike knows this better than anyone, to claim innocence in the face of this would be...almost arrogant. Claiming not guilty is a different debate, with an offense to the court and the injured parties and it could fall down much heavier on Angel in the aftermath.  This plea is something akin to pleading for mercy, but not quite.  He is pleading for full disclosure; he is hoping the truth will bring in the variations needed for a just sentence.  It is...creative.”

 

“And within the law of the intradimensional world court.”

 

This was from Mr. Blighton who was standing just to the side of The Immortal, holding a tea cup and saucer with both hands.

 

Buffy studied him.  He was a slight man, of medium build with dark brown hair cut close to his head. He looked a little like that actor James Woods with that same combination of intelligence with a side dose of feral danger.  Her instincts said he wasn’t one to be taken lightly.  As everyone’s attention was now fixed in his direction he felt compelled to continue.

 

“It is seldom invoked, and personally I have never seen it argued. It is a difficult case to make. He has to present several significant shades of grey on the first day or that Judge will throw it out and pass sentence on the spot by default.”

 

There was a pause as they all considered that and then The Immortal said, his slight Italian accent touching the tips of his words.

 

“It is of no consequence.  It simply does not matter.”

 

“I disagree.”  Countered Mr. Blighton softly.  And here he turned his body in to the Immortal and away from the others.

 

“We need to discuss this, in private.  There are...some possibilities in the argument--“

 

“--But surely the vampire is not likely to present.  Surely the Old One was the one to supply the facts and it seemed completely uninterested in the affair.”

 

Here Giles cleared his throat and said softly.  “Illyria may have had access to world court law and the history of records and cases argued...but knowing facts isn’t the same talent as the one to use them creatively.”

 

Pause as the Immortal considered.

 

“This vampire, who is he?”

 

Mr. Blighton replied in a rush.  “That’s just it--I’ve accessed the akashic records, and...there are spaces, that is, blanks in the record, the guardian of the records has put a seal on a great deal of information about him...and his future, is completely blanked out.”    

 

“That can’t be right.”

 

Mr. Blighton simply shrugged.

 

 “Perhaps the records are sealed for the duration of the trial.  To safeguard and focus the attention on the facts of the case.” Giles suggested.

 

The Immortal waved him away, almost dismissively, and Buffy noted Giles’ eyes narrow slightly at the offhand gesture.

 

The Immortal was speaking.

 

“If he’s on board, he is a fact of the case, I might understand certain elements of the past being unavailable...but to have all the currents moving into the future be blanked out, would indicate...”

 

“Prophecy?”  Dawn asked. And her voice, her question brought the prosecution keenly aware of the fact that they were discussing their case in public.

 

“Not exactly, no...”  Supplied Giles.  “Just the opposite, in fact...”

 

Mr. Blighton cut him off with a question.  “You know this vampire, Mr. Giles, yes?  Perhaps you could help fill in some of the history, acquaint us with his modis operandi...”

 

Giles studied the two men.  Giles had placed the call to The Immortal, he had brought him into the mix and now, oddly he felt protective (?)..of Spike...somewhat...and he was also aware he was being...handled.  He had to think about this.  He finally answered Mr. Blighton.   

 

“Yes of course, but Buffy might be in a better position to update--“

 

But Buffy was taking the Immortals arm and leading him away to the bar, throwing back her head and letting her long blonde hair fall in luxurious waves down her bare back. 

 

“Yes...well...”  Giles eyed Buffy speculatively.  “Perhaps later...”

 

 

*

 

 

Of course she had wanted to break that up.  She was in a bizarre position, classic really, she was the arresting officer, a witness for the prosecution and at the same time, without knowing what in the hell he was up to--wanted to support Spike in this, well...whatever it was he was trying to do.

 

She didn’t understand it all; didn’t understand why he was doing this exactly but she had a sense of it, from what he had said in court...and...well...she approved.  Why not let the truth come out?  Maybe it would help her understand Angel.  Help her find a way, if not to forgive him, than to understand.  So why not bring out all aspects of it and then decide what’s to be done.

 

She didn’t see anything wrong with that.  But just how in the world was she going to do a personality rundown on Spike? Giles should know better than to put her in that position.  Despite all their plans, she had her loyalties, he should know that.  And now here she was back to buttering The Immortal’s bread on both sides when she had been trying all evening to tone it down.

 

Bring it all back to real.  Speaking of which, really, where was he?  

 

They had a few things to talk about didn’t they? And was he hiding from her?

 

After the ballsy display at the hearing--she didn’t think he was exactly wanting in courage.  Oh there...there...

 

She felt him on the outskirts of the room; she could feel him coming, like the warmth of the sun just peeking out to make a promise on a overcast day. She felt her bones soften, she felt herself yield to it, to him; the wide smile on her face dimmed down to quiet as she waited to be sunbathed. 

 

The bones of her face became so soft the mask, the mask would very soon just slip away, with no hard edges to cling to--but what did it matter really? There were always several ways around the same problem and she would tell Giles she was through--she turned to look for Spike, while half listening to the Immortal (where was he?)

 

She felt the warmth in the room pull farther away and she knew he had come and gone.  She had a moment of confusion and then without thinking another thought, she did what any sane California girl would do when the winter got to be too, too much.

 

She followed the sun.

 

 

* 

 

 

Chapter 12

 

“To me you are the sea

as vast as you can be

the deepest shade of blue...

tell me, what am I to you?...”

 

Nora Jones

 

 

 

*

 

“I’m telling you how wonderful, how super splendiferous he is. How super scrumptious and heroic and alpha male at everything and don’t you just wanna bust his balls for it?”

 

“Dawn!”

 

Spike’s retort was actually quite sharp.

 

“I’m sorry, but somebody’s gotta!  He cut you down like ten times twenty in the past ten minutes, and that was just by being ‘oh so dismissive’ of your puny animal like intellect. Vamps are animals and everything like that and here you are, tucked away at the back of the house smoking a pipe in a wool sweater sipping tea and suddenly so olde English and what. Is. Up. With. That. ?”

 

“It’s comfy...sides’...”   

 

He moved around to the end of the billiard table, cue stick at the ready.

 

“...this is not the library and this...”  He hoisted a bottle of Grand Marnier to his lips and took a slup. “This is not tea...”

 

“Well it’s yourversion of tea, comfort and cookies...that’s what matters.”

 

“You’re blocking my shot.”

 

Dawn moved out of the way to let him break.  There was a satisfying ‘crack’ and five balls dropped into respective sockets.

 

‘Well. At least some balls are being busted.”

 

“Good to see you to by the way.”  He said as he studied the table.

 

Pause.

 

“Yeah.  You too.” 

 

Dawn was looking down.  She was glad to hear he was alive, that he was back, but she was embarrassed too. She had never made up with him that last year, and then time went by and it had became moot, and somehow now, if she just ignored that they had ever been on the outs, then maybe the transition would be easier.

 

“Spike...”

 

“It’s all right, Nib...Dawn...” he stopped himself from saying the pet name, the endearment and stuck with the birth certificate title.

 

“Truly.”  He took another shot and landed three balls this time, the third one double banked and dropping slow mo and into a side pocket.

 

“Nice.”

 

“You play?”

 

“Just started.  Nothing like this.”

 

“Have a billiard table have you?”

 

“Hedoes.  He has this and that and the other...” (And here she went into an Italian accent) and what do you want Bufffeee?  Hmm my little snapping turtle?  You want a pool, a pie, a piece of the sky and POOF! It appears.”

 

“Sounds right handy having a magic man about.”    

 

In answer Dawn put two fingers down her throat and gagged...very convincingly too.  Spike stopped his play to look at her closely.

 

“They teach you that at finishing school?”

 

“Oh God, don’t get me started.  At first it was fun, you know, the fashion and everybody is so chic and then really, I find out it’s all about super valley girls only in Italian and worse, cuz they hate American’s really, gauche, and pedestrian and loud, like they gotta a right to complain about that, and if you slip one day without full make up and super slippers, Valancia style that is--then OH MY GOD!  And already I don’t speak the language, and they are always talking about me behind my back only its right in front of my back!  And it’s o.k. for Buffy, because she loves fashion and has always been a clothes horse even on patrol, the only slayer in the history of forever to where three inch healed boots into battle--plus she’s blonde and the guys, these Italian guys just about come in their pants when a blonde walks by--“

 

“Dawn!”

 

“Oh I’m sorry, did I offend the world traveled vampire?  Puhlease, like you don’t know that’s’ true.  I mean its tough enough on me, walking on the street; the guys are just all over you, like, all the time.  They travel in packs...and...and it’s a little scary, really it is Spike, Buffy’s got super strength so she can bop them if they get too close and I’ve got training and a stun gun but it’s worse than dealing with vamps or demons, cuz with these guys, you need some kind of legitimate reason or so say the civil authorities to zap them in the balls...”

 

And here she shook her head as if remembering.

 

“...They really didn’t seem to appreciate the five feet perimeter I require to walk in...the policia didn’t seem to understand either, like somehow my walking alone in the street is my problem and Buffy is all...’this is a different culture Dawn, and we have to make adjustments...’ and WHAT is her problem?  This Immortal guy is like some terrible, awful version of an even swarmier Sean Connery or Warren Beatty or Mick Jagger or something like that, really old and, debauched and who would wanna sleep withthat?  I mean really? It would be like swimming in other peoples droppings.  Double ew and ick”

 

And here this was a pang to Spike’s heart, god, he really didn’t want to hear that.  She had slept with him? But Dawn was going on and seemed to be getting quite upset now.

 

“He wants her Spike.”

 

He kept his voice calm.

 

“He wants everyone and their cheese sandwich, pet.”

 

“He wants, wants her, like, body and soul--and how many women have you slept with, Spike?” 

 

Well that was a jump in the spotlight wasn’t it?

 

“Pet.”

 

“Really.  O.K....so you were like, with Druscilla, for like, over a hundred years, and maybe you strayed once or twice, cuz lets face it, that’s a long time, but I can’t see her putting up with that, because you wouldn’t put up with it from her, right? So doing the math, what...well, can you at least count them on two hands?”       

 

He just shook his head at her and made his next shot.

 

“O.K. I’m taking that as a ‘yes’.”  Now I’ve never had a relationship, well in this lifetime, but even I can guess that there is a level of intimacy reached with one person over a long term, that you can never get with someone taking the shot gun approach and nailing everything that moves.  Why would Buffy wanna be with some guy that doesn’t even stick around long enough to read his reviews?  See I remember what Angel did to her, flipping on her like that...O.K. I know it’s complicated, but still, the subtext was imprinted early on, sex equals guy flipping out and treating me like pooh and not Winnie the.  And there was some guy in college...before Riley...a ha...see?  You thought I didn’t know about him...so what I’m getting at Spike, what I’m saying is...what if she is subconsciously reenacting these formative events?  And there is no WAY I’m staying in Rome for one week longer to find out!  I wanted to come see the trial, but really it was just an excuse to get OUT OF THERE! These are MY formative years dammit and right now my opinion of guys and their uncontrollable perverse sexual natures is pretty low and I could REALLY use a little English reticence, lemme tell you, or some good old American boy too distracted by a video game to feel me up--”

 

Here Spike did a super clearing of his throat and said:

 

“--Am still here, pet--”

 

“--so I wanna stay here with Giles, I’m gonna make it clear, I’ll stay by myself if I have to, if Buffy really has to go back,  and The Immortal certainly doesn’t want me around...that is until I’m LEGAL--though I doubt that would stop him if Buffy wasn’t around (Here Spike did growl and Dawn noted it with satisfaction but continued to her big finish) I would prefer to stay together, BUT I just can’t go back there and save me Spike, save Buffy, for god’s sake from that dirty old man!”

 

That done.  Spike decided it was time for an after lecture cigarette.

 

“Can’t smoke in here.”

 

“Compromise, pet.”

 

And then as if to illustrate this he went to the double doors leading to the stone deck outside, opened them but then remained inside.

 

“Compromise what?  I’ve made ALL the concessions.”  She lowered her head and spoke low.  “Don’t, don’t you want her (us) anymore?”

 

He looked at her, took a drag off the cigarette and then asked softly.

 

“So you want me back now?  Seen the world and not less than a few of the gits in it and figure ole Spike not such a bad gamble after all?”

 

Pause, she didn’t look up.

 

“Yeah, I think so...”  and then “I’m sorry I was so hard on you that last year...I missed out too--“

 

He looked at her steadily.  “You had reason.”

 

“To distrust what you were...not, what you were trying to become.”

 

“How could you know the difference?  No we’re all right on that score, pet...no I meant...well...it might not be up to you, is it?”

 

“Well than, you gotta save Buffy from herself...don’t, don’t you wanna fight for her?”

 

“Dawn, my sweet girl, that I love, there is nothing to fight for at this point.  This is something that exists or doesn’t.  It’s not something Buffy can decide with her mind, or sift through by watching two rams going at it, banging heads, or by deeds done...it simply...is...or it is not.”

 

“Well sometimes a girl chooses by watching deeds, you know, a natural selection kind of thing, alpha male, big machosim, and you could take this guy, and from what I heard about this last battle, you could take him, no problem...”

 

“Well...yeah...thanks for the vote...but we...Buffy and me, are past that. We are.  Whatever happens between us from this point on won’t be a decision made by a system of comparison, cause les’ face it.  Dawn...there is always gonna be someone faster, stronger, braver, or even more beautiful, though in her case, that’s unlikely unless you count her kid sister as contender...there’s always gonna be somebody that looks better, greener grass an’ all...no, there is always gonna be somebody else, pet, this next step is about ignoring the temptation to trade up; this is something she knows...or doesn’t.  See?”

 

“I love you Spike.”

 

His eyes misted over at her simple heartfelt words.

 

“I love you too Nibblet.”

 

And she hugged him.

 

And her words were muffled as she spoke this into his shoulder.

 

“And it so wouldn’t be a trade up either--Mr. Sage Turkey gonna loose everything for sitting on the sidelines...”

 

“Or not.  Try having a little faith in her, pet.”

 

“Huh.  She’s been acting like such an idiot...but whatever...”       

 

They pulled apart and she said simply.

 

“You smell like smoke.”

 

“Well...I was burned alive.”

 

“No...joking about that o.k.?”

 

Pause.

 

“Alright Nibs.”

 

“So you need help...with this thing you’re doing....Research maybe?”

 

“You sure that’s O.K?  You know with the works an all?”

 

“Hey, my times my own, it’s more like I’m helping you, than helping, you know, him...and this Immortal guy is good, Spike.  He seems so great at everything he does, you better be prepared.  Hate to see you fall on your face.”

 

“Ta”    

 

“Just saying.”

 

“Well maybe tomorrow, fresh start, I got something to think out first.”

 

“All right, good night old man.”

 

“Why is everyone calling me that lately and who is counting whose rings in whose tree, hmm?”

 

She laughed, hugged him hard again for a brief moment and then left.

 

Spike waited moment and then went out on the patio off the game room to finish his smoke and try another.

 

 

*

 

 

He was sitting on the stone railing enclosing the marble patio.  He was just sitting there with the glow from the interior lighting touching his face on one side and the light reflected from the moon stroking the other.

 

She felt herself grow calm at the sight of him, felt the taunt knot inside her give way to peace and pleasure.  She saw him and the warmth in her heart grew and grew until it surrounded her like a bubble that she floated in.

 

She knew he felt it too, she felt his heart swell; she could feel him grow warmer as she glided Glinda the Good Witch like. 

 

Even if they were mad at each other, or bored or irritated, this would still be there, this was the kind of glue that held people together. 

 

Rich, thick, ever-present, effervescent glowing goo.

 

She stood still in front of him and watched him watch her.

 

He didn’t seem upset.  His eyes were wide and serene, almost like he had dropped forty pounds, like something terrible had fallen away.  So she was a little surprised by his soft voice saying these words.

 

“So I’m wondering...just how does a lass express herself whilst in the throes of The Immortals passionate embrace?  I mean, does he have a name?  Some diminutive, or does he just assume...’oh god ‘ is a reference to himself and proper thanks for getting the whole of it well done?”

 

Buffy tilted her head slightly to look at him.  His voice was easy; there wasn’t an edge in it.  He seemed genuinely amused and simply, curious. She knew better, than that though, and realized this was it.  Showdown. All right then, two can play.  He was talking again.

 

“Morty, maybe or Mort?  Nah...that doesn’t really suit, does it?  Does he prefer, I bet he prefers ‘The Immortal,’ he wants the full monty, the whole hog--he insists on the long road to always, always guarantee holding the object of his whatever at arms length.  Intimate but never close and the formality to make it all the easier to let go...”

 

“Amerigo.”

 

“Come again?”

 

“Amerigo.”

 

Spike looked down and said softly. ”He gave up a name for you did he? That’s quite...a bit...wait a minute...Amerigo as in Amerigo Vespucci?  Amerigo as in America?  As in Italian mapmaker and two glorious continentants named after him Amerigo?

 

“That’s him”

 

“Huh.”

 

Silence.

 

“Quite a bloke.”

 

Silence for a moment and she came and sat next to him on the stone rail.

 

Silence that she let him stew in for a moment and why not?  And then it was her turn and she asked softly.

 

“Why didn’t you call me, Spike?” 

 

He said nothing, just looked down.  She thought he wasn’t going to answer and then he did.

 

“Coming back a ghost...or whatever...was a terrible thing, Buffy. Terrible.  Not in the world, not out of it, not able to touch it, it made me feel...meaningless.  Like heaven and hell both took a vote and decided I just wasn’t worth the effort.”

 

She leaned up against him, so he could feel her body, her love, but she said nothing and listened and in a moment he continued.

 

“It was bad enough at first and after a bit, it did something to me head, I think, being ineffectual in the world like, got inside me somehow, worked on some very old issues, with William and the demon too, to be fair--things I was well over in the year before because if I didn’t humble meself on...that cross...what would do it?  So then being there, repeating it all didn’t make sense and the only purpose I seemed to fill was for Angel to rag on and I would find myself saying things, doing things that made no sense, none whatsoever and...I didn’t like who that was...sure as hell, didn’t want him around you...”

 

“Some kind of spell maybe? 

 

He shrugged and shook his head; “I really don’t know--Angel sure as hell wouldn’t have cared enough to find out.  They all just wanted me gone and I was too, I was gone, but still there. It was terrible.

 

They were quiet for a moment and then she asked.

 

How did you come back?”

 

“Well that’s a curious thing, I don’t rightly know and no one explained the physics of the thing and it made no sense to me, and I know magic, have had a hand in over the years.  Opened an envelope and out I pop, open a box and then I’m solid.  All a little too neat and easy--no cost and anyway, I certainly felt fragmented, broken really and it wasn’t until the battle, really, when I went deep into the...the place I as William the Bloody used to go, but this time I blended it with, well, thoughts of you...and that made it me again, it was me.  I forced myself, like, back together and then it was me again, well, and as whole as when you last saw me...”

 

“No...I mean it’s you...but you’ve grown too...deeper, stronger...”  Buffy observed.

 

“Yeah well going beserk will do that to you.”

 

Buffy said nothing but took his hand in hers and held it tight.  Her left hand, his right and they were right back there again on the Hellmouth and this was their link.

 

Their hearts talked to each other for a bit and hers filled him in on the past year, he felt the grief she had for him, felt First Slayer holding her through it all and then finding a new purpose, he could feel some new idea she was holding inside her like a secret, and the Immortal was involved with it but not...and  now he felt like weeping.  It shouldn’t have mattered, it was her life and she had the right to do as liked...still, he wanted to weep with relief when she let him see...

 

“You din’t sleep with him.”

 

“Nether did you.”

 

And then they both smiled into each others eyes.

 

Buffy looked around at the night and he followed her gaze and they were quiet together for a moment, they could hear, the muted sounds of conversation and teenage girly feet running down the hall and then it was the night again. It was the sounds of the wind cleaning the poor world from the pressure of living in the light.

 

The peace was broken suddenly by the double doors of the game room bursting open and in poured girls, girls, girls with Tedi in the lead.

 

“No...no I swear, I swear, I saw it, saw him,...oh where did I leave it?”

 

Vi was laughing, “Girl, you and your fantasy’s--you just can’t keep your daydreams of tall dark and Italian straight from--“

 

“--NO, no...LOOK!  Here it is! See?”

 

And here Tedi pushed her glasses up on her nose, short dark hair falling back away from her face as she waved a gothic romance novel at the girls.

 

Babbette crooned in her French accent.  “Oooh, let us see...oh my...she is right, she is, look Vi--it’s The Immortal!”

 

Vi took her turn and looked at the glossy cover in vivid colors of red and purple and read:

 

“Passion’s Triumph.  Huh. Well, it certainly does look like him. You would think the dude wouldn’t be caught dead posing for something like this.”

 

“Oh I dunno, any excuse to show off his washboard might be considered PR from his point of view.”  This was Dawn’s dry comment.

 

“Bloody Hell.” 

 

It was a completely involuntary expletive.

 

“Spike is that you?  You still here?”  Dawn called out through the open doors of the patio.

 

Busted.  Spike looked at Buffy and she rose with him to go into the game room to greet the girls.

 

“Ohhee Buffee!”  Rejoiced Babbette.  “Look; it’s The Immortal!”

 

Buffy took the book waving in front of her face, looked at the cover and then commented dryly.

 

“Fabio is out of work.”

 

“Nah, he’s still good for the Nordic type, you know, totally Slav,” Vi observed

 

“You mean Slave,”  giggled Tedi adjusting her glasses.

 

The girls laughed and then Tedi braved a question to Buffy.

 

“What’s he like, Buffy, I mean, really?” 

 

“Yeah Buffy, what’s he like?” Asked Spike all innocence.

 

“Who Him?  Oh...he’s like, you know he’s like some movie star come to a small town girl.  John Cusack.  Yeah, like John Cusack just dropped into your lap and thinks you’re just the best thing since squeeze cheese.  John Cusack showing up and buying a cup of coffee from the counter girl and then one cup isn’t enough not nearly, so why not two?  But then it’s just one more cup or one more girl and he can barely tell the difference from one to the next and who wants to be cup number 10, 659?  That’s just way too much caffeine.”

 

Pause as the girls took that in.

 

‘What about Angel?  What’s he like?”  This was from Babbette.

 

Buffy considered, she looked into herself and then started speaking as if she had hooked something far off and was now pulling it into the present.

 

“Angel...he’s like a folk legend.  A folk hero like Paul Bunyon, or John Henry, something bigger than life working against the machine, against impossible odds; a folkys rep built up by word of mouth until it gets back to him and he believes it himself and then breaks his back because he thinks it’s all true and he can do anything.”

 

Buffy finished on a sad sigh and there was a pause that just had to be filled with the next question and Dawn being Dawn, took a chance and asked it.

 

 

“And Spike?”

 

There was a moment of silence as Buffy turned her attention to Spike and at first she was smiling, playful and then suddenly: she saw him. She looked into his big honest loyal love and without taking her eyes off him and without loosing a beat she took her next breath and spoke it outloud.

 

“You...you are a great story, a great old movie...yeah...you’re....you’re ‘Old Yeller’, Spike.  You’re Old Yeller. Big mangy, yeller dog nobody wanted at first but everybody loves in the end...because he’s so loyal, and loving and lionhearted he’ll go up against a big ole, thirteen foot grizzly bear with nothing but dog sized claws and teeth and never know he’s outclassed because his heart makes up for it...”

 

She stepped up close up and stroked his cheek, mesmerized by the feel of his skin.  Inexplicably, she began to cry soft plops of water.

 

“...Crazy old dog standing up to a Hellgod to protect nothing bigger or more important than one child...crazy dog--but don’t go and get rabies, o.k.? No more sad endings. K’?”

 

He stroked her cheek in turn, wiping her tears away with his thumb, moved beyond words for a few moments and then he said thickly.

 

“So, I’m a dog then, am I?”     

    

The girls laughed, and Buffy joined them, suddenly reminded of their presence.

 

“Yeah, but one that will never get traded in for a shiny new German Shepard--“

 

“--with papers.”  Added Vi with a soft smile.

 

“or paper trained.”  Agreed Buffy.  “Never have to worry about that...”

 

Her voice trailed down to a confidential whisper all without taking her eyes from Spikes face and now the world was doing that swirly around thing and there was this white glow around him that made it hard to see his face. She blinked to try to clear her eyes; it was like she could see his soul but not his body.  She could hear his voice coming from somewhere far off--he was talking, still playing, still serious, still searching for her...

 

“Thousands would.”  He said

 

“Millions would not.” 

 

Did she say it outloud, or think it and the differencet didn’t matter just as long as he heard it and he did. 

 

They looked into each others eyes, said nothing and let the world go on without them for awhile. 

 

“And those millions are all GIRLS.”  Said Tedi firmly.  “Sorry, but only a guy would write a terrible ending like that...imagine trading Old Yeller for a pony.”

 

“A thoroughbred German Shepard Rin Tin Tin style, or a rotweiller--they are the new ‘it’ pup.” countered Vi, “and beside Jim Bob or Tony Tim doesn’t trade Ole Yeller, that’s the point, no sane person with a heart in their body would--“

 

“What is this Ole Yellow?’  Asked Babs and the girls laughed and Vi said. 

 

“I’m not sure you wanna know, Babs. Bittersweet, oh yeah...” 

 

But Buffy and Spike weren’t listening anymore, they had slipped away from the noise of the world for the moment and had eyes only for each other and (‘maybe’) Dawn, thought with great, great relief and no small amount of glee (‘it’s time we do too’.)

 

“Psst, hey guys...”

 

And she made the universal gesture to the girls for ‘let’s clear out.’

 

They smiled and made their way sneaky sneak like toward the door only to find the Immortal standing there watching the scene.

 

‘Jese’ thought Dawn ‘what next? Won’t this day END?’

 

But he spun on his heel and strode off without a word and wasn’t that anticlimactic?

 

She looked back at Buffy, saw her tucking her head under Spike’s chin and resting her world weary head on his breast to breathe him in and thought.

 

Nope.  Not anti climatic...not at all.  And then as she closed the door whisper quiet behind her she breathed this.

 

“Please god, let them have this...please...”

 

 

* 

 

 

 

Chapter  13

   

  

*

 

She noticed the change first in her eyes.  They...were, well, larger for one, larger, wider, softer but stronger too.  Solid luminescence might seem a contradiction, two confused adjectives that didn’t know how they ended up next to each other and if that wasn’t her and Spike what was?

 

She leaned into the mirror and looked closer.

 

Her face seemed softer too--or more in harmony.  Like the bones had shifted in her face somewhat, nothing drastic, just more...symmetric.  It was something few would notice right away, not like the eyes.  The eye were obvious.

 

God.

 

She looked a little like Spike.

 

That is, she had a shadow of that wide eyed open souled gaze that was his gift to her, to the world really...and now she was giving it back to him.

 

This is what she really looked like.

 

She was coming home to what she really looked like.  The Slayer who loved with all her being.  Here now, she was becoming the soul First Slayer had described those years ago.

 

It was a little scary.  Imagine going around in the world with your mask down.  Imagine being yourself and everyone seeing you as yourself.

 

This little glimmer of fear, and it was just a glimmer, must be part of what it meant to be someone like Spike.  

 

She looked down away from the mirror and flicked the light switch off before opening the door back up to the Spike’s bedchamber.

 

She wasn’t sure if she should wake him.

 

They had had quite a day yesterday, him especially and when they had floated up to bed this morning somewhere around three a.m.--they had fallen into bed still wrapped in each others arms (well just about) and had went to sleep.  Knocked out really.

 

Funny, that the sex drive thing hadn’t been overpowering, that is, hadn’t taken control of them, the way she suspected it soon would.  It was as if, they were content to dwell in the heart for a while.

 

Or this thing that was happening, this taking off from where they left off thing or whatever,  was beginning in the heart and would work it’s way down, to the gut reaction, emotions, then to union; o.k. say it, ‘sex’ and then on down to the root, roots, setting down roots. 

 

Family.

 

Buffy had a sharp ping about the baby thing, but swallowed it whole and made it a thought for a different day.

 

Instead, she wondered how much time they had before this love thing hit the hot zone and (uh oh) he had to focus on this trial, he had a lot to do today...and she, she had to talk to Giles.

 

She tread softly over to the bed and sat on the edge and looked at him.

 

He was laying on his back arm flung over his head, he had put on the pajamas, (what a sport) but hadn’t bothered to button the top, and his chest lay bare before her (watering fingers).

 

Uh oh, hot zone was on the horizon.     

 

She looked at him and let herself luxuriate in the softness that filled her spirit as she did.

 

They had to be careful, so careful in this part of the story.  She had read books, seen movies, and of course had the terror of first hand experience and you had to be so very careful in this part of the story not to muck it up with misunderstandings or hurt feelings.

 

She shouldn’t leave him here to wake up alone.  If he was really, really tired he could just fall back and sleep until noon or so.  And then work through the night.  But intuitively she knew that after last night, well, he shouldn’t wake up alone.

 

She leaned down gently and lowered her body until she lay next to his. As she suspected sheer proximity to each other stirred him up from sleep, and the arm he had over his head came down to pull her closer to his side.

 

She snuggled in and he purred content, quite, quite at peace.

 

She nuzzled under his shoulder and stroked his arm, careful to stay away from the hot zone of his chest and where that might lead.

 

She didn’t say his name, just nipped him gently on his neck and the purring rolled into a low pleasant growl as his body leaned into hers and his eyes opened lazily to look into hers.

 

“Someone come knockin?” 

 

He asked low and the amusement was plain and wonderful to her ears.  She loved how he woke up.  Unlike herself; he woke in a good humor, as if waking up was just an extension of some wonderful ongoing comedy.  Well, she could learn, couldn’t she?

 

She didn’t say anything just nuzzled teased his neck working her way to his ear.

 

White hot light of great good news shot rabbit fast to the sex bits, and when she raised her head to look at him, her breathing was increasing, becoming more rapid and she could see his eyes were dilated.

 

It was going to happen very soon.

 

He stroked her hair away from her face.

 

“Pet...you are not going to believe that I’m saying this but...”

 

“If we go any further...”

 

“Yeah...I think so. Might as well block three days straight off your calendar luv, cuz if we begin--“

 

“--I’m not going to let you go.”

 

They smiled as they realized they were finishing each others thoughts.

 

“I know you have to do this thing, and I get part of it...I do...I even agree...but...”

 

“Can I shorthand it for you?”

 

Buffy shrugged a sorta nod.

 

“Well, I’m not really sure myself, and you know, I’m not really the type that goes out looking to do good in the world or some such...but still, if it comes along my path...well, somehow I saw speaking the poofs side as the same as defending some idiot who got themselves into an alley or had the stupidity to stroll through a graveyard on a Hellmouth.  Something like that.”

 

Buffy smiled.

 

“What?”

 

“Oliver Wendell Holmes look out.”

 

“Bugger.”

 

“No kidding, that was eloquent.  Actually, I mean it, Spike.  You’ve always been able to see inside to the truth of the thing...I don’t think Angel or anybody could want anybody better.  You and that mouth of yours and finally a forum to tell everybody where to go.  You’re gonna be great.”

 

He thought she was playing and she was, and then maybe he thought she was serious and she was.  It might be the first, no fourth compliment she had ever given him.

 

(And yeah, he was counting, what of it?  Ego, male, remember?)

 

He leaned forward and kissed her his thanks and the sweet morning kiss blossomed quickly, god, so fast into something almost like breathless need.

 

“Buffy...I...”

 

There was a crash on the floor behind them and then the quilt cover was pulled, yanked really, almost violently off the bed. 

 

Buffy and Spike turned their dazed aroused almost pre copulation faces to see the source of the disturbance:

 

There stood the etheric body of one Ms. Cordelia Chase.

 

“Puhlease!  People! Spike!  I’m going out of my mind with the long goodbye already.  A peck on the cheek, a cup of coffee a push out the door and on with the day already!  We have books to grind, research to search, fallen Angels to pick up. Hello!  Am I the only one who sees you can’t win this one for the team on chiseled cheekbones and comic timing?”         

 

“Uh...was’ her name?”

 

Buffy was looking at the broken vase a concerned look on her face and then back at Spike who seemed to be focusing on something at the foot of their bed.

 

“Buffy you know her...was’ her name again?”

          

“What?  Who is it? What’s there?”

 

Cordelia sighed.

 

“She can’t see me Spike, I can do anything I want, see?”

 

And here Cordelia put her two fingers up behind Buffy’s head to give her rabbit ears.

 

Spike snorted.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Some brunette bint; the one, Angel’s friend--“

 

“Cordy?”  Buffy breathed.  “Cordy’s here?”

 

At this sign of genuine warmth Cordelia relaxed and sighed.

 

“Yeah, tell Buffy hi for me and yes, and yeah she looks great--her eyes are beautiful.  Yawn already.”     

 

“Yeah, she says, your eyes are beautiful...they are pet, you...you...look--“

 

“HEY!  I didn’t offer that as a segue to get you two going again...just so...oh whatever.  No fooling around.  You.  Mister. I will see you in the Library in twenty. Or I’ll show you what a real ghost with an attitude can do.”

 

And then she was gone.

 

Spike still puzzled and dazed looked to Buffy.

 

“Bossy chit.  Seems to think she’s running the show.”

 

Buffy’s concerned expression turned to one of gentle amusement and said seriously.

 

“Spike, you are so screwed.”

 

“Huh...and not, seemingly by you.”

 

“Well, not right now.” 

 

That was promising.

 

“So that was Cordy,” Buffy wondered her voice a little happy sad at the thought of her high school companion and times long gone and faces too and then a little kitty cat:  “So, how did she look?  Has she gained weight?”  

 

Spike laughed.  God, he loved her.

 

He leaned over and kissed her until she wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him close, without knowing she wrapped her legs up around his hips and that was all that was needed for his control to crack.

 

He had planned on making this first time back together long and letting it last and now it was just as sudden as a crack of thunder before a storm and fuck the world and what itwants.

 

He breathed “I can be fast, very fast...”  he watched her glazed eyes and she nodded already breathing hard and arching her body up against his.  There was a crack and a crash behind them of something being hurled up against the wall.

 

But Spike was kissing her ear now, running his tongue along the inside and then darting inside to taste what in the world went on in Buffy brain.  The answer electrified them both and then they were scrambling to get clothes, nasty material out of the way, away, away and Buffy’s left hand grabbed Spikes right and she hadn’t meant it other than reaching out to him but now it was there, this hot link and they were gone, blindsided now into passion, oblivious of the world and the crash, bang and thrash the room was getting from one pissed Cordelia chasing the climax to the chapter.

 

They made love, they made love in the best tradition of coitus nothing on heaven or earth interrupt us, wrapped up in each other and to the tune of the room falling down around their heads and there was some kind of sweet homecoming in the thing, like a New Years Eve auld ang syne, nostalgic, but at the same time there was a beginning too and the promise of a very happy new year, a new life...

 

It was the sensual music of the avante garde, the passionate mindless crash, thrash, groan, moan, sympathy of bed squeak and explosion of soul shuddering delight in the whole messy, wonderful, heartrending, earth quaking, heaven popping in for hello wee ones raining tears of joy on the nature of endings and beginnings.

 

Buffy and Spike making love. 

    

 

*

 

 

Chapter 14

 

*

 

It had felt like losing his virginity. 

 

It would be too easy to say this was because he hadn’t had sex for...about two years, no, no, this--what had happened this morning had the shock and intensity of something so new that who he had been before was gone, simply gone now and erased forever.

 

And the knowledge amazed, awed and humbled him.

 

Is this what it was like for humans?  That is, creatures with souls?  And then...ah Buffy.  How cold it must have been for her...back then, with him back then.  It must have felt like pure sex, with just a glimmer of a maybe more.  No wonder she had thought she hadn’t loved him.  There had not been enough, not nearly enough light to reflect back to her. He had been a puddle and someone like her needed a well.

 

He had loved her, there was no doubt, no doubt he as an unsouled vamp had loved her, and what he had felt then, the beginning of the thing could not be mocked or minimized, because it was terribly important.  It was as important as the single flame of a match lighting the long fuse to an atomic blast.  It had been the spark in the woods to start the forest fire. 

 

It was extremely important that he has loved her so as an unsouled vamp...but it was not this. 

 

And she, Buffy, his beloved, had opened her body and soul to him...and he, he in turn had been able to do the same.

 

It had been mutual, equal and deeply profound and maybe it wasn’t so much like losing his virginity, because that would indicate he had been pristine before and god knew that wasn’t true.  No, maybe it was more like losing a thorn, or several million thorns that you hadn’t known you had until someone pulled them out and a level of stress the body had just taken for granted...was gone.  Maybe it was more like he had been given his virginity back.

 

Now in the midst of such an experience, this next thought might sound mundane or pedestrian but it was still true and it was this:

 

He understood for the first time, really, really understood the desire, the need a man might have to give his woman a present.  As if this thing so big inside him, so hard to express, could only be understood if it found expression in the material world.

 

And the absurdity of finding some thing, some object that might be his gratitude personified was laughable.

 

As a human he had tried poetry, and truthfully as much as he understood poetry and could loose himself in it--he was not a poet, or an undeveloped writer.  Perhaps now, with all his experience behind him, he could be...but the desire to express himself in such a way...was not there.

 

As a vamp he had brought the pieces of the Judge together for Dru as a present of sorts.  But somehow a thing, an object, especially something supernatural didn’t seem right.

 

And he had gone to get himself a soul for Buffy and that was something, but it had also turned out to be a gift more for him than for her,  More like the guy who bought the big screen tv as a birthday present for his sweetie and who was he kidding?  Ditto on the dying to save the world thing.  He had wanted to help out whatever way he could on the Hellmouth.  He had welcomed an opportunity to give something back to the world he had taken so much from.  So that had been for himself as well.

 

No, he wanted to give her something, for herself. A present for Buffy. 

 

He was walking down the corridor now, making his way down to the library.  He and Buffy had been together all morning and for most of the afternoon, but finally promises made and the business of the world eased in to pull them apart.    

 

They had been like teenagers unable to be the first one to hang up the phone on the other, and the thought of that parting made him smile, oh no wait, he was smiling already.

 

He was such a girl. 

 

He sighed and as he walked he let his eye drift over the paintings and tapestries as if appraising them as possible booty, some part of him looking for a gift, or an idea for a gift--when he stopped short in front of a painting at the end of the hall.

 

It was a man, middle to late thirties maybe, high collar, ruffled shirt that spoke of late 18^thcentury maybe and he might have stopped to admire the brushstrokes and genuine talent of the artist, but that also would have been attached to admiring the Immortal.  It was the Immortal absolutely.  And to admire a painting of the Immortal, seemed too, too close to admiring the thing itself and just what was he doing hanging on the wall of a castle in Northern England?

 

Who was this guy?

 

 

*

 

   

Spike would have surprised indeed to know that The Immortal’s thoughts were traveling much along the same lines.

 

Who was this Vampire?

 

Just who was this insignificant, rough trade trash?

 

And then more importantly. Who was this thing to Buffy the Vampire Slayer?

 

He had been rattled, truly disturbed at the sight of Buffy holding The Thing in that way.  It looked too comfortable, too natural, and it had rattled him then and rattled him still.

 

He was in the East wing of the estate, and was using the waiting room off his bed chamber as a study.  He knew the Vampire would be using the library and best they didn’t cross paths until he had a better understanding of the situation.

 

Harry Blighton was studying him from across the table.  Tea untouched.

 

“What’s on your mind Harry?”

 

Harry took a breath and began without preamble.

 

“There is a certain danger in his attack.  If I was him, if I put myself in his place given the argument he has presented thus far, I think I could win a stay of execution.”

 

“Against me?”

 

Harry smiled and for him it was really more like a smirk.

 

“Well maybe not...but I could give you a run.  The world is changing Amerigo, the world is changing and you yourself are in on the first front of that and I back you completely, but this issue of responsibility, as we change over is a valuable question and one with which many (slayers) can identify.”

 

The Immortal sighed.

 

“Yes, I agree, Harry. Which means the first order of business won’t be presenting our argument...but stopping his from being heard.”

 

Harry nodded in quiet agreement.

 

“Alright, alright....we know these small things, these facts, Slayers of Slayers, William the Bloody--

 

“Gossip has it he went berserker in the alley.” Harry slipped in.

 

“Yes that’s something that suggests a predilection, definitely something there, how did the Judge read him?”

 

Harry looked up as he recalled.

 

“Spike of the ethers, also known as the Slayer of Slayers, also known as William the Bloody.”

 

Amerigo cocked his head.  “Ethers.  What is that about?”

 

Harry shrugged, “As I said the Hall of records is slammed shut on him, I can’t seem to access anything significant from the past three years.”

 

“Well there is more than one way to discover a new world.”

 

Harry smiled.  “So you say.”

 

Amerigo nodded thinking.  “Yes, that’s where the key lies, it’s something recent; he is a monster for one hundred and twenty six years and then falls off the world and ends up on the other side?  Something happened.”

 

Now The Immortal had a very good guess, but what was done could be undone. He continued,

 

“We can find no prophecy that mentions him?”

 

“Not in the codex, not specifically.”

 

“So he is a misnomer, a loose cannon, well the world (Buffy) won’t miss that.”  And then Amerigo muttered under his breath.

 

“Rough trade mucking up the works; let’s be shut of him Harry.  But let’s do it in court, wide open and fair play.”

 

Harry nodded, Amerigo continued.

 

“I want to know everything about him, everything, habits, inclinations, detailed history--I want to know who he had for breakfast on June 17 1957.  We won’t need to bring him down, Harry; we’ll let his works on this earth bring him down so all can see just really what he is and why he should fade away into obscurity.”

 

What he didn’t say was this:   Buffy would see, she would have to see that he was just too much of a liability for her future. For the future of the world.  Amerigo sighed.

 

An Immortals work is never done.

 

 

*

 

 

 

This was a new battlefield all together.  This minefield of the mind. It was new but it was old too and Spike found himself tapping back into old lessons from dusty, dusty places.  It was law and the countrerpuntel of debate. The logic of the Greeks and the Romans. Plato and Robes Pierre, Machevelli, Shakespeare, Buddah all cross referenced to the world according to Spike.

 

Yeah...he had a lot to do.  There was a world of difference between making a splash with the Judge with a single idea and a sustained creative debate.  (With someone like the Immortal) 

 

Yeah, if he was not in over his head...he was right at his head, but at least he had the street savvy to know it.

 

Know thy self, know thy enemy.

 

All right, all right...he had needed that time with Buffy.  He had.  It was like a feasting to his spirit, medicine to his mind.  He was glad, very glad it had happened.  He was experiencing something akin to joy. Something he had not experienced yet in his lifetime. Unless you could reach way back into human childhood, something back there might come close.  So he was grateful and felt himself a new man but now he had to force his mind from slipping back to thoughts of her, the feel of her. 

 

He had to focus.

 

Dawn was sulking a little. 

 

She had taken the initiative with Illyria, that is, with Vi, Tedi and Babbette along as honor guard to drill and start the research on the practice and rules of the world court debate.  She had processed what she could from her lap top and had a stack of papers run hot off the printer as evidence of her diligence.

 

There were four stacks of books surrounding her, several of which lay open as if ready for reference.

 

She had been busy indeed.

 

In contrast, Vi lay sprawled on the leather couch eating Cheatohs--she would pop a treat, and then look about for something to wipe her hands with, finding the leather couch too slick, she opted for the Persian throw rug just below her on the floor.

 

Tedi had her nose buried in a romance novel and Babbette was upside down on an armchair, head dangling over the side, blood rushing to her head.

 

Spike cocked his head to look at Babs and she smiled at him from her monkey logic on how to sit in a chair and said brightly in explanation:

 

“Is for the...skin...the complexion, yes?”            

 

His team.

 

He smiled.  Never, ever underestimate girl power.

 

“So are you here now?  Or are you gonna, pop out, say, in eight minutes for a ‘snack’.” 

 

Dawn put little finger quotes around the ‘snack.’  Like who had ever been fooling who?  Her remark was caustic, but she was pleased.  She was, and didn’t really want to dampen this thing between her sister and old friend, just...well, didn’t wanna see Spike fall on his face.

 

“I’m here now, and will be all night...looks like...”  And here Spike eyed the stacks of books with a resigned eye.

 

“Well...O.K., it’s up to you, you know, you got yourself into this.”

 

“I did.”

 

“Yeah, well...I’ve got the rules for debate all sorted out, I figured, knowing the rules would be the first logical thing to do--if you don’t know the rules...how are you going to apply the facts?”

 

“Good thinking.” 

 

“Well, you’re loquacious this afternoon.”

 

Spike just smiled.  Dawn couldn’t help it, she smiled back.

 

“Oh...get over yourselves...”

 

“You did fine Dawn, thank you pet.”

 

“Yeah well...no thanks to those three...just look at them.”

 

Spike did.  The slayers all waved hello to him and smiled.  Spike nodded back, and they went back to their respective delights.

 

“Slayers.”  Muttered Dawn as if that said it all.  “And Vampires.”  She added in case he thought that left him out.

 

“Where’s Leary?”

 

“He’s over in the corner behind the stacks mooning over some kinda Watcher yearbook.”

 

Spike thought for a moment about correcting her pronoun from ‘he’ to ‘it’ but then shrugged.  What did it matter?

 

Dawn continued, I found a dissertation on The Ways and Means of the World Court written by Wesley, you know, our Wesley--and that was cross referenced back to his training as a Watcher.  And Illyria has been Charlie incommunicado ever since.”

 

“Dawn...”

 

“I know, I know...but you don’t have much time Spike, you really don’t....”

 

“I know...all right.”  He looked down at the books thinking while he called to the Slayers.

 

“You lasses in?”

 

At this they perked up and piped in yea’s and yeah’s.

 

“Whilst I peruse this fine stack of unmentionably dry reading, you lot grab a pad each and mark off every reason, every single grudge large or small, logical or not...why Angel should be executed.  Wax on with it.  Come up with examples to bear it out.  Doesn’t need to make sense; just let it pour, paranoia, prejudice, fear or justice. Put it all down.”

 

“Spike, shouldn’t you be coming up with reason why he should be saved?” This was Vi’s cautious question.

 

Spike smiled.

 

“Know thy enemy, pet, in the argument against you is the solution for you.”

 

Vi popped a cheato as she considered this.  Wiped her hand on the rug and sat up already lost in thought.

 

Spike smirked; he knew there was something he liked about the lass.

 

“What about Illyria?  We could use him Spike.”  Dawn said quietly.  “I mean, group think is great, and cross referenced cultures is great, but that legal mind Charlie has...we need that....”

 

Spike was made almost silly dizzy by hearing the ‘we’s--god she was a great lass, his Nibblet was a wonder and he spoke softly in turn.

 

“All things in time.  He’ll come around when it suits him.  He’s grieving pet, and has no notion of what it’s all about.  Let’s prepare our foundation and maybe by then he’ll be ready to join us.”

 

Dawn nodded her approval.  Spike had a ways to cover but the Master Vamp in him had taken over and was bringing order and vision to the operation.  She felt better.

 

“So...you and Buffy...” and here she waggled her eyebrows at him and he smiled, he had to, and said softly,

 

“Yeah...me and Buffy...”

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Buffy was happy, very happy.  If she was a hummer, she be humming and maybe that’s why those Hummers were all purpose, all road vehicles, they were so happy they hummed their way through anything, could do anything.

 

She was going to talk to Giles.

 

She found him eventually in the training room. It was on the second floor at the back of the house, nursery perhaps that had been converted into a dance studio.  Someone somewhere along the history of the place fancied themselves to be a ballet dancer and had had this room redone complete with hardwood floors and mirrors stretched along the length of the room.  The curtains were pulled in front of the mirrors now, however.  Seeing yourself didn’t have the same importance in martial arts as dance.  It was more a distraction than an asset.  To fight, you need to be in the moment, to find the space from within, not without. Form was just the beginning, not the end.

 

She found Giles tucked discreetly in the far corner nearest the door. Most likely so he could make unnoticed entrances and exits.

 

He was sitting with a folder open, a pile photographs at the ready on his lap.  The Slayers.

 

And sitting there like that, with the mid afternoon sun coming in to glow honey gold on him, he could have been, some benevolent but keen casting director auditioning dancers, instead of the Ripper.

 

And her Father.

 

She smiled at the sight of him, and if the sun showed up his age, didn’t that simply make him more dear? 

 

She loved him, but Giles was Giles and would have his way in all things if he could...and they needed to talk.  Now.

 

He knew, of course, as soon as he saw her, he knew.  Saw her huge glowing eyes, radiant skin but it was her complete presence, her calm but sure demeanor that reminded him of those last days on the Hellmouth and he knew she had found herself.

 

And part of that involved finding her way back to Spike.  He felt a clutch, a clang and would have called crisis--if...if she hadn’t looked so damn...peaceful.  Joy.  Her eyes sparkled joyfully.

 

She got a folding chair from a stack that was leaning up against the wall, opened it and placed it next to him.  She took a moment and looked down the length of the room at the Slayers lined up and going through their training.  She nodded hello to Rona, who nodded and smiled back and then turned her attention back to her charges.

 

Buffy sat next to Giles and they both looked at the girls in silence for a moment. At the beauty, the power...the potential building up to something amazing or blowing the world away. Literally.  These next few years would be important ones.

 

Still watching the girls Buffy spoke softly.

 

“I’m going to tell him.”

 

No need to ask who. 

 

Giles closed the folder on his lap and turned his attention to his Slayer, his daughter he loved so dearly.

 

“He should know what’s going on.”  She said.

 

“Indeed he should.” 

 

Well that surprised her.

 

“You agree with me?”

 

Giles sighed and removed his glasses as turned to look at her.

 

“Yes, but not for the same reasons, I’m quite sure of that.”

 

Buffy looked at him for a moment and then looked away.

 

“Yes, I think he should be made aware of the cause and effect his relationship with you would have on your ability to be effective, or rather to be perceived as being effective.  We are entering an arena of politics now Buffy.  Given the scope of the world situation and the options that lay before us along several different tangents projected by Velma...this is what we have talked about, this is the shift we are planning to make.  And it is a big one.  The Old world established route of royalty and entitlement to...a democracy, is difficult in the best of circumstances.  It is fraught with ripe options for upset and political coups. The best ones amongst us, the ones best gifted to lead...do not necessarily win on merit, but on politics.”

 

And here Giles gestured to the Slayers forty feet away running through their routine to the back beat of David Bowie singing ‘Lets Dance...put on your red shoes and dance the blues...’

 

It was fine cover for this conversation.

 

“How many of these girls, would vote for you Buffy if your relationship with a vampire becomes known.”

 

“Spike.  The vampire is Spike, Giles.”

 

“I know, I know that...but will these girls, these women make that distinction?  The Vampire is their natural enemy.  You may kill monsters, demons, but it is the Vampire that curls your hair.  Many of these people have had friends and family killed by Vampires...their reaction will be visceral...and have nothing to do with Spike as an individual...or deeds done.  They will make a decision based on emotion.  Most do.  That is what it means to live as humans in a democracy.”

 

“We have to give them that choice, Giles--we...I took away their free choice when we engaged the scythe, and there was good reason...but the choice to become a slayer still wasn’t theirs--Unless you count some deep seated need in the personality to help others.  We all seem to have that in common; even if it’s buried...like it was with Faith, it still comes out.  But even given that, I have to give their choice back to them.  They have to able to choose their leaders. to choose their direction.”

 

Giles took her hand gently.

 

“I agree, Buffy...I have always stood against the council, as well you may remember...I am not opposed to the radical... and I also agree that this choice at this time is important.  Royalty, and being chosen worked for a time when many humans, many people were like children needing to be led by systems that seemed directly linked to a godhead.  It was a system for the transition of power.   But democracy is hard work.  Very hard work.  I am with you Buffy in this...now...are you with yourself in this?  We should all vote on a leader, but I still feel in my very soul, that leader should be you.  That you initiated all this is itself indication that it should be you.”

 

Buffy looked at their hands joined together, she squeezed his and then he released hers.

 

“What will The Immortal say, if this comes out?  Right now you have his backing, and with it, the money and power behind him.  True we, in theory, owe him nothing...but he has donated this castle to the coven, and to us for shelter and for the future, so there is a tie there.”

 

“I’m not gonna butter his bread anymore. Giles.  There was never going to be anything between us, even if Spike hadn’t...come back...in Italy it started as being social, creating ties, you know politics, but it went too far...and now I don’t want Spike--“

 

“--Fine.  Fine. Do as you like, establish the relationship that is the most comfortable, of course, but do you really think he will see you as...viable, with a vampire as your companion?  It seems a conflict of interests or a contradiction at best.”

 

Buffy recalled things The Immortal had said, dry caustic comments about certain demon species and vampires in particular all rounding down to:  ‘they aren’t like us, my dear, not like Slayers or Immortals or Highlanders...’

 

“Your right...I would loose his backing...yeah...”

 

Giles turned to her and asked her low and direct.

 

“Now I want you to think about this, don’t answer right away, but could it be you may not really want this?  You have always said you wanted a normal life, but then this past year, with this new idea, you shifted back...could it be...this is your way...to leave via the side door?”

 

She stared at him

 

“Now don’t answer at once, and by all means tell Spike everything.  I want him to understand just how disturbing his presence would be as your...companion.  I must remind you, though, of your own American History; George Washington did not want to serve as president, he had to be dragged off his Mount Vernon, but he knew that he was the best candidate for the job.  He was the unifying consistent factor the country badly needed in its formative years.  We face quite a similar situation.  He may not have wanted it...but he wanted a healthy united country more.”  
 

Buffy nodded.

 

“I hear you Giles, and I’ll talk to Spike and think about it...but I have to say this now.”  And here she opened her heart and looked him right in the eye. 

 

“We will never get what we want in this world, by walking away from it. In the big or the small, and if this world’s big picture is made up of a bunch of smaller stories of people walking away from love and...family...just what will that big picture look like in the long end?”

 

He looked into her eyes, and god, if she didn’t always speak her truth.  And then she asked softly:

 

“Who would want to live in it?”

 

Who indeed?

 

Their attention was drawn just then to the happy smack clapping of the girls celebrating the end of the rigors, the end of the monotony of exercises and now for the fun part of combat...a little one on one.

 

Mock battle, faux fighting but don’t kid yourself, Buffy thought, it all counts.

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

Chapter 15

 

 

“Sleep pretty darling do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby...”

 

Lennon-McCartney

 

**

 

He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath (figuratively) until he saw the small hump of sleeping Buffy under the quilt. 

 

And he exhaled. 

 

Just let it go. 

 

Whatever the unnamed clot was; no. No. Alright then, let’s name it:  Fear.  It was fear. 

 

Now, now that he had intimate knowledge of what he had to loose; fear came back into the equation.  Not back breaking, or mind bending or spirit ripping--they had both been to heaven and hell and beyond and both were strong enough to take separation from the other and survive.  But it would be survival and only just survival.  It would mean staying alive but not really living. 

 

Living any kind of life he wanted could only include exploring these feelings, the love and...the sex.  Love and sex together again and living large in the world but this was the first time for him time in all his long existence and he understood it for the precious thing it was.  He already knew he would never want anyone else.  Maybe that was why he had awoken horrified from that dream years ago now, when it had all come together.  This was the end and the beginning...for whatever strange purpose in the world, she filled every need of his mind body and...soul...everything else in the world, well, sure there were things that needed doing...but it got in under the works of the thing, it was what he felt for her that made it want to work.  

 

He had thought this past year in Los Angeles he had no destiny. Wrong.  What he felt for her, how it got inside him and grew him from the inside out, this was his destiny.  But a destiny carved out of the rock of ages with a song in his heart and free will in his hand.  His love for her had saved him.  Saved his soul, saved him from that terrible choice one hundred years ago to taste the power Dru offered.  He hadn’t known what it meant, not by half, but he had felt the promise of terrible dark power and he had said: Yes.

 

And for that shortcut to false strength, he owed the world.  And Buffy.  The love deep inside the core of her had woke him up and brought him back to himself, to William hanging on a tether in the ethers never giving up the earth life below.  The imprints of William still in him had fairly sung like chimes blowing in a Buffy breeze.  He reacted to her presence the way...any man would, any creature would.  Her reacting to him, the chain reaction to Buffy loving him had been a matter of...luck.

 

Pure dumb luck.  Not destiny, not on her part, unless it was in the shape of her life to love a vamp. And she had had that and the die had been cast but for the double Wank winking out.  She would have stayed with Angel, sex or not, she would have--it was Angel that was the tosser.  He was going to spend tomorrow reviewing Angel’s life but he already knew the shape of it.  Angel had tossed her away.  And then Spike had been tapped as batter up.

 

That didn’t bother him, blokes that played second string always, ALWAYS wanted it more.  And they played more from the heart than from any native skill.  He was a bloke that was in the game, because he loved it.  He was with Buffy because he loved her. 

 

Unconditionally.

 

She was with him...well, there was still that question, still the niggle of nought but for the grace of luck go we...and so, and so he was well and deeply pleased to see her, sleeping so soundly as if this was her first best place in the world.   

 

And now he wanted it all, he wanted to discover how high. how deep they could go.  What it all meant. What could it mean? This...gift with no equal anywhere in the world, not with blood, money, fame or fiction and would having this miracle begat something terrible?  Would something terrible have to happen to balance it out on the scales of the world? Or...could this miracle between them...beget more...miracles?

 

One thing was sure, life without her now, would mean, just survival, and not much more for a very long time.

 

And here he thought of Wesley, driven mad, and running about his office like a fragmented school boy raised by monkeys.  Living on instinct alone and some habit of recall problem solving.  Of course he hadn’t stood a chance going up against a member of the inner circle of thorns.  Once he had had a taste, just a taste of love given and received and had it taken, yanked away---well...the inside of Wesley’s mind just hadn’t been right and who could blame him?

 

People did have breaking points, they did fall down finally, finally, a farmer can’t last forever sewing seeds in the ground, he will go mad, eventually if nothing grows; he will go mad if summer and the harvest never come. Unrequited love kills, Spike knew that only too well, and if unrequited kills--then having but a taste of food for your soul dangled and then yanked away by an insane Lucy on a cracked Charlie Brown could blow up the world.

 

Yeah, game over.  

 

He had survived after Buffy had...gone and after he had gone...mostly because he believed Buffy hadn’t loved him.  The loss had been completely on his side.  But to know someone loves, loves you back, and you were just beginning, well...the deep irreplaceable wealth of the thing...losing that...yeah...that could kill, or drive one mad, and isn’t that a death of the mind?

 

And so there was always the chance that what they had shared so far, was all she might need...like old friends catching up on old business and after it was over...she might drift away...

 

But she was here.

 

He remained still, stood still and breathed in the breathing of her sleeping form. 

 

She would wake any second now.  Her deep slayer radar too attuned to beep, beep warning beep, come beat up the nearby Vamp; even him, she was too much a master to remain asleep in his presence...and that made him sad, but just a bit.  That she might not be able to distinguish, that she might not be able to recognize him from deep inside her sleeping self.  From inside her secret sleeping dream of the world and how she wanted it to be.  But he shrugged it off and his clothes as well, dropping them to the floor to step away from like old news.

 

He padded softly to the bed, huh...tidied up the room did she?  The broken bits of vase and whatever, cleared away and now the room looked Spartan strict...all except for the bed.  The soft velvets and rich fabric were all fairly begging to be rolled about in.

 

He smiled.  Well that seemed right, all these soft sideways musings set to the tune of ‘see the curve of female hip?’ and male bits already blowing a trumpet sound at the sight.

 

And there was that feeling.  That feeling of coming back, coming home to find her waiting.  Like it was a casual thing, like it was assumed that she should be here.  It undid him.

 

He began to cry.  Inexplicably. His chest hitched and it surprised him, he hadn’t seen it coming.  It was nothing horn honking.  Just small bits of water so happy it had to bubble out and off the top of the fountain fall and bubble and flow down and show off the glory spill of water dancing a love song to sweet, sweet girl.

 

Ah, if only he was a poet.  A real poet.  Still, there were somethings he could well.  Very Well.    

 

He slipped silently into bed, leaned in next to her and smiled. Jammies huh?  He touched the soft flannel of cloth on her arm.   She was wearing plaid jammies.  Well, wasn’t that just too cute?  Bonny, sweet lass so sure of him, no need for the fine lingerie, let’s just skip right to married year three and it’s the jammies is it?

 

He almost giggled his pleasure.  Spike leaned his cheek next to the soft cloth and breathed in the elixir he had never smelled anywhere else on anyone else.  Heady and cleansing he breathed it in and it sparkled its way through his flesh, making him feel...alive.  Was that a breath?  No it’s: 

 

Buffy.

 

He breathed the scent of her right into his soul and she stirred in response and rolled in her sleep toward him stretching out an arm in invitation. He moved closer to her, his hand slipping under the soft flannel to feel even softer satin skin.

 

She sighed her contentment and leaned into him.  He skimmed his hand up her stomach to her left breast and cupped it, letting the weight of her fall into his trembling hand.  So beautiful.

 

He kissed the side of her head and she woke and they looked into each other in wonder.  She reached up to stroke his cheek and he leaned his forehead down to hers.  They pressed cheeks and said nothing, just lingered close to each other, blissed out to be back.

 

Spike settled back against the pillows and stretched an arm out and pulled her into the shelter of his embrace.

 

God.  It was like they were old people but young too.  Like they had known each other for years and they had, like they had fought each other for years and they had, like they had loved each other for years and they had.  And Buffy had loved him, he knew that now, this kind of thing didn’t spring like Athena from the forehead of Zeus--it was built, experience, by experience.

 

By choice.  She might have been destined to her experience with Angel...but she chose him.  He could feel the depth of it in her yielding to him.  God, it was glorious, empowering and slave to fate no more; and he would choose choice any day.

 

Life was what you did and didn’t do. 

 

They had that, going out into the world, going after what you wanted and now they had this, this thing of just letting it happen, of falling in love with your best friend.  Someone who you trust won’t bolt when they see you naked at fifty.

 

This was a gift. 

 

Maybe this could be his gift to her.  To love her always and forever through war and peace and petty tifts and a tat that tells the tale stitched over his heart.

 

“I love you Buffy.”

 

Oh, he said it out loud, he was gonna have it tattooed but talking was good too.

 

She leaned into him and hugged him hard.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

They laughed, not really that funny, but lovers amuse each other so easily.

 

They were quiet for a while, he could feel the dawn coming and was fading, growing sleepy even while she was waking...and the metaphor, the prospect of possible ships passing in the night...bothered him not at all...

 

She spoke first.  He was very tired but tried to focus so he could stay with her a bit longer.

 

“How’d it go?”

 

Silent for a moment as she felt him think.

 

“I’m on the wrong side of this argument pet, absolutely.  I don’t...I don’t know what I’m on about, I really do not.”

 

She thought for a moment.

 

“You’ve got people ready to listen Spike.  They were gonna chop him up for wolfy treats, and now they are at least ready to listen.  Me too, I need to understand him better.  I want to understand.”

 

“I don’t know what I’m on about.”  was his simple reply.

 

Pause as she thought about this for a moment.

 

“Well don’t ask me, cuz I don’t either...but something got you fired up to do this.  Something lit you red hot, and I know you Spike, I know your heart tells you things a lot of us can’t see with our minds...so go back to what kicked you in the kiester.  Find the center of that, there’s your argument.”

 

Spike was drifting off but he heard her.

 

“Love you pet,”

 

“Love you too...”

 

Her hand slipped down under the covers over the hard expanse of his stomach to the hard man thing poking into her thigh.

 

She looked up at his eyes, lids closing, he was falling asleep.

 

“Ah, honeyone...”

 

That got his attention and his opened his eyes, purring loudly and drew her closer.

 

“Honey...um...yeah, gotta get some honey...gotta show you what I can do with honey... ”

 

“Spike how can you fall asleep like that?”  she asked and then tugged on his erection like it was a lever to lift a skid of bagged cement.

 

Sharp intake of man breath and his hands drifted lazily down her back to her hips...ooh...delighted to find flannel stoppage, no jammy trousers, just Buffy butt in the buff.

 

They lay side by side and he lifted her leg up over his hip and then poised for a moment at her core, like he was taking aim, to position himself against her nub, felt her wet and then slowly, so slowly he pushed his way up into her tight interior, loving her tightness not only for the grip but for the proof of her body being in a ‘no mans’ land for a while, a long while, like she had been sitting tight two years for him and the male in him loved it, couldn’t help it...god...he loved her...) but now he was pushing gently but firmly rubbing her nub right, right, quite right all along the way.  She breathed out hard and loud in delight like one single exclamation mark and then her eyes rolled almost white as she was rocked into a shocking orgasm.  She wrapped her arms around him, body quaking and grasping in waves of shuddering pleasure.   

 

He whispered in response to her question.

 

“Can’t, fall asleep like that...fall asleep like this...”

 

He wrapped his arms around her, locking her body with his and then fell promptly into a deep sleep.

 

“Uh...Spike?”  Buffy said as her hot breath was eased back into something coherent, into something like people words and then she leaned her head back to look up at him.  “Ah...bunnybread?”

 

Nope, he was too deep for that radical endearment to rattle him awake.  She smiled into his chest and sighed.  The day was just breaking and she had at least a couple hours to work her way out of this.

 

Bodies locked together...she could only move one thing, one certain female muscle that would help him release her but allow him to keep sleeping at the same time. 

 

She started to pulse and tighten her vagina muscles around the ‘him’ in there.

 

He purr growled at her from his slumber and she smiled and pulled him in tighter. 

 

Now relax...now really tight...now feather light grip...

 

He yipped and gripped her tighter, to try to keep her still while she milked the minutes away until he finally exploded and then, there she was in the fallout with him and all about the cosmos too.  God in heaven, she sighed.   Not that he was ever gonna remember that.

 

But she would.

 

“Buffy...god...oh Buffy...thank you...”  she heard him breathe against her neck. 

 

Huh. Maybe he was gonna remember that.

 

She snuggled in close and smiled. 

 

Oh shoot, he had slipped off before she could tell him about the thing...and the dinner tonight.

 

He didn’t know it yet, but he was gonna be her date.

 

They were going public.         

 

   

    

*

 

 

Chapter 16

 

*

 

Xander Harris could have, would have slipped into the estate without fanfare.  Coming in the side door to do the clean up inabsentsia was his port of call and he would do it without complaint.  He had to go around the world to discover that he had lived his life the way he had, because...well, he liked it that way.

 

If it was him and his choice he would have slipped in unobserved and found a room somewhere to take a nap before dinner.

 

But not with these girls in tow.

 

Not with her.

 

She came into a room and the whole place fell down in a hush.  A whole lot of shush one by one and without even asking.

 

And now his glance slipped sideways to Anastasia Romanov. 

 

She was striking; you could say she was beautiful, except that her features were too irregular.  He supposed that she was beautiful in the best slayer tradition.  In the tradition of...power.  Yeah...power.  She radiated pure power.  For a newbie Slayer she radiated enough power to stand up to...well someone like Faith. Maybe, maybe even Buffy herself.

 

Anastasia was quiet, didn’t talk much and this only added to her mystique. As if by retaining words, she saved every drop of her own personal battery...for the fight.

 

She had long blue black hair that fell in curling waves down to her waistline.  She had the black flashing eyes and dark olive skin that just about screamed some stereotype of gypsy something or other and when she did speak, it was English but dipped in honey tints that sounded like old earth, old eastern earth in old Romania.  Romania the hotbed of all things Dracula and yeah, you better believe the natives hated the undead.

 

Too many villages depleted, too much loss and everyone, every family was marked by a wound, it was in the genetic encoding of the people for god’s sake to hate vamps and couple that with a Slayers calling and you had...serious commitment. 

 

He knew Slayers hated vampires...but not like this.  Not like the cold precise judgment he had seen Anastasia Romanov pass with her stake.

 

His journey had been a long one.  Via Africa, India, and some parts east and back to Europe and after Anastasia had joined him the trip had become one foray after another into Vamp camps of one kind or another.

 

She had brought many vamps down into dust, and was wearing two tattooed stripes on her upper right arm to mark the most notorious of them.  Xander sighed.  He had a report to make to Giles.  History had been changed this past month.  And while Xander would gratefully acknowledge the world a better place for the loss of certain vampires...there was also this thing, this connection he had now.  He had been a hunter so long; he had developed a hunter’s respect for the prey. And while he would never mourn the loss of these...vamps.  He did acknowledge them...as historical figures.  Gone now, gone and dust and why not? 

 

At first Xander had thrilled to Romanov’s commitment, her zeal, but soon he began to feel she lacked...depth, perhaps, or perception of the gray areas in life, that...perhaps, she lacked mercy.  A trait he had taken for granted in Buffy. 

 

Mercy was a quality Buffy had, that, combined with others made her...great. A great leader.  He could see now that the world was better for that quality in Buffy.  He hadn’t always (well that’s mild) understood her decision making process a few years back...but he had a better grip on the variables now.

 

He had a glimpse of what kind of decisions would have been made, say, if someone like Romonov had been in charge.

 

Just as powerful and charismatic...but merciless. 

 

And hadn’t the mercy Buffy shown to several monsters in their world, come back in a rich reward of gratitude and service?

 

If you didn’t show mercy, you became a monster.  And if you were killing monsters, well, then you would just have to kill yourself, wouldn’t you then?  That simple really.   Yeah, yeah, he had learned a thing or two in the past two years.

 

Anya, Anya, loosing Anya had taught him so much...and just how long would Anya have lasted in the company of a zealot such as Romanov?  Former address was just as good as current residence in Anastasia’s book.

 

And so it had become all about getting her and the other girls back to meet Buffy ASAP.

 

To get them under her influence.

 

The other girls had recognized in Anastasia a born leader, a natural killer and with each day that passed, they became more and more a unit and it became even more imperative to get them to Buffy.  The solid wall of group think could be a tough wall to break into if you were on the outside and this Anastasia Romanov was a tough nut indeed.

 

And so they were here. Finally.  Just inside the door and AnGhana Jhavarhis from Calcutta tugged on his sleeve and he turned and smiled at the slight young Indian woman.

  

“Xander...” she said in her lilting sing song English “I am thinking we should announce ourselves...to walk in the front door without knocking...could be perceived as very rude...”

 

Her voice tumbled down into dust as the other girls hushed her with their look of impervious amazement.  As if THEY would need invitation.

 

Xander looked at the Hall...at the gathering crowd of expectant faces, residents, fellow sister slayers ready to greet and then he looked over at his group. Fine women, excellent women of various ages...Ula Ugata, AnGhana, Marie Chaperone, Patule Amin, Soon Lee and of course the sleek, scintillating to eye, ear and knock you senseless Anastasia who...sounded just like Dracula.

 

Xander Harris couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

 

 

*

 

     

“...Reinvented, redefined, rearranged

but not refined...”

 

Soul Asylum

 

*

 

It was the clack and clutter of cutlery that felt just a little too close to attack. Attack the vamp.

 

These new Slayers fork stabbing and pinning the roast chicken flesh down, clang, crack of knife hitting the plate...just...just a little too hard for the task at hand.  Just a little too much energy extended for the minor assault required.

 

Or maybe it was the lack of conversation at this end of the long table that amplified the sound of playing chicken with the chicken.

 

Or maybe it was the lack of conversation and what that meant.

 

Or maybe it was Buffy sitting at the other end of the table on the Immortals left hand side as he sat at the head.

 

No, hhmm...it wasn’t that.  They seemed to be having a high ole time down there, and them there chattering like birds twattering away should have no effect on the lack of animation at the other end.

 

Unless it was amplified in comparison.

 

Buffy laugh.

 

Spike followed the sound, couldn’t help it and looked down the table to her.  She and Giles and The Immortal were caught up in some private moment of hilarity and he looked away again before he distracted her.  Not everything in her life had to be about him, he reminded himself and focused his attention on Dawn who was seated next to him on his right.

 

He didn’t think she was punishing him for being late.  She simply did not have that element run through her. Besides, according to the note she had left on the pillow, she had clearly stated that even though she wanted him to come with her to dinner this evening, she understood if he was overwhelmed with preparations for the trial.

 

He had lingered over the implications of what had she meant by ‘come to dinner with me...’ did she mean an engagement?  A date, like?  Going public as a couple?

 

He had put it from his mind as he focused on the case at hand and the day had fairly slipped away.  They were covering ground, but running out of time.  He looked up to see the clock in the library strike six fifteen.  Dinner was at six.

 

He had considered not coming.  Just keep to the task at hand, but by the tone in the note it had seemed important to Buffy that he be there and so he had cut himself loose from the books, threw a dark blazer over his black T shirt and went to the Hall.

 

Illyria, went to stay with Angel.  To guard, watch or consult...it was unclear in what capacity it was seeking him out.  But there were gaps.  Gaps of intelligence in the past five years and they simply could not walk into court tomorrow night not knowing what all had been going on in Angels life these past five years. That is, from his point of view.  From the inside.

 

The table had been seated when he arrived, Buffy had flushed and her face had grown soft when she saw him, her deep pleasure so evident that it eased his pricklys a bit to find himself seated at the far end of the table away from her.

 

But he was late, and this wasEngland and manners were everything.  She simply could not oust Mr. Blighton sitting to her left or Mr. Immortal sitting to her right---could she?

 

She had stood and moved to greet him and they had stood, calm and still as shy children reunited, he had wanted to touch her, but wasn’t sure what the parameters were in public.

 

She had come in close, taken his arm and brought his body up close to her breast as she walked him down to the far end of the table.  She breathed her apologizes...thought he wasn’t coming, or she would have saved a place.  Dawn and Vi had taken over from there and made space for him in-between them and then they had squeezed each others hands tenderly before parting to the far sides of the moon.

 

Or the dinner table.  Large white expanse.  Whatever.

 

No one noticed Xander widening his eyes and twitching his head to the left in his desperate attempt to have them move Spike down...four more chairs, perhaps...perhaps more, just so Spike The Slayer of Slayers wouldn’t be sitting almost directly across from Anastasia Romanov.

 

Fuckcakes

 

Xander rose when Spike reached his chair and Xander realized he had done so on automatic, as a gesture of respect.

 

Spike had saved the world, he had humbled himself before them all and Xander remembered.  He remembered it all.  The good the bad and the ugly and by standing up to greet Spike, he realized he was willing to call it square. 

 

They were square.  Spike saw this in his eyes and Xander watched his expression soften and they exchanged a nod that was as good as a handshake.

 

Also, by setting this tone, Xander hope to make it clear to his Slayers friends, that this particular vampire was welcome and not for staking. Wanna a steak?  Concentrate on your plate.

 

And so they had.

 

The introductions Dawn had offered fell so flat; a less buoyant soul would have given up in the middle--but not Dawn.  She picked up the anti vamp vibe but hung in and finished by wrapping her left arm around Spike and hugging him briefly to let all and sundry know what the mood toward him ought to be.

 

And so the conversation drifted around them, Spike could catch segments at different locations at the table, this and that about the upcoming trial, what was to be argued, what to stay away from, Buffy was speaking very, very low to The Immortal, he couldn’t pick up what she was saying, but for the moment, she didn’t look too happy.  She looked up just then and caught his eye and her expression warmed him so completely he would have broken out in a sweat, if he could. 

 

The energy between them was so sweet and warm the table stilled somewhat as one by one the diners stopped and looked up to see what’s the what?  By then Buffy and Spike warmed and refueled by the contact went back to their respective corners. And everyone returned to their separate conversations.

 

Buffy to whatever intense conversation she was having with Giles and The Immortal and Spike to the clack and crack of cutlery.

 

It seemed a little sharper now, even more to the point and whatever the subtext was, super text now and no mistake.

 

As if the tools used for the facilitation of ingesting foodstuffs was being illustrated enmasse by this group around him to emphasize the solid biological material needed to sustain HUMANS should only be held by human hands.  And that somehow, as he ate the food, he was committing some terrible insult some social faux pax beyond recall–that he was the one committing a social assault by assailing the food on his plate.

 

Huh.  His instincts were good.  And even if there was some doubt about the group energy there could be no doubt of the intentions of this one here.  This lass sitting almost across from him.

 

She had been tense but muted as the meal began, but as he joined them, as he ate, he felt the bile in her, grow and bubble burst soon to a popping point.

 

He tested his theory.  He stopped eating for a few minutes and focused on the conversation between Dawn and Xander as they caught up...both trying a little too hard to fill the space with something civil.      

 

And sure enough he noted a slight ease in the pressure in the chit and then respectively in the air around them and then he deliberately ate a bit of chicken, chewed slowly, swallowed and found her eyes boring into him once again.

 

He looked back.  He kept his face neutral but his eyes didn’t back down.  She bristled and as the two girls at her sides, Ula and AnGhana caught her arms to steady her, Spike looked away.

 

He was a little ashamed of himself for baiting the girl, but the warrior in him was a hard, thing to back away from...and this becoming the peacemaker, this ‘no more battle’ plan was definitely something that would have to be done in degrees.

 

He looked at the people around him, watched them stripping the flesh from the bones of animals with no names.  No faces.

 

They would eat the flesh and drink the juices from animals they had never met, never felt die, never had any respect for.

 

What would they do if they all discovered, really understood that these animals that died to feed them all had souls?  Even if it was a part of a group soul, it was soul.   He had drunk the blood of humans and animals and vampires, and the difference between them was soul.  He knew for a fact that animals had souls because he had tasted it.  What a living creature was, did, believed was telegraphed through the body, through the blood.  Animal blood could keep a vamp going the same way that animal flesh could keep a human going.  Because it was alive.  Because it did have soul.  Putrefying flesh would kill a human.  That was why it was frozen fresh, or preserved in salt--they needed it close to the surface, close to the state of being ensouled.

 

What?  The pet cat or dog had personality and soul and no one who had ever been in contact with such a creature could deny it for long...but other animals did not?  The pet pig, one of the most intelligent of the animals had no soul?

 

No.  Of course not.  Human’s obscured this because if they did, they would have to think about their food, they would still need it...that wouldn’t change...but they would have to approach it with respect...be grateful for it.  Acknowledge that every form of life feeds off another.

 

Show me a Human who prays over his or her food and I will show you a Human who understands and respects if not loves their prey.

 

Pray.  Prey. There was a reason the two words sounded alike.

 

Spike hadn’t lied to Buffy all those years ago, even soulless; he had liked this world and the creatures in it.  All the happy meals that kept him alive.  So to speak.  This wasn’t justification, but the more he looked into Angel’s case the more strange levels of doublethink and strange hypocrisy he could see in the world at large and it was bothering him.  His mind was beginning to burn with observations stored from one hundred and fifty two years and here he was counting his human life too.  Something he was finally accepting.  William had one or two things going for him, not the least of which was his capacity for compassion and mercy.

 

Elvis alive in a tea cup he was beginning to think like a barrister.  He was beginning to look for arguments in the details of the world, to look for ballast and balance and examples for precedent.  What a world!  What a world!  Becoming a lawyer...well, at least that was still evil.

 

Spike smiled.  He wanted to talk to Buffy, he wanted to share these ideas with her and he just managed to stop himself from looking down the table (again).   He sighed. Maybe he would just have some wine.

 

Huh.  Wonder what this chit would do if he drank some nice blood red wine?

 

    

*  

   

 

“He is not your equal.”

 

It was The Immortal, his voice was very low and tinged with a touch of the Italian accent she at first had thought charming.

 

Buffy looked across to Giles but he was deep in conversation with Velma, Velma old friend of the Ripper, head of the coven and with gray streaking her dark hair like the life rings of a tree.  Buffy watched Velma push her hair behind her ears with those powerful hands as if this would help her hear Giles better, oh now Harry Blighton had interrupted them and ignoring The Immortal, Buffy looked down the table at Spike who was listening to Xander and Dawn and then finally turned her attention to the Immortal.  She looked him in the eye steadily and said nothing for a moment.  Considering her options.

 

He meant Spike of course, of that there was no doubt.  They had made no overt gesture in public to give evidence to their relationship, but Amerigo had picked up on it regardless.  Well, no matter.  She had planned on going public tonight anyway...she had just wanted to talk to Spike first, about the thing. About the big thing that was going to happen.

 

The Immortal did not look down the table to indicate the vampire, as if such a gesture would grace Spike, and no, he would not credit the vampire with even this small bit of his indirect attention, so he just looked evenly and seriously into Buffy’s eyes and repeated.

 

“He is not your equal.” 

 

Buffy looked into the glass of sparkling wine set before her and studied the bubbles as if they were air.  She took in a deep breath and let in out slowly...the Immortal took this as a sign to continue, and he asked quietly, intimately, friend to friend.

 

“Is it...responsibility?  Gratitude of some kind?  You are kind hearted Buffy, to a fault I think, but what kindness is it to him, when you leave him and you will have to leave...because...he is not your equal. He never can be.”

 

Buffy breathed deep but didn’t risk a glance to Spike, for fear he would sense, if not see the tears building in her eyes and she turned instead to The Immortal and he said and repeated sympathetically:

 

“He is not your equal, Buffy.”

 

“I know that.  I know he isn’t my equal.  He is my better.”

 

Stunned silence.

 

The Immortal searched her face, he looked into her large soft eyes almost overflowing and the deep sincerity and almost sorrow of her words could not be easily dismissed as a defensive reflex.

 

Buffy watched her words go inside him and she decided.  It was none of his business and this would most likely put her on the outs with him but no matter.  She would try this once to help him understand and then it would be up to him.

 

“He loves...better than...any one person or pet I’ve known or could hope to know and how does he do it?  Where does faith like that come from?  He has loved me through broken body, broken spirit and broken heart.  If I lay paralyzed, done and gone from the world, glory days over, everybody’s’ investment over, he would love me.  I know it.  It’s how we are together, how it is.  I feel safe and all the hard work is done.  I don’t have to be on my best behavior, I don’t have to ‘be’ anything, at all, the mask, the effort of being in the world...it all just drops away...and it’s just me, just us with no excuses...and he loves me anyway...or maybe even because of it.”

 

The Immortal looked down.  This was bad. Worse than he feared...this sounded, this felt irrevocable.  But he had to try.  The future of the world depended on Buffy seeing this clearly.

 

“But what about you?  You can’t just throw your life away, because of misplaced gratitude, you can’t step away from the world, because that is what you would be doing Buffy, understand this clearly.  If you continue with this, let it become known, that...how closely you regard him, if you plan to stay with him, for any length of time...I cannot back you Buffy, I simply cannot.”

 

“You have known vampires; you have friends who are vampires.”

 

“That is not the issue, I am not the issue.  How many Slayers would vote you into office, with a Vampire as your...companion?  A handful...just a handful.  And then we run the risk of the whole of it coming undone...a less qualified Slayer, someone not as binding, with less vision, and we will never get off the ground and we are facing one of the disaster scenarios foreseen by Velma.

 

A world controlled and manipulated by Slayers. A world brought down by the very force set up to keep it safe. We agreed that free will choice was the solution, and enforced dictatorship would only bequeath another until it all falls down...no, free choice is our only real hope.  But we need, we must have you to be the first president Buffy.  You need to steer the ship and of this, there is no doubt.  But...”  and here he took a breath.

 

“There are few slayers in their right mind who would not consider you to be in your right mind if you were.... (and here he used the explosive word) mated to a vampire.”

 

“Not just any Vampire.”

 

“Well, he’s not Angel, I could understand that perhaps; but...but I don’t even know who this is...he barely shows up on the world radar.  If he truly loves you, he will let you go.”

 

“If he loves me he will never let me go.”  Buffy spoke low but intensely.  She would brook no argument on this and she spoke intently and with the conviction of personal experience.

 

“I was cautious at first about seeing him again, I admit it.  I know what you are saying, I recognize it as true...but...I think...I hope there is a better truth.  When you touch love, you touch power, true power, and the power to change.  Loving him has changed me, loving me had changed him.  Irrevocably.  If we love each other, we’ll believe in it, trust in it.  Trusting love; is trusting heaven, and I’ve been there and heaven is good, very good, a good thing to trust.  I’m going to trust this, Amerigo...I’m putting my faith in Spike and me.”

 

The Immortal was stopped for a moment by the use his name, an intimate thing to do in his world.

 

“Buffy...I thought...I thought, there was something between us. We hold a common vision of the world, we could build something together.”  He didn’t say the word destiny, but he had seen several secret prophecies’ that strongly indicated the two of them, or two that fit their profile, together; working together, being together as world leaders.

 

Buffy laughed gently and touched his arm.

 

“You see in me a goal, an investment, maybe even some kind of booty.  He just sees me.”

 

The Immortal shook his head sadly.

 

“How much does he know?”

 

“He knows something is on my mind...I’ll tell him tonight.”

 

The Immortal was thinking...if she, if Buffy were to discover things about him, if he were to reveal himself in an unflattering light...would she see the big picture then?

 

“He is going to loose, tomorrow, the trial, he will loose badly.”

 

Buffy laughed gently again.  “He may get his back broke, his head stomped and his pride squashed, but he will not loose.  He doesn’t lose.  Mostly because he doesn’t recognize when it happens.  Fight your fight, do what you need to, but he won’t loose.”

 

Her certainty unnerved him.  He wasn’t seriouslyconcerned, but this Spike person did have a history of throwing a wrench into the works of things, sticking a noodle into destiny’s best plan.  Very rude. Maybe he should redouble his effort to stop him before this began.

 

He opened his mouth to speak but a young woman’s low accented voice filled the space instead.

 

“It is red but not blood.”

 

It wasn’t loud but there was a bit of a growl behind that would begat fisticuffs sure as sure.

 

Buffy and ensemble stopped and looked down the table to the source of the battle cry.

 

 

*

 

 

Spike studied his wine glass.  The deep blood red color of a heady merlot caught only bits of light, the red spectrum having the most to say about what went on in this liquid fire.  Nothing green or blue about it, oh no, not at all, it was all red alright... All red

 

All right.  He sighed.

 

He could not drink the wine and keep the peace, of sorts, he could drink the wine slowly, sipping, savoring and drive the Romanian to madness...but neither intention seemed appealing to him and suddenly he was tired. Tired of living at the beck and call of manners and mind this but not that.   The complete nonsense of living in society sometimes, boggled him, it truly did.  He sighed and in the end raised the glass and took a sip simply and only because...he wanted to.

 

“It is red but not blood.”

 

Her voice was low and was it the first thing she had said all evening?  Yes, yes it was.

 

Spike looked at her and decided on forthright.

 

“How fortunate for us all that I am capable of telling the difference.”

 

Xander snorted a half laugh but then choked it down.

 

“Spike...Spike...Anastasia here has come in straight from the battlefield, it takes a few days to adjust the eyesight, you know, knowing friend from foe...”

 

Spike looked at Xander and nodded his understanding. He was aware that they were now the focus of the table...he could feel Buffy’s eyes on him, her soul asking the question.  (Trouble?)

 

He risked a quick glance to her and inclined his head slightly which translated in Spuffy speak as: same old same old.

 

“Spike’s in from a battlefield too...” Dawn tried to ease this in to bring things down a notch, to assemble similarities rather than differences. Didn’t work.

 

“I know what it is...what it has done...”  Anastasia Romonov said low and with a deadly invitation that could not be missed.

 

Silence.  What to do? No one could think fast enough to steer this back to pleasant good humor.

 

“It is the Slayer of Slayers.”

 

“What’s the tat’s for then, luv?”

 

Anastasia straightened her back, power crackling off her like hard static.

 

“I bear the marks I earned, ridding the earth of vermin...”

 

“But not ordinary vermin, surely, surely a Slayer such as yourself can claim more than two mites that bite.”

 

Buffy bit her lip, stopped herself from stopping him.  Damnit.  She couldn’t override him.  The only thing worse, would be trying to tell him what to wear.  And you never tell a man what to wear.

 

Instead she sent him...(careful, love, careful...)

 

She felt him soften...but the Slayer in front of him couldn’t feel that.

 

“These two mark the passing of master Vampires...”

 

Anastasia jerked two fingers at Spike like snakes fangs.

 

Spike nodded, impressed.  Xander cleared his throat;

 

“Maybe it’s time for the ole after dinner cigar and brandy in hand stroll, what a ya say, Spike--Dawn tells me there’s a pool table-- you game?”

 

Anastasia started to speak but The Immortal cut her off--

 

“Yes, yes, quite a good idea...I’ve been trying to imagine a situation where you might take up an offer in gamesmanship.  A little warm handshake before the trial, yes?  If you say no, one might think that you suffered from sad experience in competition and dared not test the parameters to gain the glory of the laurels or the girl so as not to be reminded that you will never have them.”

 

What the hell was that?  Buffy turned to stare at The Immortal.  If this was his way of deflecting a volatile situation, well...thanks, but no thanks.

 

There was dead silence.  Obviously everyone was feeling the same confusion.

 

Spike put on the posh to answer.

 

“One might, that is, a more observant man, less bent on himself and bending the will of those around him, might observe the desire of a guest for no more games, call an end to warfare, you what?  Tut, tut and given the temperature of the day, that is, mate.”

 

Xander stifled another snort and kept his good eye steady on Anastasia who seemed a bit confused as if conversation in any one specific language was beyond her.

 

“Is that so?”  was the Immortal’s cool reply.

 

“Oh aye, when in England observe Agatha Christie, and in case you haven’t noticed, look at us, look at the odd clap trap collection of assorted characters caught up in a mausoleum with no way out, caught up together for the length of a tragic bit of business.  Take it down a peg, you lot.  We’re a murder mystery waiting to happen.”

 

“Is that a threat?”  The Immortal was cool.

 

“That’s a quip, you nit.  But now that you mention it and as this ‘un’s already brought to the fore--not always the wisest course to push an animal, now is it?”

 

The Immortal’s glare turned almost feral and Buffy felt a shiver of real fear.  What had been indifference drifting toward disdain of Spike had turned rabbit fast into loathing, the loathing, of royalty toward upstart.  Of: ‘how dare you best me!’  Buffy guessed it was not often that a man stood up to The Immortal.        

 

But it was Anastasia who acted.

 

She slammed her steak knife flat onto the table like banging a pot to bringing attention to the dinner table--this thing had gone sideways into talky talk when it was action that was called for!

 

“You...see?  No one wants you here; you do not belong anywhere on Earth.”

 

“Anastasia!  Spike is a guest here.”  Xander interjected; “Lay off him.  And Spike, come on, stop baiting everybody...come on, you guys, we’re all on the same side here...”

 

“--NO!” Anastasia stood up chair scraping back as she did.  And she bit out harshly: “NEVER! On same side. No.  How can you all sit here and eat and drink with this thing here, this thing that should be dust...it is...” and here she had to struggle for the word and when she found it she spit it out with great satisfaction:

 

“Abomination.  It is dead it should be dust.  Anything else is abomination.”

 

Pause. 

 

Spike looked at her carefully and he saw, he saw her story sure as sure; he saw her little sister killed by a vampire, he saw her uncle and aunty and two cousins dead and quite down into the ground by the same means and the knowledge, pure and clear dropping into him like single bing; this slowed him down. 

 

There it was. 

 

Romanov wasn’t the Immortal...there were two separate themes running here, this here was not the ego out of control but a lass, a lass blinded by grief, grief fixed solid by anger and so he tried.

 

“And yet it exists.“  Spike spoke softly, almost gently.  “It exists in the world, the world lets it be so.  If the world allows it, if the world is home to it--is it an abysmal world? And how do you fight on behalf of an abysmal world?  No, the world is good and everything it supports has the possibility to grow up to be good.”

 

Buffy was used to Spike’s soft words and logic that could penetrate the thickest of skulls and so she wasn’t surprised but almost everyone else at the table was.  She almost smiled, but the crisis was not over, not yet.  Discreetly, she pushed herself away from the table, to be ready, arms and legs free and clear, in case, just in case--Spike could look after himself, but if someone had to strike a Slayer...she wanted it to be herself.  

 

Anastasia was pointing to the tattooed bars on her upper arm.

 

“You saying these vampires, these abominations belong in the world?”

 

“Would you kill a grizzly bear if it came up against you and yours?  I would hope so.  Does the grizzly own its part in the world?  I know so.”      

 

Anastasia was ignoring the logic of his argument and stood back into battle stance.  This wasn’t about reason; this was about emotion and...the blind mind.

 

Anastasia pointed to the top tattoo and recited with relish:

 

“The first one was Lucy Westenra, bride of Dracula--“

 

“Buffy!” It was Xander calling her.  “Buffy stop her.”

 

Buffy stood calmly and began to walk...she didn’t see the need to accelerate the situation with knocking her down...yet.”

 

“--The second one, this one is new, one week old, it still tickles...it is Drusilla the Seer, great grandchilde of the Master.”

 

Sound of chair scraping back, crash of glasses and plates and Buffy was in the mix in a scramble grapple of bodies and limbs but it wasn’t Anastasia Romonov she had to restrain...

 

It was Spike.

 

 

*

 

 

“Vi! Dawn! Xander clear the room!” It was Giles and they moved fast.

 

The guests and members of the coven moved first the Slayers covering the rear.  Dawn was wondering about the drastic reaction and then heard the word ‘Berserker...’ murmured and passed along.  Oh.  Oh shit.  No.  God.

 

Dawn was out side the door but as she was turning around to go back in, she ran into Xander,

 

“Lemme back in...”

 

“No Dawnie...let Buffy handle this.”

 

“Yeah...she talked him down before...it’ll be alright...”  this was Vi, but she didn’t sound at all sure.

 

She had moved to the doorway and nodding to Tedi and Babbette they flanked the door to guard it as she slipped back inside.

 

The room was quiet.

 

The Immortal had remained seated at the end of the table, as if this display of raw power was nothing to his ability to deflect it if need be.

 

Asshole.

 

Vi, moved over to stand next to Giles who was standing near the end of the table.  Watching, waiting...for what?

 

“You.”  Vi said to the Immortal. “Get out of here.”

 

He didn’t deign to look at the kitten that squeaked and so she said in solid state steel.

 

“Now.”

 

He looked at her.  She would clock him; she would and screw the consequences.  He shouldn’t be watching this.

 

“Fine.  It’s alright now, I’ll leave, it’s just with the mention, with the passing of Drusilla...I have finally remembered, where I’ve seen you before.”

 

This was directed toward the figure sitting now with his back to the door. Buffy was standing next to him in profile, her hand lightly on the back of his neck.  It was that, that handcasual and affectionate on the back of his neck, when it should have been pummeling the vampire into the ground for that outrageous assault.  It was that casual hand that made him speak the next words.  His eyes becoming sulky slits.

 

“Oh, now I remember you, boy...”

 

With his back still to The Immortal, Spike said low:

 

“You remember a boy...you have never met...me...” 

 

And here enough of the berserker growled back into being to set a real shiver of fear through The Immortal.  It was not the fear one might have of a fellow combatant...it was the fear one might have of a grade five hurricane.  Something nature made and so impossible to stop, with a blow, a greeting card, apology or magic.

 

And then Amerigo realized the display of temper, this vampire going for the black haired, black eyed girl hadn’t been an almost berserker episode. This warning just growled at him...was...       

 

With as much style as he could muster...The Immortal left the room, his mind already off Buffy and on a certain black haired black eyed beauty.

 

 

*

 

That left Giles with Buffy and Spike and a decision to make.  He drew in a breath and walked around the table and down the length avoiding broken glass and plate and pulled a chair out to sit adjacent to the duo.

 

Spike’s head was down and away but otherwise he seemed all right.  That is, himself. 

 

Buffy cleared a space next to Spike and then sat next to him, all while looking at Giles.  Well that was a statement.

 

“There is still a chance to salvage this situation. “ Giles began “We can...Buffy if you make a point of moving your belongings into the East Wing of the estate and let it be known that you frown upon this display of temper...”

 

“We are not going to talk about this now Giles...”

 

“Yes, we bloody well are!”  Giles raised his voice and Spike turned around to look at him. 

 

An audio and visual display of anger from Giles was rare indeed.  

 

“No one will vote for you Buffy, not even Vi, in the secret ballot away from your opinion, no Slayer will stand for a leader who traffics with a vampire, let alone an unstable one.”

 

Silence as Buffy looked at Giles, but felt Spike’s eyes on her.  She paused and then spoke softly.

 

“Then it’s over Giles.”

 

He looked at her and then asked very sadly,

 

“Do you realize the long lasting implications of that decision?”

 

“Wait a minute here, was’ he on about?” Spike asked Buffy, when she didn’t answer he turned to Giles.

 

“What you on about?”

 

“The plan, Spike, is to disassemble the council, transmute it perhaps, would be a more apt description.  Buffy believes the time has come to give the choice of their leader back to the Slayers at large.  She took away their choice and wants to give their voice back to them, as the least of the picture.  I have come to agree, but for different reasons...the evolution of this world must move away from entitlement and toward the responsibility of being self governed or...risk falling to despotism, risk remaining children being told what to do, and there is a higher risk for the unused mind, for mass mind control.

 

Spike nodded his agreement and asked Buffy quietly:  “This your idea?”

 

“The beginnings of it...but Giles and others, Velma, The Immortals, The Highlanders, the leaders from those communities are all adding to the structure, they want to widen  the whole thing, go global.”

 

“A united nations of sorts in the world community in which we work.”  Giles supplied, “We would be working together in way unprecedented.  And...”  here the drum roll.  “I feel Buffy should lead us in this venture, in fact Velma has assured me, we would...be quite lost, perhaps not right away, but in time, we would fail, without her leadership and vision to shape the transition.”

 

Buffy and Spike were quiet. Spike looked down at his hands.

 

“Well Spike?”  asked Giles softly.  “You can see how it is.”

 

He shook his head and rubbed both hands over his face.

 

“Buffy...god...”

 

Buffy cut him off and addressed both of them.

 

“Giles, you said this was my vision, then you have to listen to all of it, you can’t have half a vision and then cut it off when it gets to the part that’s tough.”

 

She took in a breath and spoke softly to both of them, it was so important that the two most important men in her life understood this.

 

“It might have been different before...when there was one slayer, one word, one lookout, when people in the world were ignorant or young and like children maybe and had to be looked after, and then using war, killing demons, all that was like buying the world time for us all to grow up.   But we have Giles, we have, that Spike has done what he has, simply because he wanted to, that I love him for it, for himself, and this thing that’s happening between us Giles, I think it all means the world is getting ready for something new and proves we aren’t kids anymore, and when I say we, I mean us, but the world too...and if...” 

 

And here Buffy’s voice broke a little, “If it means I have to kill one innocent person or demon, or if I have to kill something, something beautiful to win some kind of contest, then we don’t deserve the world anymore and the whole experiment should be shut down.  When you’re young, you can make mistakes like that, but once you know better...” Buffy shrugged.

 

The room was quiet. And then Buffy said again.

 

“Spike might not know it yet in words, or agree with me even, but he does in action..” and here she turned to Spike, “in what you do, I know you agree with me...”

 

“Outside this election, you are choosing a difficult road Buffy, one filled with scenes like the one here tonight, and I don’t mean Spike snapping, I understand there was extreme provocation and you certainly appear...in control of yourself, now...no I mean, where can you go?  What possible world can you fit into together where you won’t offend anyone deeply who see you together?”

 

Buffy asked suddenly:

 

“What if this is a new kind of mixed marriage?”

 

Pause, as she let that sink in and then continued.

 

“What if everyone who ever went into a mixed marriage, didn’t, just didn’t because it would be hard and offend people?  Where would we be now?  No mixed races, no mixy religion, no mixy ever.”

 

Giles leaned back to look at them both, he was loathe to admit it--but her argument resonated with him, especially this last part. Buffy appeared to have stopped speaking, ending on this, her last best argument.  He turned to Spike.

 

“Spike, what do you have to say to all this?”

 

Spike looked at Giles and said calmly.

 

“I’ll say what I have to say to Buffy in private.”

 

Giles nodded and got up to leave thinking, well, if the world fell down because two souls who loved each other shouldn’t be together, than maybe, maybe it should fall down.  He sure as hell was getting tired propping up a faulty waterworks.

 

The door clicked softly behind him and before he could say anything, anything at all, Buffy grasped both Spikes hands and said softly.

 

“You promised.  You promised.”

 

Was all she said and he had, he had promised he would never leave her, not if she wanted him around, he would not leave...he had promised...

 

“Ah luv...” and he opened his arms and she pressed herself up against him.  “I’m so sorry, Buffy, I’m sorry I made I muck of things...”

 

“I don’t really care...well I do a little bit, really, really shouldn’t go first strike on a Slayer, but...something was bound to pop soon, what with all the pressure around here, and so it has...and...and I’m sorry about Drusilla...”

 

Spike sighed.  “I didn’t know...I couldn’t feel her gone...I wonder why...”

 

She leaned back to look at him, and then stroked the side of his cheek and said nothing and they were quiet together for a moment.

 

“So...” he began, quite serious, “You asking me to marry you then?”

 

Buffy felt a hot flush sweep her up into garble speak.  “Um...no...no...I’m sure that I did not.”

 

“Huh.  Sounded a bit like you did.”

 

“It was an...example...a simile, or metaphor, extempore...or maybe...haiku?  Maybe...why? Wwwhat...what would you say?”

 

He was stroking her arm with the pad of a single finger and she stopped what she was saying, doing, thinking, to enjoy the gentle touch.

 

 

* 

 

 

“You have to let me know what’s going on.”

 

 

It was about 3:30 in the morning and they lay pressed together, arms wound round each other and Spike said low but firm.

 

“That’s what I have to say.  From now on, you have to tell me what’s going on, let me help you Buffy.”

 

He felt her nod against his chest.

 

“Giles is right.”  he felt her stiffen and continued quickly, “And you are too...I think, but the world needs you, it does, if it were me--well...I want to take you and run away into the world somewhere, disappear and let it be just us, it will always be all right between us when it’s just us...but it never can be like that...you are a gift to the world Buffy, you are, and if you want me in...I’m in and if it all falls down then we fall down together, but if we do fall down, let it happen with us doing our best, eh?”

 

She raised her head to look at him.

 

“I can not imagine you not ever doing your best, not ever...”

 

 Spike continued around her comment.

 

“I’m not saying, I could have stopped myself, maybe...it happened so fast, it happened so fast Buffy, I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there, and I don’t just mean anyone to stop me...I mean you to stop me.  But if I knew, If I understood what was at stake for you...maybe, maybe I would have got up to leave...when it started to get tight...Giles is right, it has to be you whether you like it or not, but please let me help you...”

 

She was silent for a moment and then she said softly.

 

“I don’t want you to change your whole nature, change who you are...”

 

“Well, I don’t see that happening, but you have to trust me with what you know, I can always leave the room, I can learn to back away from a fight when it’s unnecessary...I meant what I said before, I am done with it...so it won’t be going against my nature, only choosing my better one.”

 

He stopped and finished with.

 

“That’s it, that’s what I have to say about it.”

 

Buffy rested her head on his chest.

 

“Are we fighting?  Is this our first fight?”

 

He felt Spike’s chuckle more than heard it.

 

“First?  You’ll never get served at the bakery with number you’re holding in your hand.”

 

And she chuckled and then said softly.

 

“O.K.”

 

“That’s it?  O.K.”

 

“O.K. Tomorrow is a big day. I don’t wanna wear out the speech center in your brain.”

 

“Oh no, let’s not do that.” 

 

He said as he rolled sideways to face her, and gently stroked her cheek and leaned in to kiss her lips.

 

“Or other parts...of your...um...”  she managed to get out between quick breaths.

 

He kissed her again and she sighed into him...

 

“No worries...”

 

He said and she kissed him quiet and they settled back for a very nice old fashioned ‘conversation.’ 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Chapter 17

 

 

 

“It’ not over‘til it’s over...”

 

Vince Lombardi

 

*

 

It was four o’clock in the afternoon and Spike had to be honest with himself. He looked at the stacks of books around him, he looked at Illyria staring off into space, at the girls sprawled on the leather couch, at Dawn reading and writing with brow furrowed across from him and he knew.

 

What he needed to know now wasn’t gonna come from books, or from the full disclosure submitted by the Prosecution...what he needed now would have to come through the windows sideways. 

 

He needed to get inside Angels head, to feel whatever in hell he had been feeling...he needed to know what had gone on in intimate detail these past five years...he needed to empathize.

 

Bullocks.

 

“Lads, lasses, its over.”  His voice was low but spoke so true everyone stopped and looked at him.

 

“You are a heavenly lot, you are, but it’s over.”

 

“Spike...”  Dawn voice was a caution.

 

“I don’t mean over, over, I mean over for you lot, go on now, pack it in. Go get some rest, a slap of meal or a biscuit or two and I’ll see you lot in court, right?”

 

“You sure, Spike?”  This was from Tedi she said, adjusting her glasses.

 

“Yeah, pet, I have some thinking to do and I need the quiet.”

 

Dawn looked at him and then nodded.  She stood and as she passed behind him she lay a hand on his shoulder for a moment and then motioned to the others to leave and then one by one they tapped him on the shoulder and left.

 

No one said anything.

 

Illyria had remained and Spike looked at it and it said simply.

 

“I have no where to go.”

 

And the tragic simplicity of that resounded somewhere deep inside Spike.

 

No where to go.  God, he knew what that felt like, and now that he had Buffy with him in his life, living his life with him and didn’t he understand the loneliness of being bereft in the world with no where to go, no purpose and desperate enough to try anything to fill the space and good god is that what Angel had felt?

 

He nodded at Illyria and said.

 

There’s some volumes in stacks, profiles of Watchers and whatnot, didn’t want to distract you before...but there’s bound to be something about Wesley there.  And then without a word, Illyria stood and walked to where Spike had pointed.

 

And Spike was alone, and it was quiet, quiet...save for the small very soft rustle in the room, clock ticking, wind against the window...and the ghosts.

 

“Cordelia?” 

 

 

 

*

 

 

Seven fifteen now and quiet again, ghosts gone, but what she had told him...god, what she had told him.

 

Angel had been a busy lad and he expected no less...but a child.  A son.  Angel had a son?  He was in love with Cordelia?  He knew he had cared for her, he could tell that this past year, when she had passed, but dear god, how the great lunk kept things undercover.

 

He had been in love with Cordelia and her in a coma and had gone to Sunnydale to twist Buffy’s head around, twist her around enough, just enough to keep her from letting Angel go, to keep her simmering on the back burner for him.  And that was just one instance of the many examples of overweening ego...of living in a world according to Angel.

 

Of course there had been victory, triumph even, he expected no less there as well...but what, just what all should he tell Buffy?

 

Did the full disclosure thing work both ways? 

 

And truth to tell...he didn’t want to expend the energy it would take to tell and answer questions...no, he had to spend...he looked at the clock. Bloody hell, almost seven thirty five. No he had to spend this last hour or so to get inside this information...decide how to best use it.   

 

He did not expect to see Giles walk into the library.

 

“Not in the frame of mind at present for a lecture, Rupert, if you don’t mind.”

 

“I don’t mind at all.”

 

“Well then?”

 

Giles sat down across from him and began.

 

“Buffy says you are to be informed, kept abreast and otherwise updated as to our plans, and other sundry information that would affect said plans.”

 

“Uh huh...”  Spike grunted cautiously.

 

“It seems there is a rumor going about the estate, about the girls...that Anastasia Romanov is the incarnation of the First Slayer.”

 

“Second coming is it?”

 

“It would appear so...”

 

Spike thought back to the raw unearthly power the girl radiated, her dark eyes and long black hair hanging down in almost dread locks and asked.

 

“Could...could there be any truth to it?”

 

“Well, she was born in Romania, the old established hot bed for all things traditionally vampire, even if all life and unlife came out of Africa, this Romanian connection has a romantic appeal for some...she fits the profile in prophecy...”

 

“Which is?”

 

“To purge the earth of corruption, of...corrupted leaders, heroes, heroines, fallen from the way and into confusion.”

 

“You’re loving this aren’t you?”

 

“In fact I am not.  I’m keeping you informed.  I’m letting you know how the political machine is already starting to turn against Buffy.  She has been the foremost in everyone’s mind as leader, mostly, because no one could imagine anyone else.  The Immortal, I suspect he is behind this, is now trying to supplant that image with...another one.”

 

“Well...if that’s true, it’s no love lost, if he can turn on Buffy that quickly and start constructing another, then he saw Buffy as nothing more than a puppet anyway.  I’d be singing good riddance to congealed rubbish, if I was you.”

 

‘Yes...well, you may have a point there.  I have long been aware that he had an agenda of his own.  I had persuaded Buffy to get closer to him to discover just what that might be, so perhaps....” and here Giles voice died down and when he began again, his voice was softer, a little less stiff crusty crust.

 

“I want you to know...I did hear what Buffy said, I listened and...and she has proven her intuition and vision often enough to me...for me to learn to trust her, as you can imagine, I will do whatever I can to be of service to her in the coming years...and it seems...you are now a part of that equation and so I will treat you the same as I would any member of her team.”

 

Spike had cocked his head to look at him more closely.  What was he on about?

 

“This is the moment when I would, as councilor give advice to a member of the team and this is it; watch out for The Immortal, whatever you do remain calm, he can’t abide a cooler temperature in the room than himself, he will try to goad you at every turn, provoke you into contempt of court--DON’T let it happen.  You will go to prison for contempt in that court and...stay away from Anastasia Romamov, don’t look her way, if she feels provoked she will attack and then you will have to defend yourself and that will only end very badly any way you look at it and for god’s sake don’t bullocks up the trial tonight.”

 

“Come again?”

 

“Do not mistake me, I would like to see Angels head pop clean off his body for his hubris, but you must do well tonight, very well.  What you do and how well you present your case will reflect on Buffy.  There may yet be a way to salvage this situation politically, if, god above, you could appear to be an asset and not a liability.”

 

“Ah...but no pressure, right?”

 

“Oh please, Spike, you do best under pressure, just obliging the home team.”

 

“And giving a clout about the ears, eh?”

 

“Well, naturally.”

 

“Just as long as we understand each other.”

 

“Just as long.”

 

And then Spike smiled at Giles and couldn’t help it, just had to say it.

 

“Well, it’s almost as if you were my Father in Law, isn’t it?”

 

It may not have been the exact words but it was near enough, near enough to ring that bell from long ago and Giles gasped.

 

“Dear god.  I had forgotten about that spell...you don’t suppose...it never...was lifted...and we could...um...”

 

“Nah, nothing so easy, ‘Dad’”

 

Rupert Giles winced but it turned into a semi smile too.

 

Maybe...maybe there was some kind of destiny at work here...and old school as he was, free will choice was a grand concept but still there was some, some comfort in the possibility that, Buffy & Spike...were fated somehow. It seemed less chaotic to him, just a little more tidy. And if not fated completely, then at least there was comfort in the possibility that one choice would cast a shadow to the next one...and that was a kind of fate...wasn’t it?

 

“Good luck tonight Spike.  Do you need anything?”

 

“Just...keep Buffy away...I have to think for a while...and tell her, warn her really, that there may be some things coming out that she didn’t know about.  Are there any sedatives that work on Slayers?”

 

“That bad?”

 

Spike shrugged.  It was all relative.  And it was all about relatives too. 

 

“Granddad.”  Spike said and shook his head.

 

Giles nodded gave him a look that said ‘win one for the gipper’ and then left. 

 

Spike rose from his chair went to the window and watched as the rain began to come down.  First in big large plops and then the steady cleansing stream England was famous for. Wash it all away then, wash it away and begin again. Clean the grime away.

 

Buffy corrupted?  Not bloody likely, not ever. 

 

Suddenly he had an idea.

 

 

*  

 

Chapter 18

 

 

“The sacred rights of mankind are not to be found

in old parchments and musty records;

they are written as with a sunbeam by the hand

of divinity itself on the whole volume of human nature and

can never be erased or obscured by mortal power...”        

      

Alexander Hamilton     Age seventeen 1775

 

 

*

 

 

 

She was sitting behind him; He could feel her behind him.  Specifically him.  Just a bit more to the right and it might appear like a general endorsement or backing her old beau, but no.  And it wasn’t just that she choose to sit behind him after yesterday’s humiliation. It was the way he felt her behind him. 

 

Solid, sure, confident, proud, possessive.

 

Internally Spike shook his head amazed anew at her ability to surprise him.

 

Externally he remained calm, cool eyed and almost oblivious and he resisted the temptation to turn around.  He didn’t need to really.  He just sat there with her sitting behind him and felt the bubble of her expectation and almost smile as if she was expecting to see a fine bit of theatre and knew, just knew this man she sat behind would not disappoint.

 

It was not defensive. It was protective.  She sat there like a plush kitty cat that knew something no one else did. Now Spike did smile, a small one, and he knew if he were to turn around he would see her smiling the same smile too.  

 

 

*

 

 

He could hear people filing in to fill the solarium/cum court room, but he focused instead on the rain, the sound of it coming down and sliding along the length the glass walls and he thought of Dru...Dru being washed away somewhere and back into the Earth and god bless her...no really, please, god bless her and have mercy...her path, her path, what she became wasn’t a result of her choice, she was just a bit of the clockwork wasn’t she then? 

 

Gifted with seer sight and made so pure and dear to the angels themselves that Angelus wanted/needed to flip it, rip the gift of her into ribbons that decorated the box.

 

Goodbye Dru...

 

He thought he saw something move in the corner of his eye, but he didn’t turn his head.

 

Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts.

 

He was ready.

 

 

*

 

The Immortal had arrived with Mr. Blighton and now Illyria had joined him and looked down at the files and notes they had all worked so hard on. Spike nodded to it and it sat to his right, in the chair of co-council.

 

Nothing to say now, just wait.

 

 

*

 

Eight fifty and Angel was wheeled in by Rona and her crew, with considerable additional back up, he saw.  The maybe Berserker incident must have unnerved somebody somewhere.  No matter.

 

The quiet room became a vacuum while Angel was wheeled into place, just the squeak of tires on the marble floor and the sound of the rain held away by a quarter inch of glass.

    

Poised all attention trained forward, they waited for the judge.

 

 

 

*

 

 

She appeared precisely at 8:59 in the center seated and in stately purple, two figures appeared behind her.  One to her right, a man, or male and Elfin by the cast of his ears and eyes and the tone to his light blue skin, to her left a figure was still materializing as if the transfiguration took a bit longer for the complications of this one.

 

It was a master vampire.  Old, very, very old, almost too old to discern if it was male or female, maybe when you got that old it didn’t matter.

 

Spike felt the overwhelming desire to genuflect. To remain seated in the presence of such a tribunal seemed an outrageous affront.

 

The court had risen as the The Judge appeared and now as the room en masse sat back down he found it easy and right to go down on one knee before the Old Master.

 

The judge was speaking.

 

This order of the world court has reconvened to entertain debate regarding the circumstances surrounding Angel of Los Angeles and leading up to the events of the Wolf Ram & Hart Apocalypse.  Pleading the case for the defendant, I see you Mr. Spike and the respect you give the old ones of this court is accepted and does you credit.

 

Thus spoken was the permission given for him to rise and he did.

 

Holy hell.  he thought; 'that old one has a soul. How did she get hers?'  He could feel it, it was a ‘she’ actually, and he could feel her power reach out to him to tap his shoulder, giving him permission to rise.    

  

“I see Malachonna has introduced herself to you...she will be serving as adjunct and advisor to the final judgment and to my right I see you have recognized Lane Ellium, Mr. Immortal, one of your ancient ones, I believe.”

 

Spike risked a glance to The Immortal, who seemed struck as dumb as he in the presence of his own lineage gone, back, back and back...

 

“As you can see, what is discussed here, what takes place here goes directly into the genetic and energetic encoding of all the clans of Earth dwellers you both represent and so into the general consciousness.  Malachonna of the Undead en Spiritus and Lane Ellium of The Immortals are here to remind you of the weight of cause and effect and words expended are as good as action in an energetic context.

 

Do not be inclined to think they will be overly empathetic to your respective arguments, they were both personally acquainted with the deceased, Drogan the Innocent, and intimately familiar with the history of the world and your history in particular.  They will sit as your harshest critics.”

 

That said.

 

“Your honor? I beg your Honors pardon...”

 

“Yes Mr. Immortal?”

 

“Information has been discovered, that is to say, something has just been brought to our attention that in good conscious we feel compelled to share with the court in general and the defense in particular.”

 

The judge’s brow furrowed slightly.

 

“What is it Mr. Immortal?”

 

“May I approach the bench?”

 

“No you may not; you may speak clearly for all to hear, I need not remind you that we have now entered a public arena of full disclosure.”

 

“Yes exactly.”  The Immortal took in a deep breath as if this grieved him to do and then began.

 

“Through our recent research we have discovered the amulet used to close the Hellmouth of Sunnydale was returned to and was in the possession of Wolf Ram & Hart when it was eliminated as a power source on this earth plane.  With the amulet in their possession when they were...removed, this will also remove all parties connected to it through the trace signatures, all the trace signatures encoded on the amulet once tracked back, will likewise disengage the original being on this earth plane.”

 

Hush.

 

Spike heard Buffy draw in a sharp breath behind him.

 

“The device is ancient, and so it is working back through its library, but chances are the Defense barrister is in grave danger of being returned to the ethers, if not beyond.  We could only in good conscious bring this information forward.  It is recommended that the Vampire Spike in order to remain in the third dimension, should return to the point of origin to tap into the trace energy still existing in the field, and rewrite the contract; there is still a possibility to reverse the effect...and...

 

The judge eyed The Immortal and he lowered his head and continued.

 

“And...in addition...it appears that the defendant, Angel of Los Angels, that he himself gave the amulet to his physic department in order to research a way to contain the vampire Spike, to manipulate his will.  I offer this information at this time, so the defense can consider the possibility that he may not be acting from his own free will by choosing to defend Angel, but might, in fact, be manipulated by the dark power behind Wolfram & Hart in order to manipulate and distort these proceedings.”

 

Brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant. 

 

Spike stared at the Immortal.

 

The man was brilliant. 

 

Under the guise of being ‘helpful’ not only did he slice into Spike where it would hurt the most, the fear of being reduced to a ghost, the fear of loosing Buffy, of breaking his promise, not only this slice at the confidence he held in himself, but a huge chunky bite out of the confidence he might have in his cause celeb.  And on top, cast a shadow in the judges mind by suggesting just ‘oh so lightly’ that he was being manipulated by evil forces to misuse the court, to use a tangle of words to subvert justice.  

 

Now, he had no doubt something of what The Immortal had said had validity...it rang true...his ability to see ghosts, to hear them breathe, just about, and he admitted he still felt a link to the other side that was unnatural, that he was in danger of slipping back felt true, and he had no doubt that the double Wank of all Wanks would have tried to use that amulet to break his will against him, and certainly last year, he hadn’t felt himself, no not all.  That is, until he had seized himself just moments before he had gone berserk.  William meets William the Bloody and why not come home to roost?

 

Angelus had in turn, detested and admired his facility to bounce back and so of course he would have used every opportunity to break his balls. Angel loathed him.

 

Well, it was mutual.  And knowing this old news was supposed to break his will?  He wanted to laugh, really...

 

The judge was speaking.

 

“Mr. Spike it seems you may be at the crux of a double ended dilemma, I have scanned the records, and I must caution you, there may indeed be some cause for alarm, under these extreme circumstances, this court would consider you excused for any one or all of the reasons obvious or obscure that have been brought to our attention.  It is up to you sir.”

 

Spike looked at the judge and then turned and risked a quick, very quick look at Buffy, he noted her skin blanched bone white and hands grasped tightly in her lap but otherwise she appeared like stone.  She was making no comment.  She was leaving it to him.

 

A master, she was a true master of herself.  Well, so was he.  And as Giles had so aptly pointed out...he was not in this alone, what he did would reflect back on her.  One would indicate the choice of another.

 

And then he felt a bubble of pure joy pop and come fizzing up from deep inside himself, racing like competing Champaign to his mouth to explode the room with a laugh.

 

God, he loved a fight!  So this was it then?  A bloody brawl in a courtroom, with words and sharp intentions?  Alright then.  Alright.

What was it Giles had said?  He loved it with the pressure on and up yours Amerigo!

 

What else had Giles said?  Stay cool?

 

He could do cool.

 

So cool he was hot. 

 

He smiled, it was genuine and unaffected.

 

“Well we best begin then, before I fade to black, and that’s such a cheat if the story ends before you’re ready--as for the other, he looked at Angel and shrugged,

 

“No use crying over the spilled milk...or milksops.”  And the dry slow turn of his head and roll of his eye seemed to include The Immortal in that indictment and the people in the galley laughed.

 

He nodded to them, nodded to Buffy who inclined her head slightly back to him and the Judge banged her gavel.

 

“We will have quiet or this room will be cleared...”

 

And the room stilled.

 

“Very well Mr. Spike.  We begin. Mr. Immortal won the rune toss and so opening remarks go to the world court.  Mr. Immortal?”

 

Without sparing a glance to anyone or anything, he took a moment to gather himself and began.  His opening statement went like this:  

 

                             

“We are here.  We all here tread the Earth.  We walk upon the face of it, it carries us on her back, Human or Animal, Demon or Immortal, Elfin or Alien, we now have a common Mother.  And like any Mother, like all Mothers what she gives to one, she gives to all.   No one is excluded from her bounty, her love, her shelter, the deep well of information, the library of the family tree...or her recrimination of a petulant child indulging his will in way that goes against the family.  When a member if the family so indulges himself, he becomes a danger to the family and must be separated, especially when that member is no longer a child.

 

When young, certain crimes, certain acts of will can be forgiven, or redirected, but after trial and many errors, after maturity, after knowing better, such an act of willful disobedience, the acts of such a person become obscene.

 

We all walk the earth, we all have access to the same information, and it is conducted up through our bones to resonate in the heart and mind.  We know right from wrong.  We do.  Liam O’Hara stood at that precipice with the Vampire Darla, felt the draw of what she offered, one can not be in the presence of something so dark and not be aware that night had fallen.  That you will fall. Walk that way and you will fall.  Liam O’Hara made that choice to fall and fall he did.  He forfeited his soul, to free his movements as few vampires have before him.  He used the dark as a battery cell; he drew energy from the Destroyer to tear down creation.  So much so he reached his peak within one hundred years.  There is a cycle of life that must be acknowledged, when a certain level of energy reached in this third dimensions on one side or the other, a Demon may rise or an Angel may fall.  Like a swelling of potential energy that must burst into kinetic.  And so Angelus reached this level of kinetic release, but ignored it.  Messages were sent to him in the form of Drusilla the Seer, the Saint.  She was a human that resonated so close to the Mother, Angelus was given the opportunity in her, to recognize the way of love.  He had an opportunity of love, of transfiguration through love, and he chose instead to rend it in twain, to tear the Great Mothers child into pieces.  And so because he had reached his threshold of destruction and there was no room on Earth for Angelus anymore; a Gypsy, a Mother was guided to make the decision for him by putting Angelus into prison of sorts, by restoring his soul.  He was being forced to grow up.

 

One hundred years more, one hundred years more with his soul restored and still it took a guide to steer him once again to the Slayer of Sunnydale, for another opportunity for transfiguration through love and service. And to his credit, he served, and to his credit he loved, but he did notsubmithimself to love.  Nor did he choose the right person to love.  He choose the person with the power, with the glory of position.  While the member of his soul group watched from the background and because she appeared to be vain and self indulgent, he couldn’t look himself in the mirror, and therefore see past the surface to her soul and his better self.  He chose, instead, the person with glory and power and of course this fell immediately into disaster.  And then once set in motion, once this love was faced with obstacles, rather than place the love above all, rather than trust it, he walked away from it-- using pain as his guide rather than the pleasure of love and companionship. 

 

Still the Powers That Be put faith in him, recognized the vast warehouse of dark energy still to be transmuted into white light through deed and service, and sent him guides, friends and potential love in the shape of one Cordelia Chase, yet again. 

And indeed the defense will submit many cases of good deeds, lives and souls saved, and we can submit just as many of harsh treatment, of harsh words, of using his sire and Drusilla yet again to murder seventeen people and then he turned on them.  Turned on them, setting his sire and childe afire--once again indicating that he was always in danger of taking the law into his own hands, of confusing natural law with his law.

 

He had examples. I will show you many examples of teachers to cross his path, to aid him and give him instruction that resonated in his soul. Wesley Wyndom-Price, Cordelia Chase, Charles Gunn, Fred, all dead now, and as well as dead to him now is Loren the Pyhlean, and...his son Connor.

 

The most important messenger and aid sent to him. 

 

As every parent would vow, as every parent knows, they wish only the best and easiest path for their child.  To smooth the way in a hard world, but that is only the dream, it can never be the reality.  Life contains trial; it is designed to contain trial on this earth and who better to know this than Angel?  Who better to instruct and help a child who has gone through the torment of being raised in a hell dimension than Angel?  Imagine the heroic possibilities, the strength gained from such an experience, the nobility of such a soul and what they could offer to the world experience. But he gave no value to his son’s experience, rather than see it as a great opportunity to teach his son how to manage the incomprehensible, and thereby learn something for himself...to learn the thing about his own life that had eluded him thus far--Angel once again took the quick and easy path.   

 

He raped his sons life away, took away his free will choice in the matter, rewrote all his companion’s lives, rendered their experience, what they could learn, were destined to learn by association irrelevant and moot next to the way he choose to render  the world. That is, if he were god.  If he were the great Mother, he would have no faith in his children’s ability to solve their own problems.  No respect for individual life paths. 

 

I will show that Cordelia Chase in spirit warned him specifically about this matter, and also of being involved with Wolfram & Hart.

 

He ignored her, as he has ignored council at every juncture of his existence.  He has proven time and again, as I will demonstrate through holographic projections from the akashic records, that he would stand immobile, resistant to love and the influence of humility that comes with love.

 

I can prove all this, I can show it...as the defense may attempt to prove, to show otherwise, we may both attempt to show events leading up to and providing precedent behavior that might indicate the temper of the thing. But this is what matters:

 

Life is hard.  Life on this planet, in this third dimension is hard.  Everyone, all of us here, look into the depth and breath of your personal experience to date and see if this is not so.  An individuated path, a different kind of hard lesson for each person specifically...but yes, it is hard.  It is so easy to fall into temptation, it is so, so easy to persuade ourselves, just this once, just this small thing won’t count. won’t hurt until it all falls down in arithmetic projection, we all begin our lives somewhere in the middle and it is so easy to fall down...and so hard to rise.

 

Drogan rose. 

 

He was he Holy Sentinel of the Well.  He was the Innocent.  He was innocent.  A millennium of service and he was innocent.

 

Knowing how hard it is to rise, can any of us imagine the position he held in Earth’s family?  The fortune of white light he drew from and resonated on the planet? He is a battery, a storehouse...a...a...friend who can never be replaced.  A fortune squandered.

 

When Angel murdered Drogan, he put this world in a deficit. 

 

When Buffy the Vampire Slayer of Sunnydale offered the gift of her life in death we made a jump in equalizing the debt, when Spike the Vampire made the simple choice to voluntarily change his nature, that evened the scales and when the Slayer of Sunnydale choose to spread the royal aspect of her calling over the populace, and the subsequent purge of the Hellmouth put us all the earth dwellers for the first time in five millennium, into prosperity.

 

Angel murdering Drogan so severely depleted our reserve the echo of it resonated, this act of destruction gave permission by example up two three alternative worlds of either side of ours that ignited holocaust.  Drogan is not someone fallen in battle, this is not someone offering the gift of his bones and blood in a willing sacrifice, this is someone, who was the stuff of the stars in heaven come down here on Earth. And because he was a gift, he was baited, kidnapped and murdered, Angel deliberately chose Drogan because he was a gift to the world, a gift he squandered, smearing his blood like a pig on a butchers block to be laughed at, his mortality spit upon.  All because, because Angel was living so far inside his mind, he heard nothing, no one, took no council and so could offer none, offer nothing but destruction.  In frustration he fell back on his old way of being in the world and decided to cut a bloody swath.

 

And the tally, of Drogan and the fallen Slayers, and the innocent and Wolfram & Hart itself, final tally all told.  We are in the red again.

 

We are in debt again.  We are in the red.  We are steeped in blood, all the more devastating because Angel acted with the sword of right in his hand and he was so wrong.  And now we are in a scramble again against the black, the dark night all the more devastating because we are falling down as a result of the actions of one of our own.    

  

One act by someone in authority gives permission to another. And make no mistake, Angel was in authority.  He was mature and a child no longer.  The Mother deals out food and fortune to all her children in respect their level of maturity requires.  She must give and stand back to let it unfold.  All good parents must stand back to let their children grow.  What they do with it.   Is what they do with it.

 

To doubt the judgment of the Mother is to deceive oneself on the most basic level of the innate truth that we are all privy to.

 

Sometimes...sometimes we should not be guided in this world by what we think needs to be done...but what ought to be done.

 

If we have to kill Drogan...no, no, say it is anyone, anyone. If we have to kill one person to save the world, who decides?  A bum off the street, one holy person, or one baby...with the level of maturity we are at, with the vast library of experience this world has, if we have to kill one more person to save the world--is it a world worth having?   Will the ends ever justify the means?

 

What we do is what we are.

 

Angel has proven that he can not live in the world.  That he can not abide the Mothers most basic principles and he should no longer be in the world.  Remove him from it.  Remove his terrible dark vibration, the circle of thorns is still there, in his heart it is there!  He welcomed it into his heart and there it sits, even now corrupting him even more; turning his soul into stone and by his own decree there is no place in the world for him now, the black is still there, still there breaking against us all, defiling our air, our world and so let him be removed by his own judgment, by his own decree.

 

Angel wanted to remove the Circle of Thorns from the Earth, well, than, let it be so.  Let the circle be complete.”

 

 

*

 

 

Stunned silence as The Immortal walked quietly back to his seat and sat next to Mr. Blighton who was gazing up at him with tears in his eyes as were most of the people in the galley.

 

Buffy was stunned.  She knew The Immortal was good, brilliant, but this...what he just said so completely encapsulated the argument it left no room for debate.  None.  Oh, there might be argument, cases circumstance brought forward, but Spike would be made to look small flailing next to the nobility of such an opening statement.  And...and of course she had noticed her own words, her own thoughts coming back to her from The Immortal--from things she had said to him and how could she not? That her own words spoke so true had flowed to The Immortal to resonate with him enough to be turned into the things to possibly best Spike was a tangle too, too strange to follow right now.  

 

Some of them were her words...but The Immortal meant them.  He did.  Vain, yes, arrogant oh yeah...but he said it all until it rang around the room. 

 

She looked sideways at Giles who returned her gaze solemnly and nodded once. He and Velma had left early in the proceedings to investigate what had been disclosed about the amulet, but had come back in time for the main part of The Immortals speech.  His face looked grim.  He had his interests on both sides of the case now, as did Buffy and he had meant what he had said to Spike.   But this...

 

This was indeed a knock out punch.  Buffy could only see the back of Spikes head and what in the world could he say to that?  And who the hell was this ‘son’ mentioned?

 

They all waited to see.

 

 

*

 

Spike was quiet; he forced his hands to remain still at his sides as The Immortal was speaking for knew what The Immortal was doing, he knew it.  It was the all in all.  The complete debate and sentence too and all in an opening statement.  The Immortal wasn’t going to parcel this question up in degrees, to break it into individual questions, no; by knocking the ball out of the park in his opening statement--he was saying, the questions at hand was basic, the answer made easy and so further discussion was moot.

 

And it worked.  Spike could feel the vibration in the room; he could feel the shift to the prosecution and any argument the defense had planned, would be made to look like a child whining post facto.  A child asking for power and then crying when it all fell down.

 

And Angel had asked for power when Liam had asked for power, Angel had asked for the curse when he broke and turned Dru.

 

And moreover.

 

Spike knew that to be true.  He knew it from the inside of the arguement.  He could get up and spin things, turn the tables a bit...but it would be spinning...it wouldn’t be...true.

 

He sat inside himself; at the very center of who he was, who he had come to be and let every plan and argument planned...go...just drop away...and he let, he allowed himself to consider the question: what ought to be done now? 

 

What had Buffy said to him once?  Just what was the spark that had fueled him up in the first place?  And why him?  There was something in this whole thing, in this whole setup, about why it was him, Spike, to be here now speaking for the unspeakable. Something idiosyncratic to his personal experience and what he brought to this case that was important. That was the key to turn this around to right. That

 

Cordial Chase was standing in front of him.  She said nothing just looked at him with her big dark eyes.  He thought about the council she had given Angel, her specific instructions to him to get out of Wolfram & Hart and knew she was speaking for a higher source.  A source Angel had ignored.  Now, now would Spike ignore the same truth, the same advice by spinning this?

 

As he thought this last bit, she smiled and projected this thought to him:

 

(Yes, yes that’s it.  Just...try not to call him names, o.k.?)  

 

And then she was gone and Spike knew what to do.

 

It was risky and insane and never ever to be found in any defense strategy but he would do it regardless.

 

Illyria as if picking up his thoughts touched his arm.  He turned to look into Charley’s beautiful face, Charley once more.

 

“Let me do it...I’ll state the case--“

 

But the expression in Spike’s eyes stopped him.  And Illyria, as Charlie cocked its head.  Spike didn’t look beat at all.  Calm, but not defeated.  Spike could sense the quiet in the room building to a query from the Judge and rather than have her be the one to break the tension...he wanted the honor of that dramatic moment himself and so he jumped.

 

He was going to improvise.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

“He’s right.”

 

Stunned quiet in the room as they all leaned forward not quite believing their ears and then Spike spoke again and confirmed it.

 

“He’s right.  The Prosecution is right.  Everything he said was spot on and it was Angel indeed brought to book.”

 

Pause.  As Spike rose and stood before the people in the galley.

 

“So...now what? What now that we have addressed the all of it...that is to this moment.  To this moment--“

 

And here he turned to face the Judge.

 

“But.  Not including this moment.”

 

He paused as he let this sink in and he gathered his thoughts to begin the thing to end it all.

 

“We have heard about the energy, the cause and effect of Angel’s path here on earth, and I’ve no argument with that, hell...uh beg pardon, I could only add to it, and I here I must apologize to everyone who helped accumulate a case history, everyone who worked so hard, because now I’m tossing that lot out the window as the prosecution has already raised the best question time and again and stated it as fact.

 

The Great Mother, the Powers that Be, for one reason or another and completely invisible to us lot down here have chosen to put their faith in the great Wank...uh...Angel.  And he’s right. The Prosecution is right to challenge the argument, I put forward in the hearing, I see that now--such an argument in weight of the facts in this particular case as I’ve come to know it now seems to be audacious in the extreme, and I would, I could, spin quite a salon on the subject, but with respect to the court, and...with respect to those who have suffered and died, I will not.

 

To honor all, let’s only be truthful, right? Right. 

 

So for some reason he’s on heavens short list and let’s really look at that.  Perhaps, perhaps, there is something they know in the long end that we don’t and with respect to that, with respect to that...let us sit here, let’s be here right now, in the present.

You could have been evil, done terrible deeds in times past, but they are past.  If a person were to walk about and conduct themselves, act dress and speak like, say he was living in the middle ages--we would call that insane.  To live in the past is insane.  It does not exist.  The energy patterns still might be echoing forward but the deed itself is past and now all you have is what’s in your hands now, right now...and what you might do now...

 

Justice. Justice.  We will have justice and so let’s have it now, in the present and this is how. Drogan is not replaceable.  He is not.  One act is not replaceable with another but isn’t it in the very heart of Justice to try?  We take one act, one crime and put it on the scale to be balanced by the other side. It is weighed measure for measure to fit.  One needs to have the feeling of insanity eased, of bits blown apart brought back together.  The true measure of justice, in the murder of Drogan, the loss of him, of what he means in the world...is to replace him.”

 

Sound of a collective breath being drawn in and Spike knew the people were with him, they were listening.

 

Place the defendant in Drogan’s stead, let him stand; let him stand as sentinel in the Well, in the hole in the world...until the scales are eased back.  Justice.

 

Let him sit in that quiet dark space as a Sentinel.  Remove him from the world in a way that is creative...not destructive.  Who of us here can really believe after the experience of our collective lives that a violent end will end violence when we know it will not.  The prosecution says we can not kill one more being to save the world and now that being includes this ‘un.   

 

Buffy’s right, those are her words by the way and she’s right and he’s right for using them, kill a soul and the hurt, the pain goes underground until it becomes a poisonous anger that seeps up through to the other side of the world in a nonsensical crime.

 

But.  Hook him up to a plow...and maybe he can help restore the earth and get in ready for others.  

 

He can do it.  He can do this.  I know he can.

 

Granted he can be a thick as a brick...but that’s a brick by brick built into a wall.  A solid wall and that’s him.  He’s a wall, he is like a brick wall like it or not and you can knock it down....you can, it seems you are in your rights...or...or you can have faith in one of the Power’s children.  You can squint and try to see in him, what his Mother sees.  So, you can knock his wall down...OR.  Or use it as a fortress to build something on.  Something real.  All that, all this will depend on two things.

 

If he has heard this, the testimony against him...and if not sorry exactly, but heard it, and he’s willing to concede something to the world, the alternative worlds, to everyone killed...and...

 

It will depend on who you are. 

 

It will depend on what you believe yourselves to be...and walking in that body.  It will depend on if you believe that redemption is possible and the prosecution brought up me, the prosecution brought up Buffy and so I feel I can say; all right, yeah, yeah, look at us.  Don’t know how it’s going to end, who can say?  But being around her, being able to love her has changed me--I’ve changed completely and I’m never going back on me own tuppence so here’s the proof that god’s not crazy.  The world can change even if it’s just one bloody bloke at a time and...there’s willing. 

 

Mercy in judgment and the force of a willing heart.

 

I don’t know what Angel would say to this, I really do not, but I know what it’s like to want to change and maybe get caught up in translation.  To muck things up and then try again, muck it up, learn a bit more and try yet again.  What are we doing here on the planet if change is impossible?  What are we doing here if so many events break against us until insanity is inevitable?  What are we if we are caught forever in that circle?  I offer to you here and now a chance to break that cycle.  In the face of...Angel being wrong, dead wrong, ask him, just ask him if he is willing to try again and sit in Drogans stead for as long as you see fit.

 

All of this, the future of all our hopes for real change, for the kind of change in the world that would stack up to something real, something to inspire the hopeless. all this depends on who you fancy yourself to be.

 

On the true nature of Justice.

 

Thank you.”

 

 

 

And then Spike sat down.

 

Stunned silence for a moment and then one by one clapping, thumping and stomping filled to swell and break over the group, until the shock wave of it shattered the glass walls of the solarium and there was nothing between the throng of people and the night sky.

 

And no more rain.

 

 

Buffy was crying, weeping really and she let it fall down until she couldn’t see straight.  She wasn’t clapping, she hadn’t joined the jubilant throng of her fellows; she just quietly cried her release to the moon.

 

This was Angels truth.  Her love had spoke her old loves truth and she felt the weight of terrible judgment of the impossible place of the righteous execution of Angel be filled, suddenly with bright light.  With hope.

 

Spike. 

 

She didn’t say it outloud but he heard her and turned in his chair to take her already outstretched hand.

 

They held each other and he felt her deep sincere ‘thank you’ resonate through him until it brought tears to his eyes as well.

 

Charlie was thumping him on the back but he and Buffy were oblivious to the din...it was only the repeated gavel bang that eventually restored order.       

 

The judge hadn’t stopped the display at once, she had realized, she herself had felt the need to let it crest and fall...but now it was time to consider.

 

Once there was silence again, all turned their attention to her, to see what would happen next.

 

“It would seem, Mr. Spike that you have brought the house down.”

 

Gentle release of laughter around the group and the judge allowed it. This was better than her wildest hopes, better than what the Seers had hoped for.  Now, though, there was still Angel, and his issue of humility.  There were still points to be bartered.

 

“Mr. Spike, your introductory comments have come under the time limit prescribed and so you still have the right to debate further points...have you further argument?”

 

“No your Honor.”

 

“Mr. Immortal, by your long introduction you forfeited the right to debate, but, you still have, however the right to submit evidence and summation, have you anything to submit at this point?”

 

Silence as everyone turned their attention to the great man, the great orator.  What would he do in the face of such a proposal?

 

“I have no summation as such, you honor, The world court recognizes the wisdom in the defenses proposal and the possibility for great healing, I would however, as the defense has already proposed the sentencing, we reserve the right to amend or add adjunct to the sentence proposed.”

 

The judge turned and looked at the Elfin on her right. who nodded and then the Master Vampire on her left who nodded as well and then turned back to The Immortal.

 

“We will hear your proposal at this time Mr. Immortal.”

 

He waited while the room grew quiet and then said simply.

 

“Angel is to replace Drogan, the world court will, can accept that...but we, the longtime friends and companions of Drogan and in the voice of Drogan ask that Angel’s bisected right arm be replaced with Drogan’s right arm.”

 

There was a collective gasp that turned into a sigh.  The sigh of:  Ah...yes...yes...the right hand of Drogan to guide Angel, to remind him...      

 

The judge studied The Immortal for a crack but saw only sincerity. For all his hoopla and ego, The Immortal was a true believer and Drogan had been a dear friend to all.  She turned her attention to Spike.

 

“Mr. Spike, it falls to you. You still have the right of summation and may make a counter argument.”

 

“Begging the courts pardon...it's not my argument to make now.  It’s his.”

 

And here Spike pointed at Angel and then said.

 

“I don’t think it’s wanted or needed, but it’s your look out now isn’t it?  And his--“

 

“--Both arms.”

 

It was Angel.  He had spoken for the first time in days and it was to say this:

 

“Both arms.  I want both of Drogan’s arms.”

 

“Angel...”  Spike began but Cordelia appeared next to Angel and stopped Spike with a look.

 

So be it.

 

Spike turned to the judge.

 

“There you have it.” 

 

Humility in spades that would put him well into a hole in the earth and so Spike said simply:  

 

“Angel wants to try again.  Will you let him?”

 

The Judge looked at him and said simply.

 

“Will the prosecution and defense rise and stand before us?”

 

“The court has heard all the arguments and will remove ourselves and reconvene to pass sentence before sunrise.”  

 

Spike raised his hand.  The judge’s brows drew together slightly and then she nodded to him.

 

“Yes Mr. Spike?”

 

“So we all done now?  You good to go?”

 

“Yes...”

 

And before she could finish her sentence, Spike quicker than snot rabbit punched Amerigo The Immortal sharply in the nose.

 

And while it wasn’t Spike’s whole strength, it was a goodly deal and The Immortal rebounded and had his ceremonial sword drawn and swinging at Spikes head in world record time and Spike, held immobile by the security Slayers could do nothing but watch it come...

 

By the time it reached him; it sliced through the empty air.  The sword never made contact.

 

Spike was gone.  

 

 

 

*

 

 

Chapter 19

 

 

When Buffy got worried, really, really concerned, she became calm.  Deadly calm.  The thick icy quiet few dared to broach or approach.

 

She had been worried throughout the trial, ever since Amerigos little announcement about the Amulet and the part of her that doubted the world, the part that was taught to doubt joy and gifts given, and maybe, maybe the happiness she had found with Spike would have a shelf life and hadn’t that been her sorry experience to date?  

 

She and Spike were both running out of ‘come back arounds’.  They both had two deaths to the tally and everyone knew the third one was the charm.  She had seen him begin to disappear; she had seen the edges begin to fade, and if she wasn’t sure, quite, quite sure that he was gone before Amerigo’s sword swung ‘round.  Amerigo would be dead now too.

 

Too?  God no, no...and inside her mind she had screamed.  She had screamed the reason out of her mind until it went blank and she passed out.

 

She had come to several minutes later on the marble floor of the solarium.  Cold hard floor, dark night sky and now Dawn leaning over her, her dark hair swinging down to tickle Buffy’s face...her voice already reassuring.

 

“It’s all right Buffy, it’s all right, He’s fine, Spike’s fine, Giles had Velma on the amulet thing since it was brought up, and she fixed it...I think...so Spike’s fine...Velma just teleported him out of there at the critical moment. It seems she foresaw an attempt on his life.  We all thought it was gonna be Anastasia...Buffy are you listening to me? Do you understand?”

 

Buffy nodded and pulled herself into a sitting position.  “Spike’s o.k.?”

 

Dawn nodded.  Buffy nodded as she took this in and then said.

 

“Good.  Where is he? I wanna kill him.”

     

 

*

 

 

“Great, Spike, why didn’t you just take a taste test while you were working down list of ‘my favorite stupid things?’”

 

Spike came to, swum up out of the darkness, to find his head hurting and his body tingling and the last thing he remembered was a sword come zipping toward his neck...

 

“Sorry luv, would never want a taste of that bloke, only beauty birds such as yourself.  Am I dead? I don’t feel dead...other than...you know...”

 

“Spike.  Who are you talking to?”

 

It was Xander; on the list of voices Spike would recognize anywhere, anytime.”

 

He raised his head and turned to face him. 

 

“Cordelia.  She’s right over there.”

 

Xander started and choked a bit, tears springing to his eyes.  “Cordy’s here?”

 

Spike noting his reaction, softened his words. “Yeah, beautiful and glowy and all...”

 

“Hi Xander,” Cordy’s voice was shy and then firmer when she addressed Spike. “Tell him I say hi.”

 

“She says ‘hi’.”

 

Xander looked around.  “Where is she?” 

 

Spike pointed to a corner of the dark cell he was in.  And Xander inclined his head to the spot but said nothing for a moment.

 

“Spike...you...you can see dead people right?”

 

Spike nodded, cautious and little afraid of where this was going.

 

“Anya...have...” Xander cleared his throat.  “Have you ever seen her?”

 

Pause and then.

 

“No lad, I haven’t.”  Spike’s voice was soft.  He understood grieving well enough to respect it.

 

“Has...has Cordy...Cordy have you ever seen Anya...that is...is she where you are?”

 

Spike knew what he was asking of course and he looked at Cordy who looked Spike in the eye for a moment and simply shook her head no.

 

“She said something, I felt her say something just then.  What is it? I...I really want, I need to know Spike.”        

 

“She...she’s in a kind of limbo mate, one’s like her...like me...well, we got a thing or two to think about don’t we then?  She...she’s spending some time thinking.”

 

“That’s not like...fancy words to say to a relative instead of ‘your wife’s in a hell dimension’ or something is it?  Give it to me straight.”

 

Spike looked at Cordy who nodded.

 

“Any hell she’s in right now is one of her own making, mate, from guilt, and maybe driven a little mad from feeling what her victims felt.  For seeing the chain of her decisions...doesn’t mean she won’t come out...if she’s suffering...it’s because she wants to suffer. You understand?”

 

Xander looked down at his feet and took in a large breath and let it out.

 

“Ahn...”

 

What could Spike say to that...speaking of mates...

 

“Uh...I take it...by you being here and not Buffy...she’s a mite upset with me?”

 

Spike ended it on a question as if that would change fact into a kind of fiction.

 

“Well, let’s see...she spends her whole life in service to the world, which may not sound like a lot--but you and I both know its in dog years, man, dog years and then she finally thinks she’s found some kinda peace and happiness and a solution even for how to help the world in a real way and with your sorry ass of all sorry asses and what’s she got now?  Two to five years maybe of no love, no hugs and no noogie.  And obviously that’s me being very kind to your relationship out of respect for all relationships everywhere.  So no noogie and maybe five years of waiting for you to be released from prison for contempt of court--“

 

“Oy....court was over...I asked first--“

 

“--Oh yeah, I’m sure the judge made that DISTINCTION.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to kill him.  Just wanted to bop his hooter a bit.  Wasn’t like I took a sword to his head...”

 

Spike sounded sullen...just ‘oh so misunderstood.’

 

“You win the day...absolutely slam dunk the guy in oratory and then blow it all to hell by losing your cool.”

 

“I didn’t loose my cool.”  Spike stopped, shook his head and began.  “You think if I apologized?  Oh hell...I’m not sorry...god, Harris, it was so satisfying...that nice solid crack...I broke it didn’t I?  Oh, please tell me I broke his nose.”

 

For a moment Xander forgot his mission and smiled.

 

“Yeah...yeah it did look like fun...and yeah, you broke it absolutely, he’s gonna have that aristocratic snozsh in a sling...which...which is so not the point of me being here.  I’m here, because no one else much wants to talk to right now Spike.  And that includes Buffy.”

 

This got to him and he looked down.  Xander continued.

 

“Velma teleported you out of there by the way and a thank you to her wouldn’t be out of line...and Giles, Giles set her out to watch your back, so he saved your life Spike, how about that?  And he fixed the amulet thing, or rather Velma and Willow did in a conference call.  Seems there’s a loop hole because you chose to wear it.  Historically it was used to sacrifice victims against their will, so you once again have slipped through the slats of the fence you greasy pork loin.  All this...and now Buffy and Giles are still on project: ‘salvage Spike’s ass’...”

 

“Alright, I get it...what’s next?  And who’s greasy?”

 

“Giles has a proposal and when it comes up, if it is accepted, take it.  No questions, no bickering.  Think of Buffy and take it.  Can you do that?”

 

Spike nodded.  And then said dreamily:  ”...but the sound of his nose cracking and the look on the self righteous puss...”

 

“Spike...”

 

Spike sighed and thought of Buffy.  God...maybe he was an idiot.  Well, if not idiot, definitely a shade impetuous...

 

(greasy pork loin?)

 

Take the deal huh?  He would.  It was the least he could do.

 

 

*

 

Chapter 20

 

“Oh for God’s sake, will you at least finish with this philosophizing and let us try and shape this comedy which you yourself have brought me here?”

 

The Manager; Six Characters In Search of An Author

Pirandello

 

 

*

 

Off the brass band and onto the brass tacks.

 

Back in court now and in shackles this time.  But as he looked out of the corner of his eye he saw The Immortal in the same binders and so he felt better about it...a bit.

 

Buffy had avoided his eye and that hurt him to the quick.  He noted her pale face and trembling hands held tight in each others grip...and he could detect her murmur of fear in his body...and he got it.  He really, really got it.

 

He wasn’t in this world alone anymore.  She would stand by him in this, he had no doubt by the position she took behind him, he could feel the strength of her behind him, and she would wait for him, if he went to prison she would wait for him.

 

And if that happened, he would always know that it wasn’t the world this time, or events contrived to pull them apart...it was him...it would be him, he would be the thing to make her wait.

 

All because of road rage.  That was it really.  Satisfaction or no justified or not, provoked not.  It was road rage.

 

He got it now.  Damn. 

 

Some of this soul searching must have communicated itself from him to Buffy because she finally looked up at him, into his eyes and they contemplated each other.

 

(Sorry luv.)

 

(I know.  Me too.)

 

(You?)

 

(Yeah, I should have bopped him first, long ago, sorry about that.)

 

And then they smiled lightly into each other.  They were all right. They would be all right.

 

“Court is about to reconvene.”  Announced Mr. Blighton and Buffy shifted her attention to Giles who was speaking something low into her ear.  They were soon joined by Xander, Velma and Dawn who nodded briefly to Spike and sat behind Buffy and Giles only to rise a moment later when the Judges rematerialized in the same positions they were in before.

 

The Judge spoke and she looked all business.  ALL BUSINESS.

 

Bloody Hell.

 

She looked at Spike coolly and Spike felt like he had lost a good friend and maybe he had.  There was a price to be paid for personal indulgence wasn’t there?

 

The Judge looked at the Immortal not at all and began to speak.

 

“Before this court passes sentence does the defendant have anything to say on his behalf?”

 

And then Angel astonished everyone by speaking.

 

“No you Honors, not on my behalf that is, but I would like to say something.”

 

The Judge considered and then said.

 

“Very well, Mr. Angel, go ahead.”

 

“I don’t know why Spike did what he did, why he went through all this for me, for Cordy--for whatever reason it’s has brought us here to this point and I will accept the decision of this court as justice.  I would like to ask the court to have mercy on the defense council, he...well, he has always been a hot head, I can’t deny that, but whatever he does he does from deep feeling...of a kind.  Guile simply doesn’t exist in him, never has. Well, I mean he has lied in the past...but he can’t lie well.  He can’t lie well and never could...and I think the court would agree with me, that his motives for representing me...were honest ones. Given that, I would like to say to the court that even an honest man, even someone with the deepest conviction can make a mistake in judgment when following the blood rather than the mind and as you have seen in Spike...and him...the other one--Spike may have popped but the other one reacted in brutal force.  And if the prosecution attorney could lose proportion of the situation to such a great degree...who among us...could not, given the right circumstances. Or wrong ones, depending on your point of view.  That’s it, that’s all.”

 

And then he looked down.

 

The room was silent for a moment and then the Judge said.

 

“The world court sentences you, Angel lately of Los Angels to stand in Drogan’s stead, with his arms as yours; let him guide you, help you, hold you through up to the maximum of one thousand years of guardianship of the Well. Do you accept this judgment?”

 

Silence.

 

“I do.”

 

“Very well.  Sentence to begin at midnight tomorrow. We now turn our attention to the Contempt of Court charges facing the Prosecution and the Defense.  Will the Defense face us?

 

Spike did.

 

“Mr. Spike, we...we are disappointed in you...you offered a fine display in the best example of debate and how it can serve to unite opposing forces through the analysis of truth and truly what you have offered today has provided the key in an equitable decision that all may find peace with...but, Mr. Spike, no less important, no less important are the lives we lead, the details of the tests in day to day.  You believed court had been adjourned...so there was no disrespect to the court...but that’s a lawyer logic isn’t it sir?  Isn’t it?

 

“Yes you Honors.”

 

“It doesn’t do you credit, it really does not.  We are aggrieved, Mr. Spike, seriously aggrieved.  We put faith and power in your hands and we are aggrieved.  But.  The court has heard what Mr. Angel has said, and we have our own council on your motives and we will acknowledge that you were baited in the extreme.  But life is about control is it not?”

 

This time Spike wasn’t sure if it was rhetorical and so he remained still while he figured it out.  She started talking again and he was relieved he had said nothing.

 

Giles raised his hand.

 

“Yes, we see you Rupert Giles, head of the New Council, and we have your petition before us and have reached a decision in the matter of what’s to be done with Mr. Spike.”

 

What the bloody hell was Rupert up to now?

 

“Mr. Spike, you have so impressed this court with your creative logic, and spirited oratory, we are prepared to commute your four year sentence for contempt of court to community service, that is, service to the world court. We are assigning you to school Mr. Spike, for no less than two years where you will study the art of law, world law and it’s rightful practices and so to school with you sir, but we have no wish to dull the point, we have no wish for you to lose the edge of the new sword of judgment that you have brought to these proceedings and so you will at the same time be advocate for defense lacking adequate council.   We have no wish to stunt your abilities, just provide training to focus them.  Is that understood?”

 

“Wait...wait...In order to stay out of prison I have to become a lawyer...lawyers...are...well, evil, aren’t they?” 

 

“A doctor is a doctor, a general is a general, a lawyer is a lawyer...it is what you do with it that matters, is it not?  Haven’t you proven that here to day?  What say you Mr. Spike?  Yea or nea?”

 

Spike gulped.  Two years of School?  With Buffy. Well no question really.

 

“Yea.”

 

There was a smattering of applause in the court but it died down quickly with a look from the Judge.

 

“Wise decision, Mr. Spike, very wise.  Mr. Giles has brought two cases to the fore for your attention. One. An Anya Jenkins serving time in limbo, there has been a petition raised on her behalf by an Alexander Harris, to review her case and free her from herself...This will be your first case.”

 

“It will?”  Spike turned to look at Xander’s sad watering almost pleading eyes and he turned back to the Judge.”

 

“Oh aye...I mean...it will...”

 

 “The second?--“

 

“The second is from one Buffy Summers--“

 

“Buffy?”  He looked at her and she grimaced a bit and shrugged.

 

“You are to defend one, Dana Williams, a slayer, who on an escape from a mental institution did dismember and murder four human beings.”

 

He spoke low to Buffy, “Luv, you’ll want some one better than me on that--“but Buffy was already shaking her head.

 

“Mr. Spike.  Take this case or go to prison.”

 

“Is this how it’s gonna to be from now on and for how long?”

 

“For now on and for years.  You will either take the cases or spend the remaining time...in the clink, Mr. Spike.”

 

He looked up sharply at the colloquialism and the Judge hazarded a smile.  

 

“You may not find public service to be the bane you suspect it might be, Mr. Spike.  I believe you will find yourself most adept and in good company.”

 

Spike nodded.

 

“Uh....thanks?”

 

“You’re welcome, although the lion’s share of that gratitude goes toward Rupert Giles and Buffy Summers.  Although this court heartily concurs, this design comes from them.

 

Spike looked at Buffy, into her deep green eyes and thought to himself: ‘as all good things do, lad, as all good things do.’

 

Buffy smiled and ignoring protocol came to stand beside Spike and take his arm.  The Judge ignored the infraction and turned her attention on The Immortal who was huffing and puffing a ready made protest about Buffy in the red zone and did this signify another act of contempt and as if in response The Judge stopped him.

 

“Oh, hold your horses, Amerigo...”

 

“Mother...you’re never to use an Immortal’s name in public...you know that.”

 

Mother?  The Judge was The Immortals Mother?

 

Buffy and Spike looked at each other and then at the Immortal and then at the Judge.

 

Huh.  There, was something there...and then they looked back at each other and shrugged. Why not?

 

The Judge was talking.  

 

“Well...you deserve it.  You need to calm down a bit and bite back a few words and deeds done.  Mr. Spike is in his rights to press charges of assault with the intent to kill, we have already tendered his duty, what are we to do with you, Amerigo?  Mr. Spike?”

 

Well, well, well...Spike looked at the two...well Amerigo certainly didn’t let it slip that his Mother was the judge for no reason.  Obviously, it was to Spike’s advantage to play nice should he ever have try a case in front of her again, now this said and nothing against the ethics of the Judge, Spike was sure a little ‘say no more,’ might be in order.

 

“No charges will be pressed from the likes of me for the likes of him.  Breath wasted and all that.”

 

“Very well. Mr. Immortal. You are to pledge your oath of blood...to pledge fealty to Buffy and Spike; fealty to them and theirs for as long as there is issue on this planet...will you give Mr. Spike your hand?”

 

The Immortal had blanched.  Obviously this oath of fealty in front of the world court and the seven heavens beside was...well, a pretty big deal.

 

The alternative hadn’t been mentioned, and the Immortal was no fool. Spike had won the girl, the case...and the day.  There was more to him than he had thought...and yes...yes, he could offer them his hand and as long as he imagined Buffy as the main recipient...he could offer his hand.

 

He did.  Spike stared at it.  Buffy stared at Spike staring at the hand and when Spike spoke it was low and quiet and held no rancor, only simplicity.

 

“No I will not take his hand.  I’m an animal aren’t I then?  To the likes of him that is.  Walking upright but like a dog doing a temporary trick--unequal.  I take his hand and what’s that?  And what are we seeing?  The one doing the trick or the one that deigning to teach it?  Angel was right.  I can’t lie, well I can...just not that good at it...not sure what kind of advocate that will make--“

 

“THE BEST!”

 

A voice called out from the galley, that sounded like, Vi...but Spike couldn’t be sure and then there was a smattering of applause that said ‘we agree; and the Judge let the spontaneity pass. Spike continued.

 

“--Not saying I won’t take his hand someday, and when I do, I’ll mean it.  I’ll mean it.  But not today...if that’s alright with you lot, er, respectfully that is.”

 

The Judge considered him and said warmly.

 

“That is acceptable Mr. Spike. The oath of fealty stands regardless.  We now draw these proceedings to close.  We would like to take this time, take these last few moments together and consider the questions, the contemplations and reflect upon friends, companions, comrades and enemies alike that have brought us here, to this, our new beginning. 

 

I love you all, I am proud of all my children.” 

 

And here she looked at Buffy and Spike and opened the window to her heart so they could see and feel the love of a Mother for her children. For all her children.

 

Mother...

 

Buffy and Spike thought together....Mother...

 

And now they couldn’t get enough of looking at her, into her, finding themselves cherished and held so dear.

 

What made her look so different now?  Had the Great Mother been here all along in her...or was this her?  The highest source of feminine divine there in their midst...and only The Immortal knew.  He had been the only one to recognize the divinity.

 

Huh.

 

Holy butter on hot bread.  Maybe Spike would have to give him his hand...someday. 

 

Even the most arrogant bastard on earth may not be who they seem.

 

Well...if Spike hadn’t known that personally to be true, what would he know ever?  And so the grace extended to him...he must...some day extend to another. 

 

That was the way of it.

 

Buffy broke his chain of thought with a gentle caress to his cheek. ‘My hero’ her fingers said and he shook his head against her palm.  How to apologize? How to say it would never happen again? Because it might, it most probably would, he would do his best, he truly would...but...

 

Her gentle fingers were smoothing the wrinkles on his brow, easing him to quiet.  Her fingers pulled his face to hers and he rested against her. 

 

Did he know how much she loved him?  Did he?  It seemed the only way to be sure was to press the information into him...just push it inside like a tulip bulb into the ground, push her soul inside him until they both blossomed with the thing.

 

She wound her arms up around his neck and pulled him fiercely into her embrace with a Slayer vise grip so hard it hurt in a way that only a Vampire would understand as love.

 

He burrowed his face into the crook of her neck and fiercely gripped her back.

 

Eventually, eventually. comforted now, understanding now, they eased back to quiet gentle holding. 

 

It’s all right, come mistakes, come what may...they weren’t going anywhere without the other.

  

Spike sat down on his chair, Buffy sat on his lap, and with Illyria beside them and Angel beside that and Cordy holding his hand...they all sat in silence in this the last of the night that slows down enough to be called true quiet.

 

They sat in the dark before the crack and break into daylight and hey let’s begin again.... 

 

 

*

 

 

Epilogue

 

 

 

“...It has been the rule of my life to do nothing for my

own emolument undercover...I know it is pride.  But this

pride makes it part of my plan to appear truly

as I am...”

 

Alexander Hamilton 1795 

      

 

              

*

 

 

It was four hundred years.  Four hundred and twenty three years to be precise, to be exactly exact. But what’s a decade or two and who’s counting while in the Well?

 

Angel wasn’t.  He truly wasn’t. 

 

And so it was four hundred and twenty three years into the designated thousand when the call came and it was Drogan himself, in spirit that is, that pleaded not only his case and his pardon, but he pleaded for his benediction as well; for time very honorably served.

 

Angel was granted access to the world--if he wanted it. And. And he was granted the humanity with which to be in it.

 

And isn’t it so true that the thing you want, the benediction you yearn for, when it finally comes, it comes at a time well past wanting it anymore?

 

Another one of life’s lessons.  When you stopped struggling, when you stopped fighting yourself...you stopped sinking.

 

It all seemed the same to Angel now.  Stay in the Well or leave and return to the world.  The decision could be made by flipping a coin.  

 

Everyone he knew was long, long, gone except in the annals of history, so what was there really in the world he wanted?  The world was in a period of enlightenment now, evil at a minimum. Threats were still taken seriously but the dark war was on the back streets now...so what was there for him to do.  Who would he be?

 

Here in the Well he had purpose, even friends, of a sort.

 

Illyria had come with him on that day, that evening so long ago.  So long, but he remembered it still.  He remembered everything.

 

Illyria had gone to Spike and told him, that the world would be changing soon and there was no place for an old one...and it wanted to go back.  It would go back with Angel when the time came...if, if it was all right with the world court.  Spike, saw the wisdom of that decision and now as Illyria’s advocate, (and why not join the stampede of cattle calling on poor ole Spike) had paved the way.

 

And if Angels last meeting with Spike was crystal clear...the last meeting with Buffy...was not.

 

He seemed to remember it more in feelings than exact facts.  More colors than details.  And Angel had had the distinct impression that Spike had asked Buffy to come see him before he...was shipped out.  Had he overheard a conversation?  Or was that just another color in the whole montage?        

 

It was a vague feeling, and seeing her, being alone with her before he left, she had seemed at peace with him, she had forgiven him...and they seemed truly ready to part as friends...so where had this notion come from?  And where had he gotten that impression?  And then, looking at Buffy he had to acknowledge that he didn’t know her.  He didn’t know what she was feeling.  He didn’t understand how she thought.  He didn’t know this woman before him.

 

If she said anything, he didn’t remember it, but he did remember her touching his shoulder from behind, just before she left...and he felt the warmth, the love she had for him was there in her touch.  But it was impersonal too.  Like a pat, genuinely felt, but still a pat goodbye.          

 

And if Buffy’s goodbye was ambiguous, than Spikes was not.  But he would have expected no less.

 

Angel had said something like: ‘if you’re expecting thanks from me, forget it. I don’t know why you did this, not really, but I wanted out of this world and I don’t thank you for keeping me in it.  The only upside is a chance to make something up.’

 

Spike had stared at him and then his voice broke low into an almost a growl.

 

“You bloody selfish fool...you wanted out and so you had to try to take the whole world with you?  Of all the idiotic narcissistic...I did this for you and for me because you shouldn’t be allowed to off yourself just because you can, Peaches.” 

 

Spike had taken a breath to compose himself and had tried again. 

 

“Things change Angel, things change, if you change them and then stick around long enough to see what happens...you had a bad spell...I can see that...but one day...one fine bloody day, if you take my advice...I predict you are going to be happy...happy like a child doing a jig in the rain...matter a fact...that’s what I want...yeah...wherever you are, whatever is going on, in the moment, the exact moment and not one second to the right or left, in the exact moment that you are grateful to be alive again, in that moment you are to get up without delay and do a proper Irish jig.  Get that, you great lunk of lazy?!”

 

Angel said nothing and had merely stared at him.  Life did change, and god, life was strange too.  Buffy and Spike?

 

And she had seemed so happy, glowing even, and with him with this grandget in front of him.

 

“Don’t think it Angel; don’t even think about the pleasure of staking me.”

 

Uncanny, that damned uncanny knack of his or Dru’s or both.

 

Instead Angel said this.

 

“Dru’s gone.”

 

And Spike’s face softened and he nodded and Angel asked:  “Have you seen her?”

 

“In the court room--out of the corner of me eye...I think.  Don’t think she wanted to distract me.”

 

“Think what that idiot said was true?  That she was a saint?”

 

“Yeah, I do...I do at that...”  Spike wanted to add ‘you know it is,’ and then Angel said.

 

“If...she was a saint...then maybe the Powers That Be will look after her now...you know, they know it wasn’t her fault, they must know that she was too insane to make a choice for herself...”

 

What could Spike say? He didn’t know, and so he had shrugged.  Angel continued with:

 

“If you see her, tell her...let her know how sorry I am.  What I did to her was the worst thing I ever did Spike and I know it.”

 

This was unexpected.  Spike looked at him.

 

“Yeah...yeah...I will...but why don’t you tell her yourself...seems you’ll have some time on your hands.”

 

And here Angel had almost smiled and said with a bit of brogue.

 

“I do at that.”    

 

There had been no final bits of advice; no ‘I’ll come visit’ or ‘good luck with the missus’, no, no final goodbye, just:

 

A nod and soft smile from Spike

 

And a nod back and a shadow of a smile from Angel.

 

*

 

And so Illyria had gone with him and of course Cordy was there.  Cordy was there to hold his hand, Drogan’s hand, his soul in Drogans flesh; Cordy was there to smooth him into sleep, to wake him gently, to nurture him, to help keep him strong until he could walk by himself.

 

And he loved her for it.  He loved her dearly for it.  And told her so.  And this was a breakthrough for him...of sorts.  He couldn’t always see her, but he could feel her and that was something. Every once in a while when she had an extra juicy bit of news she materialized so he could see her eyes, see pleasure or disgust animate her face as she threw her two cents in on the doings of those living above in the world.

 

And so he came to associate news about Buffy and Spike with the pleasure of seeing Cordelia, and so soon he was surprised to find he welcomed news about Buffy and Spike in any form in order to see Cordy...and then just because...well...it was a great story.  Phenomenal really...

 

It was like catching up on your favorite characters in a fascinating ongoing story.  Also it broke up the monotony at first, and then later shaped his week and his mind as their lessons, become his by proxy and soon he was saying things like this to Cordy after she gave an update.

 

“Well that’s just stupid...why did Buffy do that?  Doesn’t she know Spike has a thing for motorcycles?”

 

And Cordy would nod enthusiastically and say “Oh I know, she was so totally wrong...”

 

Or sometimes they would get in a heated debate, into an almost argument about what Buffy and Spike should do next.

 

The upcoming elections was big brawl, for example.  Three years had passed.  It had taken two more years to pass a constitution and then set the whole works up for the first election and Spike had wanted Buffy to run and Buffy had changed her mind and didn’t want to and oh what a row that was.

 

Surprisingly, Angel had sided with Spike on that one and Cordy had sided with Buffy.

 

“But she wants babies, Angel...sure she’s twenty four and she’s still young...but in slayer years?  She’s like...forty eight or something...you know in miles clocked...and she wants babies...”

 

“Presidents have babies...they have family...Spike can take care of the kids. He...he can...can’t he?” 

 

Angel had argued that as much to convince himself as Cordy.  His instinct had told him Spike was the one to rescue the child before the Wolfram & Hart debacle so maybe there was something there...he would argue: 

 

“The world needs Buffy...she has to step up...they can adopt later...when things cool down after the election.”

 

Cordy had twisted her face at that but didn’t say anything.

 

In the end Buffy had been elected, and Spike, quite the reverse of being a determent, by that time, was quite an asset.  He had been successful, very successful as the peoples advocate in the World Court.  He had found his niche with that mouth of his.  That mouth.  He had found his mouth and his mouth had found its megaphone.  Arguing had become his art; and he worked that art to help the hopeless...

 

Which was a slogan just a little too damn close to ‘help the helpless’, if you asked Angel...but nobody did.

 

And any flash of temper toward The Immortal in his first case tried before the <st1:address w:st="on">World Court was now viewed as a folkys, folkys bit of a charming tale to tell about the quaint side of our hero.  What rang true and long over time from that first trial, were the transcripts. 

 

Spike’s treatise on the nature of justice.  Of the nobility of conceding truth where truth existed and to work from there.  Not to spin, no spinning was needed when the truth fixed the car.  Don’t cry about the tires when it’s all about a blown gasket. Find the truth, concede to the truth, and work from there.  It took humility, it took loosing temporarily to gain ultimately and it blew a new hole in the notion of criminal justice and punishment.  And it was working.

 

It was working with Angel.  What with being here, being able to do somethingrather than be dead or locked in a cell and with Drogans’ arms on his body and he never regretted the decision to do that.

 

First, he didn’t regret it because now he had, two arms instead of one...practical always practical and second, because they were the arms of someone who had called him brother.  And whatever was in the flesh, whatever light energy that had resonated from Drogan into his body had kept the flesh smelling sweet and that elixir had eased the pain in his heart, it had plucked the thorns one by one from his deepest interior and he had been grateful to be free.  Deep in the well...he was becoming free.

 

So Spike’s strategy had worked for him and for others and he was a credit to Buffy...all was going well...well you know, as well as the adventures of Buffy And Spike against the world would allow.

 

And for Angel as well...

 

There had been only one bad year...one very, very...very bad year.

 

Two close calls for Angel two almost falls from grace into old action...and it had come...god...it had come in that terrible year for Buffy and Spike.

 

No use to get around it.  It is an important part of the story and an event that helped heal the world and everyone has trouble...everyone, but in that terrible year it seemed too, too much for the combined strength of his friends.

 

And he did think of them now as his friends, his closest friends.  Funny, that.

 

It was in the eighth year of Buffy’s Presidency, her final year.  She had decided following the tradition of the United States , as it had worked well for a couple hundred years for them, should be the term standard for the President of the New Council as well.  Hey. if it ain’t broke...  And here is must be acknowledged that while all the world loves lovers, that usually lasts for about two seconds...and then it was about jealousy and whatever it takes to see the ruling royal couple fall.

 

So Buffy and Spike had had the tide of public opinion go for them and then against, and then for again and so on--that’s the ebb and flow of minds as they grow and change...and it was in the beginning of her eighth year and it was a year of extreme anti demon sentiment, specifically anti Vampire. 

 

And half breed children.

 

Buffy and Spike had had twins at the end of her third year in office...and Buffy by that time was able to delegate and if Spike actually took over the running of her duties, of her office with the assistance of Vice President Willow Rosenberg and head councilman Rupert Giles...what of it?  No one minded.  That time had been fraught with possibilities and hope. 

 

Ever since Spike and Buffy had found out that Angel had a son, they began to wonder the possibilities for themselves and their situation.  And even if Connor was the result of prophecy, what of it?  The mold of what was possible had been broken and the world couldn’t go back.  It was in the collective experience now that vampires could have children...in the uh...old way.  And soon Spike, after long association in Buffy’s energy field, began to sense his own temperature rise.

 

And he began to wonder about that.

 

They had discovered after long sessions of lovemaking, hours actually, Buffy’s heat would conduct itself to him and Spike’s temperature would rise sufficiently to heat his body fluids.  ALL his body fluids.

 

Cordy had relayed all this with relish and indeed Angel had been amused at the thought of the two, of his two friends, and their makeshift endeavor for a Vampire to get a Slayer pregnant. He felt no ping or pang at the thought, by this time they were so solidly Buffy and Spike in his mind...he was rooting for the home team rattling the windows of the world.              

 

Buffy had given birth to two girls.  Two sweet little girls that they had immediately fallen in love with. There were human, quite, all human, as Spike had been human...ized of a sort when they were conceived.

 

Beth and Elle

 

Beautiful twin girls.  They were not identical twins.  And really didn’t look much alike.  They had their own natures.  Beth was a little shy and loved animals, simply loved all animals and had a way with them.  Elle sang. She had this amazing clear, bird like tone.  She made some recordings for the family, nothing for the world, Buffy and Spike didn’t want her in the limelight, not young like that...and Cordy had tapped the akashic record so Angel could hear his...his god child sing.  That’s how he thought of them.  In his heart.  He had heard Elle sing and wept.   Cried for Buffy, for Connor, for Dru, for Cordy, for himself, for everything he had ever lost and gained too...because there was sweetness in her voice that promised heaven was real...and not far off and everything would be made worth it, everything would be all right.

 

Beautiful...almost too beautiful for this world.    

 

They were doted on, pampered and loved dearly by their grateful parents and the world at large. 

 

By almost all the world at large.  They were kidnapped in Buffy’s eighth year of presidency.  The ransom...the ransom asked was the public execution of her Vampire husband lover, the Slayer of Slayers, dast we ever forget The Vampire Spike.

 

Impossible, impossible.  Any ransom was impossible, but this?

 

So afraid, that Spike would do it...for the sake of his little girls...that he would do it, that he would burn himself in the public square, he would, he would stop traffic in Piccadilly circus and Buffy knew him well enough to know that he couldn’t think straight--not where his girls were concerned.

 

And Buffy had him locked him up.  On the quiet of course...no one knew of course; that is, outside Vi, Tedi, Babs and Rona and the interior of the Slayer Secret Service...but they had done it...Buffy had slipped him a drug herself and had him locked up in a padded cell.

 

Angel had just about lost his mind.  He had seen a dangerous shade of red and came close, oh god, he had come close, so close to breaking parole...leaving the Well unattended to hit the streets and his sources for details about who would do this kind of thing. He still had connections underground and why didn’t Spike come to see him at least?  Ask for his help, why wasn’t he out there busting heads, dropping bombs whatever it took.  WHATEVER.

 

He had screamed, and railed at Cordy for an hour until she was able to make Angel understand that Spike was under lock and key and was insane with anger and fear...and then Angel’s anger was directed at Buffy.

 

He hadn’t known he could feel such cold rage at her.

 

Was she mad?  Did she understand nothing of what it means to be a man?  Didn’t she understand that Spike could do this; Spike could find his girls by scent alone if necessary.  He had the most amazing will Angel had ever seen.  Nothing, nothing would stop him until he found the girls. 

 

“You don’t know Angel, you don’t understand how much he loves their little girls--“

 

“I know he won’t self destruct...he wouldn’t self destruct--“

 

“Really?”  Cordy had asked softly.  “Really?  What would you do for Connor?  Or for Beth and Elle for that matter?”

 

Answer.

 

Anything.  Anything.

 

“God, Cordy...Spike will never forgive Buffy for this...whatever happens...he won’t...”

 

Cordy had simply said:

 

“He won’t because...you wouldn’t?”   

 

Angel slumped.  Head in his hands and cried his helplessness.  I love them, Cordy, How can I love them and I never even met them?”

 

“You love them because the are made from Buffy and Spike...”

 

“Oh god, Cordy...what’s going to happen?  You know don’t you?  What’s going to happen to Elle and Beth?”

 

Cordy said nothing just moved to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulder until his crisis passed.

 

And so Angel stayed in the Well and let the world do what it might. Let Buffy do this her way, in the best way she knew.”

 

The girls had been killed.  Killed and put in two separate garbage bags and dropped on a main street sometime around two a.m. in a small town in Tennessee.

 

There had been Seers, there had been a global alert but it had all happened very fast.  Within seventy two hours the landscape of Buffy and Spikes life had been altered irrevocably.

 

Buffy had been devastated...Spike had lost his mind.

 

Truly, he had gone quite mad.

 

He had torn the padding form his cell and tried to choke himself with it...any, any, any way to kill himself to bring his girls back.” 

 

Giles and Willow had instituted a council emergency and put a twenty four hour guard on Buffy to keep her away from Spike.  The fear being, she would need to go to him, to grieve with him and he would try to kill her.  Insane as he was, he could not be trusted to be near her...it was a matter of world security.

 

Cordy had kept Angel updated hourly now, on these details like a news blast...and Angel...prayed.  He prayed for the first time since he was a wee lad...and he prayed for them, his friends, he prayed for the Powers to have mercy on two people who had given the earth so much...and who had lost in turn everything of real value.

 

Please god. don’t let them loose each other...that’s too much, too much...”  And he ran out of words somewhere around there and so repeated the phrase until his voice went horse.

 

Buffy had convinced Vi to let her see Spike.

 

Buffy had gone to Vi, and tapped her once gently on her breast bone.  And asked her softly.

 

“This black t shirt you always wear in battle--this armor, where did you get it?  Who did you want to be like when you grew up?”

 

And Vi looking into her beloved leaders eyes answered.

 

“I stole it...well, I meant to borrow...but the next day on the Hellmouth changed everything and I could never...give it back.”

 

Buffy nodded and looked at Vi until she cracked and broke the chain of command and took her to see Spike.  

 

It had not gone as anyone anticipated.

 

Least of all Buffy and Spike.  Buffy had though he might attack her.  And Spike?  Well, Spike hadn’t thought anything really...he had been feeling, not thinking--just a frothing foaming mad as a snake berserker vampire.

 

Cordy had described it all to Angel: 

 

The door opens, and he smells her and turns around growling, but the moment he sees Buffy’s crumpled face, the streaks of gray that has appeared overnight in her hair...his demon face melts away and they walk toward each other and fall sobbing into each others arms crying like children for their children.

 

Angel had nodded and Cordy had taken his hand.

 

They love each other beyond time and space, Angel, they could not look at each other and continue to hold a phantom, a false image of what or how the other behaved in their minds as reality.  When you know someone, understand them that well...you can only forgive.  What in front of them was reality.  Blame...in such circumstances--that would be true insanity...      

 

“I’m so sorry for them.” Was all he could say.

 

The second crisis for Angel came when Spike discovered who had committed the crime.  Who was responsible for the theology, the act and execution.

 

It was Anastasia Romanov.

 

 

*

 

 

The birth of the twins and changed everything.  Relationships with family, friends and the world. 

 

Year by year Giles had grown more used to the relationship, from feeling cool water ‘let me smack myself lightly’ to a welcome warm enough to bathe in and how could he not when they were clearly so happy with each other?  They upped the notch for everyone around them.

 

So he was on their side before the babies were born and after...he lost his heart to them all.

 

It was impossible to look at Elle and Beth, impossible to be in the same room with them and not be affected by their purity of spirit.  And if people this fine could be created from such a union...it bode well for the world.  And Buffy vision.  Why should he be surprised?  She had surpassed him years before and wasn’t it Spike to recognize this? And to his credit, Giles knew it was true...but maybe he was still capable of learning something...from her.  

 

Elle said ‘Gampa’ first and then Beth picked it up.  And Buffy had wrinkled her brow all new Mother concerned;

 

“What do you what hinny?”  (She has picked up Spike’s endearment)  And she would go around the room pointing.

 

“This?  You want blanky? You want Ducky?”

 

‘Gampa...’  her small fist waving in the air toward the study.  Buffy had turned and looked and smiling she called out.

 

“Uh, Giles you wanna come in here a sec?”

 

He had cleared his voice, finished his phone conversation and stepped down the hall and into the general living area wondering what charming new antic he was to bear witness to this time--

 

“GAMPA!”  Elle piped out and Beth immediately seized the theme like it was her own best idea: “Gampa!”

 

Giles looked at Buffy and cocked his head slightly and not taking her eyes off Giles all the while, she said:

 

“Grandpa?  You want Grandpa?”

 

“GAMPA!  GAMPA!” The girls were fairly squirming in delight.

 

Giles choked.  He went to the girls and touched their hair gently.  Elle’s dark blonde hair and Beth’s fairer one.

 

“Giles...”  Buffy leaned over and pulled Elle out of the crib whilst Giles picked up Beth and they all sat together on the davenport for a nice chat in baby babble--Buffy finished her thought.

 

“Giles...we never taught them that.  I can’t ever remember saying the word, I can ask Spike, but I don’t think he has either--but you are you know; You are Grandpa--that’s how we think of you...it is...but...how did they?”

 

Uncanny.

 

“Gampa?”   Beth asked her Mother sweetly; “Yes, hinny, its Gramps.”

 

Giles could say nothing, he was wiping his eyes and blowing his nose, which the girls thought akin to the sweet music of seventy six trombones.

 

And so Giles fell in love with the girls, lost his heart to them completely and so...so began to love Spike as well.

 

It was impossible to love them and not both their parents.  Giles was aware of the metaphysics of the thing. So often a healing will be daisy chained to something or someone one finds distasteful, and so by loving one...one loves the one on the other end of the leash as well.  He understood the principals and saw the genius in it and began to have real hope about the world being able to change.

 

Unfortunately there were those who felt the tug, the call and it drove them mad with fear.  And so there were many that saw the girls as a challenge to the established way of life...as indeed they were.

 

Fear.  Fear and what in bloody Hell it can ignite.

 

But as intoxicated with the girls as they all were--Xander and Vi (a couple now, everybody was happy about when former geeks collide!); Giles, Dawn, their parents of course and so no one could imagine anyone fearing anything so beautiful and not inspiring a Hallelujah!  At least not for long.  They were aware of the anti sentiment...but were convinced everyone would come around.     

 

And so the stage was set for Anastasia Romanov.

 

Cordy told Angel:

 

“Remember this act; the cruelty of this act exposed the insanity of Anastasia Romanov’s faction.  It showed its true face to the world.  The whole plan was meant not only to murder the girls, but to cause an irrevocable break between Buffy and Spike themselves, break them and break the public trust.  But when it becomes known that it was her...her tight circle...any following she has will fall away.  That part of her fate is sealed now.  What she did sealed it.  And all those people that called Buffy defiled and Spike the defiler will review their opinion in the face of such suffering and destruction.  Everyone is being given a chance to see the fruits of what this madness could create in the minor leaguer...before going major.  The shock to the heart will unify everyone. All this...instead...of a war.”

 

“Are you saying these two little girls were arranged to be killed to prevent a war?”

 

“Between the Slayers?  Yes. It had been foreseen as a possible destiny.  When Buffy and Spike committed themselves to each other...it transmuted that destiny somewhat by offering a substitute lesson...an example for the world, a taste of the holocaust to come with an example of where it might lead, using this most effective message.  It they stay on a path without compassion.”

 

“Those girls were sacrificed?”

 

“They agreed to this before they were born.  They chose Buffy and Spike and this possible destiny.  Didn’t you notice how light they were?  Beth, good god, Angel, little birds, wild birds would come to land on her finger...and you noticed how Elle sang...you felt it, I know you did.  They are master guardians, Angel of the highest order.”

 

“And what about Buffy and Spike?  Anybody ask them if they wanted their children sacrificed to a higher cause?”

 

“No, I’m quite sure they would not.  Children choose their parents...not the other way around.  Connor chose you, Angel...he did...Elle and Beth choose Spike and Buffy--you know this isn’t about getting the world to love demons, it’s about getting the world to love change, to love the opportunity to change for the better.”

 

Pause.

 

“What happens to them now?”

 

Cordy took in a breath.

 

“I can tell you they won’t go through anything like this again.  They will have supernatural protection.  So much energy has been deposited into their bank account...so to speak...they will be buffered from the world.  They will get warnings, in dreams, in serendipitous events, in instinct and outright intervention.  They will still need to work the problem from their end...but nothing like this will happen to them and theirs for at least four generations.  And beyond if their descendants pick up the slack and keep the energy moving forward.”

 

“Descendants?”

 

“It will take them a while to heal...and Buffy only has to the end of her term to convince Spike to run for president...but I think she can persuade him. Spike has a few ideas kicking around inside that would bring the United Council, from a secret organization to a public example for governments to emulate.  Buffy’s intuition is telling her this--“

 

“I’d think she’d want to get as far away from public life as possible.”

 

“Oh...she does...but she understands something crucial...well a few things really.  Good people will never run for office, if good people get run out of office.  And it has to be specifically Spike, his specific ability to revolutionize.  She will convince him...that they need to set an example to the world...for the memory of Elle and Beth. And I think Spike will agree.  You never know just what he’ll do...but I think he will...because he understands that being a leader is also about balance.  Feminine and Masculine.  And that the two of them together made a better leader than one alone.

 

Make no mistake, he would be President of the world council...but he would know, everyone would know, that Buffy would be there for him...the way he had been there for her.  And his intuition will tell him this is the way to go now in the world. Straight, Lesbian or Gay...that doesn’t matter...there is still a balance of feminine and masculine energy in heterosexual and homosexual couples.  In fact, Willow Rosenberg stands to be the third president the way things are shaping up.  With her partner Melanie, being the feminine to her masculine. It’s all beginning to take shape...”

 

“At a terrible price.”  Angel said.

 

“Yes...yeah...”

 

“You still haven’t mentioned the descendants.”

 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

 

Was the soft reply.

 

“Don’t play, Cordy please...’ and it was Angel’s sincere tone that brought her over to hug him hard.

 

“I’m not.  Not really. I can tell you the way things are shaping up...but you know those two...they improvise...what happens will really be up to them...”

 

“Tell me something good...please; give me the happy ending version.”

 

Cordy paused but for just a moment and then said, I’ll tell you the one I like best, the version I vote for.

 

Angel nodded.

 

“It takes a while...you know the connection between parent and child and it takes a while...and the last thing Buffy wants is a child, she can barely look at a child and that includes Dawn’s baby and they know it, they all know it. Buffy and Spike focus on her final term that and...finding Anastasia Romanov--“

 

“I want to kill her, Cordy--“

 

This was said so cold, as if he has already decided something.

 

Cordy looked at him sharply.

 

“That’s not up to you, Angel and you know it.  Uh...doesn’t this little arena seem familiar to you?  Like, these lives belong to someone else and you should keep your MITTS OFF.  Huh?”

 

And she knocked him on the head lightly, and then continued a little softer.

 

“No, it is up to Buffy and Spike and how that story ends, well, even I won’t know that until it happens, so many things could...change...yeah, that’s unstable...well anyway--that’s a telling for another day...so they don’t mean to have children, they don’t intend for another child...but their need for each, well the world is just too hard to be in and it only becomes bearable when they are intimate...they had worked so hard to get pregnant with Elle and Beth--they never really imagined it could happen without trying.  So when Buffy finds out she is going to have a baby. She is shocked.  Almost flattened...and she thinks, for a moment, just a moment about not telling Spike...she was so heartbroken you see...she would never survive another loss, she knows it and she knows the same goes for Spike...the fear is overwhelming...but then, then idea of the thing catches on and of course Spike catches on soon to what’s the what...you know how he is...”

 

Angel nodded. Cordy continued; content that she had her audience on pins and ouchy needles.

 

“And so Paul is born.”

 

“Paul...pax that means peace doesn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, I think it does.  And if Spike is disappointed that it is a boy and not a girl, he says nothing about it. But he has been hoping, you see, ever since it sinks in that Buffy is pregnant, he has been secretly praying for Elle and Beth to come back.  To incarnate back into their lives.

 

He saw them once, just once, he was in the garden outside Giles’ Townhouse. He was just sitting on a stone bench in the night and suddenly there they were, the two of them, sweet, small, glowing and smiling at him.  He broke down when he saw them and this upset them.  They went to him and patted and hugged him and told him.

 

“Daddy it didn’t hurt...it didn’t hurt...we saw it coming and went far away” Beth said

 

“Did you pet?” he had managed to croak out.

 

“We did...we remembered everything you and Mommy said...it was our time...but it didn’t hurt...”

 

“No pet, no ...ah lamb...sweet lambs...”

 

Was all he managed to say and they said nothing to this but hugged him; their little arms wrapped around him so hard he felt it all the way inside to warm his heart to hot and he heard them whisper something like: ‘tell Mommy we love her’‘ and please don’t let her be sad, that she shouldn’t be so sad...because everything was going to be fine...they all were going to be so happy...”

 

And to this Spike just cried harder and so distressed was he, the girls kissed him gently, just little wind whispers on his temple and left and never came back.

 

He told Buffy, he told it all and she listened, with large eyes and a greedy heart.  Analyzing it all, wanting to talk over the cryptic bits, but it was too much for Spike to talk about and so she dropped it for a while.

 

She never saw them in person, but she saw them often in her dreams, and she would tell Spike about it all, what they looked like, what they were wearing, what they did and said and they always, always made Buffy feel better and so she would tell her mate and he would listen and nod...but it was, so, so hard for him to accept that he was alive and that his little girls were not.

 

He understood about dimensions, he knew their souls were safe, he knew they were in a much better place than this hard third dimension, this terrible training ground...and he shared with Buffy what he had learned about the afterlife from the spirits he had met; what Cordy had told him and Buffy, in turn told him about heaven...the peace and love she could remember and they held each other through it...but they never, ever, forgot.

 

 

*

 

 

 

The first baby eased Spike somewhat...helped him find a larger purpose outside service to Buffy and the world...and the second baby cemented it.  It was Sol.  Like the sun, and so sunny and bright was his disposition he helped to bring the family back together into a unit. 

 

One day Sol clapped his hands in delight at the sun shining on Ma’s bright hair and Buffy laughed. She laughed outloud and then she noticed four year old Paul was blank faced and staring at her.

 

That scared her.  Had it really been so long since she had laughed outloud?  Oh god...had Paul ever heard her laugh?  Heard his Father laugh?

 

This woke her up immediately.  There were lives at stake.  There were.  These were innocent beautiful children with their whole lives ahead of them.  She and Spike had continued...bravely, heroically...and everyone was admiring them--but they really weren’t ...alive.  Not in the way they were capable of being.  

 

Buffy began to watch Paul closely.  He was quiet and serious and extremely intelligent with his big eyes taking it in, taking it all in.  Like a sponge.

 

God.

 

Oh dear god.

 

She began to talk to him more...to joke with him and his quiet surprise at the change in his Mother toward him gently gave way to play, to playing back.  She made more physical contact with the children, touching them when she talked, working her way in, warming up to tickling and teasing. 

 

Sol, well Sol was Sol and would find something to giggle at in the weave of the throw rug...and so young not much damage had been done...yet--it was Paul that worried her and then it was Paul that began to bloom under her attention.

 

His step was quicker, he almost trotted sometimes and then one day he ran.  He was running in the back yard, Buffy saw him kicking a soccer ball--or football, (whatever) and she coughed until she cried.  God...Paul.

 

He had been in hiding...he had sensed the mood of the house he grew up in and he had kept himself quiet.  Body, mind and soul, he had given his parents room to love him...or not...

 

She went to the door to call him in for lunch--and he was so happy to hear her voice and see her happy expression...he waved. He waved to her from twenty feet away like they hadn’t seen each other in weeks.

 

Oh god, Elle, oh god Sol, oh god Beth, oh god, Paul...

 

Spike...oh...Spike...he was in New York and would be for another week and she talked to him every night...but it was like she was waking up to a world that had gone on without her...and how was Spike?  How was he really?  Did she know? They had kept each other alive in that terrible year...but where were they now?   How long had they been asleep? 

 

“No more.  Not for us.”  Buffy smiled.

 

Things were going to change.  But that’s o.k. Spike liked change.

 

 

*

 

(Cordy paused for drama and looked at Angel with her big eyes, nodding her head knowingly like: ‘I know what happens and you don’t until he growled, she laughed and then picked up the thread of the story again:)

 

 

*

 

 

It was changed.  The house in the country...seemed...what?  Lighter somehow maybe? 

 

Spike clenched.  Something in his gut seized.  With him gone, with him spending the last month in New York, Buffy had felt free to open the windows and drapes and let the light in--he kept them all in the dark. Was that it? Is that what he was doing to them?

 

He looked at the drapes...No...things seemed as they always were at this time of day---what then?

 

And so walking from the Hall into the living room, he looked around for the thing...what was different?  He picked up the slight aroma, the lingering taint of fresh paint.

 

Oh.

 

Buffy had painted the walls...a very, very light yellow.  A very faint but a creamy peachy yellow...like the mellow on the fringe of sunrise.  Or so he saw from movies and photos and here it was in the living room to brighten the place...even in the dark. 

 

He didn’t think he liked it, no, not at all.

 

New carpet, that is, new area rug on the wood floor with bright reds offset with orange and blue.  Navajo maybe.

 

Nobody was home; he could feel the empty of people thing...but it was filled too.  With a lighter energy, even empty of people, it refused to feel empty.

 

He wasn’t sure he liked it.

 

The key was in the lock when he saw it on the mantle.  Saw them.  And he was torn between his instinct to turn toward the sound at the door or hang his head and cry at the sight of the two framed photos of Elle and Beth. 

 

Their large beautiful souls barely contained in sweet five year old faces and now held immortal behind a bit of glass wrapped in a silver frame. There was one of each of the girls and now he could see propped up on the end of the mantle against an empty vase without benefit of a frame, a photo of all four of them.

 

That is, Buffy, Elle, Beth, and himself.  All in a group hug--and then, strange thought--who had taken that photo?  Dawn? That last weekend on Holiday at the seaside...wasn’t it?  Dusk and on the porch...before the campfire and...stories and star watching...

 

All this in the space it took for Buffy to turn her key and come pouring into the house, sound of packages...patter...and laughter...

 

Buffy looking up from the foyer saw Spike in the living room by the mantle and her heart flipped wildly.

 

He is so beautiful; she thought...when did I stop noticing?

 

She is so beautiful ; thought Spike...look...she’s added light to her hair too.  Sunlight everywhere...and in her hair too...god...its Buffy...where has she been?

 

“Spike!” She called out joyfully.

 

“Dad!”  Paul yelped and the young boy bounded to meet his father.  So startled was Spike however at this reception, it couldn’t help but be communicated to the young boy and he just barely stopped himself in time from a full frontal collide with Dad arms.

 

Oh god, thought Buffy...as she saw now how it was for the boy...he adored his Dad, he adored him--but held it in...held it all in...

 

“Spike.”  Buffy said just a little too sharply.  “Paul is saying hello.”

 

“Hello Paul.”  Spike said as he stepped forward to tussle his hair.  Paul said hi and hugged his dad briefly but he had lost the swell of the grand music for the happy finish.

 

Buffy pushed the stroller into the living room and adjusted the blanket around Sol before greeting Spike.  She was breathing deep and had to take a moment to remind herself...to give him a moment, let Spike get up to speed.  She looked up into Spike’s face and sure enough she saw the confusion and maybe even a little hurt, which he quickly masked.

 

She noticed he was holding the framed photo of Beth in his right hand like he had forgotten it was there and gently...so gently she eased it out of his hand and placed it on the mantle saying softly.

 

“Paul picked these ones out...we...only have, well had, two frames and, and Paul picked these photos...they are nice...aren’t they?  I’ve got more frames, we were at a shop and we picked out some more...for everybody, all the kids and...and Dawn and Jake and the kids and Grampa and Xander and Vi and their kids...everybody...”

 

And here Buffy wound down like she had ran out of breath and sure enough...she did need to breath, she took in a couple of ragged ones and tried, very. very hard not to cry...there had been enough tears...

 

Spike turned in toward the mantle, and looked to where she had been gesturing--it was empty, really, save for the three photos and two matching vase, he looked hard and tried to see what she saw. He realized he had both hands on the mantle piece and he was bracing himself.  He felt her warm hand pressed lightly between his shoulder blades, and then she moved it in a soft caress to the space on his back behind his heart.

 

He sighed and suddenly his breath hitched and he caught it in a cracked held breath.

 

And Buffy leaned her cheek against his shoulder and he wound his left arm around her.

 

“Shh...shhh...” was all she said for now.

 

 

*

 

Dinner was brighter, lighter and if Paul had not been restored to his previous jubilance...his face was lighter and...hopeful. 

 

Parents are gods to their children, nothing less, and all they need is a sign that god loves them.

 

If Spike couldn’t give that glowing sign yet...Buffy was confident he would.  She saw, she knew that Spike loved Paul...and Sol...but, like her, up until two weeks ago--he needed to love them from a distance, almost as much for their sake as his own.  Buffy saw all this now...as she was stepping to the other side of the thing and so she could see more clearly the big picture...and so she understood Spike...very well. 

 

She took a risk and explained a little of this...without exposing Spike too much to Paul...something that went like a general description of his sisters and how hard it hurts when the children go away and sometimes people just need to feel far away and maybe a little asleep for a while until they feel better.

 

Paul seemed to understand this.  Never underestimate a child’s ability to comprehend the energy in a situation.  And Buffy went on as she had the previous two weeks.  Gently changing the house...lighter, brighter colors, more photos on the mantle, loving more touching and laughing. Laughter.  Spike would catch on.  He would.

 

Five nights later as Buffy was undressing for bed she heard him say softly.

 

“I know what you’re doing...I do...and...and I’m glad for you...I am...I just don’t know If I can ever...”

 

And here his voice wound down to a stop.

 

She crawled in next to him and hushed him softly.

 

“I know...I know...but you have to...we have to, Spike...we...I saw it all...suddenly...I saw it in Paul and Sol--we’re not alone...there are two other lives with us in this...and...they...” she stopped couldn’t say anymore and so he finished for her.

 

“They deserve to be happy. You too, pet...I’ll try...I will...”

 

“I know...but remember what Elle told you...when she...visited...she said we would all be so happy...she said it Spike...she would never ever say something if it couldn’t be true...”

 

“No, she wouldn’t...”

 

“So ‘we’ includes you too.”  And here Buffy stroked his cheek lightly.  “We are all going to be happy.”

 

Spike said nothing but nodded.

 

They made love that night like they hadn’t, well since forever...because for the first time in a long time they were not trying to reach back in time or recapture what they once had been to each other...but they let themselves be who they were now.  Right now.

 

And enjoyed it.

 

They made love slowly and carefully feeling and reaching into the far corners of the other and finding the infinite space in which love thrives.  The found plenty of room to grow and what a gift that was, what a gift to be with someone who could grow as you grew so you could grow together.

 

They were blessed. They were.

 

And if Spike had helped plow the way for this miracle to happen between them, now it was up to Buffy to show Spike to the deep, to deep inside the female, way deep into the earth to the spring that bubbles up again from nowhere when you think life’s gone dry.  It was her turn, she thought, and she was going to help him tap that stunning human capacity for being able to try...yet again.”

 

 

*

 

 

“Does he get it?”  asked Angel and of course he was thinking of Connor, missing him, always missing...

 

And Cordy, nodded, “but...knowing Spike...well you know how he is...when he falls, he falls all the way...sometimes it just comes as a bit of surprise, and sometimes it takes a bit of a warning shot. He does try, he works at it...but it is work...and a couple of years go by and he is spending a lot of time with the council because now they are working directly with the United Nations and they are planning on going public in the world at large by degrees.  Metaphysics, angels, not you--don’t get big headed--there is all kind of new awareness opening the public outside the United Council. Plus nothing beats fighting off an Alien invasion as an ice breaker. Nothing like a common enemy to unite everybody...yawn.  So lots of stuff has been going on and Spike has been busy, taken away from the family so, Buffy takes a risk--she wants to go back to school, maybe find someway to be an ambassador or something which thrills Spike, he would love to work with her in a more public way again--and so she says she’s leaving for a week to go to Boston to check out the schools and houses and stuff and visit with Dawn and HE is to stay with the boys.”

 

Alone.

 

“ ‘NO nanny. you ninny’, she says or something like it.”

 

Cordy looks at Angel and says emphatically.

 

“Things are so much better, but she doesn’t think Spike is up to his potential with the boys and Buffy thinks she has been the emotional go between for them all for too long and it’s high time for some boy bonding.  Or why bother fighting the Aliens to save the planet if you can’t take some time to watch TV together?”

 

“She’s right.”  Angel observes.

 

“Says the pot...” mutters Cordy.  “Anyway, so after the initial panic...Spike has a good time with the boys.  He teaches them how to play pool.  They shoot darts.  He teaches them to play poker which turns into a version of some kind of old maid with certain face cards readjusted appropriately with magic marker--they order pizza every night and even get to have a sip of Dad’s beer.”

 

“NO!”

 

“YES!  But as the week goes on, Spike has to deal with these conference calls...they are getting ready for a presentation to the United Nations, this is a dangerous precipice they are on and yadda, yadda important stuff.  But Dad is always doing important stuff and they were having so much fun and now Paul and Sol are getting more than a little pissed to see the fun fade away so Paul sulks in the TV room watching the DVD HE ISN’T SUPPOSED to, but what does Dad care?  He’s on the phone. And Sol, three and a half by now and man, precocious is his synonym--well he goes OUTSIDE.”

 

“NO!”  bursts from Angel.

 

“YES!”  confirms Cordy  “And he’s outside in the sun, which barely happens in England, so o.k. child lure...but he’s not supposed to be outside in the sun when only Dad is home and HE KNOWS IT. But he’s pissed and sulking and then he forgets everything, every restriction the way he does when he’s outside...and he goes looking for adventure...”

 

“Like Spike.”

 

“Oh yeah...and his Mom too...of all the kids, Sol is most like his parents in his nature...anyway...Spike is getting an odd feeling...just a nagging something and so he walks out into the dining room off the living room to see what’s the what...nothing unusual and then something drops off to his right and he turns to see--

 

“God no...no...you said...’ interjected Angel

 

“Uh...trying to build some tension here? Hush...so...oh yeah--he is in the dining room and sees through the large picture window  way down at the other end of the back yard, he sees Sol teetering on a branch in the old Oak and falling...head first...he sees it...”

 

“God...”

 

“Spike goes through the glass window vampire fast, ‘parent your child is in mortal danger adrenalin fast’ flashes across the length of the yard and catches Sol twenty inches from the ground...”

 

“The sun...”

 

“Yeah...the sun...Paul hears the crash of glass runs into the dining room, yanks the tablecloth from the dining table, crystal vase sent crashing, cups and glasses and everything and runs after his Dad table cloth flying over his head like a cape and throws himself and the cloth over Spike just before the wind parts to blow the branches blocking the sun.”

 

Silence.

 

Angel nodded.  He was about to say something but then just nodded again.

 

“You’re right.  And there under the sun under the tree under the dark blue table cloth with pizza stains lay Spike and the two boys he loves so dearly.  Paul is gripping his Dad tight and crying and Spike holds him back and he’s crying but Sol is laughing like...well, a child...who for a brief moment got to fly.  He is only...like, three years old.”

 

“And he got up a tree?--“

 

“Yeah...and later it looks like it’s going to be mountains--he might become a big time mountain climber; not something Buffy or Spike will be wild about...but that they understand...”

 

“So it all comes together for Spike.”

 

“Yeah.  Something clicks later too...that part of him, that part of him that wanted to be burned alive to save his girls...was eased...somehow...maybe he needed to run into the sun to save his children.  No, matter that Buffy knows he would have done it and I know it and all of tarnation knows it...he needed to do it.  He needed to do it.

 

And when he and Paul and Sol are cleaning up the dining room...he finds the thing that fell from the china cabinet, the thing that distracted him and made him look to the right and then out the window. It was a small ceramic statue of two hugging kittens.

 

Just a little something Grampa had given Beth. One of the little momentos Buffy tucks in the corners of rooms that she thinks he didn’t notice.  He thinks: ‘God, god, ‘thank you Rupert, thank you Buffy...thank you girls...’.

 

Paul sees him clenching the statue and asks:  “What is it Dad?”

 

“Your sisters dropped in to say hello, lad...”  and he could say this without choking.

 

Paul looks at him and realizes this is the very first time he has ever heard his Father mention them outloud.  When his Mom talked about them, as she had for the past couple of years, his Dad would just nod but say nothing...

 

Was this good?  Spike smiles and put the statue carefully back in position and then he said casual like.

 

“So, lad, we best discuss what all is good for your Ma to know? Right?  I’m thinking...not much. I’ll have the window replaced tomorrow before she gets back and if she asks...I’ll tell her; never lie to your Ma, right? Let’s just not volunteer much, eh?  We’ll say...we were practicing football and things went wild.”

 

Paul cocks his head and looks at him and then smiles cautiously.

 

“Not that it won’t be true, mind.  Get the ball, Paul We’ll meet you in the living room.”

 

And Paul fairly runs to get the requested material and so they sport about the living room with the ball, releasing their still shaky near tragedy tension into laughter and sure enough a good solid kick from Spike sends the ball careening through the living room, through the dining room, and through the open space of the window sans glass and into the backyard.

 

Oh well...game over.

 

And Paul, beautiful, brave, whip fast Paul...well you know, Paul becomes a man to Spike that day...it’s in his voice when he talks to him, in his eyes when he looks at him and...and Paul hears it, he sees it but he is still mostly child though, sure, still a child and so once the soccer game is over and dinner is over, it’s popcorn and a flick--and suddenly Spike hugs Paul hard with all his soul in it...because how many more years would he able to do that?  And oh god, oh god...the time goes by, it does.  He loves Paul...he loves Sol--he always had, it is his nature to feel deeply...the difference is...now Paul and Sol know it.” 

 

“And Buffy?” asked Angel “How does she react?”

 

“Ah...well...Buffy has her own intuition working and takes the first available flight....doesn’t call, she doesn’t want Spike to talk her out of it...she misses her guys and wants to come home, plus there is that feeling...so she is quite, quite pleased to see all three of them cashed out on the davenport with “The Alamo,” the original version, not the remake, frozen on the last frame where the DVD ends.  Not that she would have noticed, she sits on the coffee table pushing the devastated popcorn bowl aside with her butt so she can get a better look at Spike asleep deep in the couch with Sol sleeping in the crook of his right arm and Spikes left arm gently wrapped around a sleeping Paul.  This was...god...Buffy blinks back a few of the misty ones...why is she so emotional these days?  This was wonderful, but the thing that gets her, really...is Paul’s small left arm stretched across his Fathers chest, his little fist clutching the loose material of Spike’s gray sweat shirt.

             

Spike opens his eyes a little sleepily and then focuses, looking into hers.

 

She sees such love for her from him that she has to get closer.  She gets off the table and goes down on her knees in front of the couch, her hand resting lightly on his thigh.  His eyes are warm hot velvet and she has a pleasant soul shiver.  He smiles a little crookedly and her heart shakes.

 

Spike.  His hand, so as not to disturb the sleeping bareins, moves very slightly towards her and she has to lean in to accept the gentle caress.  She loves his touch...the pads of his calloused fingertips creating a waterfall of feeling wherever he skims.  Now...now on the back of her neck...his fingers tips on soft flesh...

 

She hears his intake of breath as if he had just jumped to life and then his ragged voice.

 

“What say we put these bareins to bed and then ourselves, then?”

 

She nods and leans in to kiss her husband and then to gently pick up Sol.  Paul rouses just a bit from his slumber and leans back as if preparing to wake properly enough to walk.  But Spike might say something like...

 

‘Shh...shh...no lad, no...I’ve got you...’  And gently Spike picks up his son Paul and carries him all the way out of the living room and all the way up stairs and all the way to Paul’s bed next to Sols.

 

And, and, many, many years later...when asked by the interviewer from the Monthly Review upon publication of his third book about his parents, about living life with the living history that was his parents...this would be the story he would tell.

 

Sol falling, his father flying faster than any super hero ever, him running after with a table cloth over his head, his Mother smelling like...fresh flowers...roses maybe and being carried up, up and away by someone, some angel maybe, half asleep and almost flying and so very, very happy...”

 

 

*

 

Pause.  Angel and Cordy are quiet for a moment as Angel looks down into the well...down at the sleeping old ones.  Illyria was down there somewhere.

 

“Did he ever tell her what happened?”

 

“Would you?” 

 

Angel turned and smiled--“What Spike and I would do stand diametrically opposed.”

 

Cordy laughed.  “Well...you’re alike on this one.  He didn’t. He is laughing, you see...the next morning Buffy hears him downstairs laughing with the boys, he is actually laughing and gently joking the next morning and Buffy...almost...almost didn’t dare disturb the happy guy club over their cereal and morning mug of blood with the...uh...anybody notice the elephant in the room sheet of PLYWOOD covering the picture window in the dining room?  Spike looks up all blank, all nonchalant and Buffy knows; she knows he is lying through his teeth when he says...

 

“Yeah...about that...had a bit of football practice in the living room---ball went wild.”

 

Buffy hands on hips (uh oh noted Spike ‘the pose’) “You put a hole through a reinforced glass window with a football?  And is that football as in Englander speak...as in soccer ball and sorry, still so lame...”  She said while crossing to the dining room to get another look.

 

“Uh, did I say Football?  I meant baseball---yeah baseball. Hardball--getting the boys warmed to America ’s most tedious and all.”

 

“Dad...” Paul interrupted softly,  “The vase...I broke--“

 

“MY VASE!”  Buffy wailed from the other room. 

 

Spike winced.  “Uh yeah, sorry Luv, really...”  And here he motioned for Paul to stay behind while he went to take the brunt of it.

 

Buffy looks at Spike, her eyes wide...not angry so much, as sad, so very sad...and oh that’s worse.

 

“My vase Spike...it’s not like we have a lot of nice things...” Suddenly, she sees something in Spike’s energy or the way his eyes dart to the right as if he were remembering something...or like he’d just seen a ghost and not Casper the sweet cherub singing a ‘toon’ and it stops her, and her words get caught in her throat...something else happened...something big and it wasn’t like Spike to lie to her and so she asks softly.

 

“Do I wanna know what happened here?”

 

“No pet.  No.  It was for me.  It was a message for me--something I needed to know...about myself...and it worked...I got it.  I’m good now, luv.”

 

And Buffy felt that was true...something had shifted for him and so...for the first time in her life...she dropped it.

 

She dropped it. 

 

She did. 

 

It was there...

 

Dropped. 

 

But then...

 

Spike...

 

Uh...picks it up. 

 

He looks at it, considers, and then feels compelled to pick it up and, and it’s a little heavy, it sits heavy inside him.  It sits there small but with a nudge from his instinct it gains speed fast and rolls downhill and he knows he has to tell her. 

 

First,  well...because she has to be made aware of the fact that one of her sons has just demonstrated a predilection for scaling things vertical, and two...well...because she has to be made aware of the fact that one of her sons has just demonstrated extraordinary grace under fire.  

 

Yeah, he would tell her.  Ignorance wouldn’t be bliss for long.  Not in this family.  Let something like this go...and it will come back to beat you up all the very bellow of ‘WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?’ 

 

He wanted to spare her grief and worry but there was nothing for it.   There was nothing for it.  Buffy was strong.  And wise.  And didn’t he want to talk to his best friend about this thing that happened--the whole thing?  Yes he did. 

 

And once this is decided,  the nudging stops. And he realizes...(berk)...maybe he is being prompted and counseled.  The girls?  Maybe....or instinct and did the difference matter?  He would pay attention to it and tell her the bad news or maybe it was good news tonight.  All that bloody ‘point of view’ chirping.

 

Right.      

 

 

*

 

 

Paul wakes up fast  and is instantly alert to any sharp bang or crash that will send him running out and about with a tablecloth...but no...no, it’s just a dream.  He sits up in bed...he hears something like a low gentle burr. He listens, looks over at Sol (who he’s still pretty pissed at too, by the way--no, he’s sleeping,  He’d sleep through anything) gets up, walks to the bedroom door and listens. It’s voices.  The low deep purr of Father voice interwoven with Mother contralto.  Oh.  Ma and Dad are talking.  That’s not unusual.  Often times were Dad would come home late and they would talk into the night.  He is aware of the fact that Dad is always more alert at night.  And Ma too for that matter.  The light inside them fairly sparkles at night.  They shine during the day...but at night, they sparkle.

 

He doesn’t dare sneak down the hall to take a peak at them--not after today, he’s supposed to be in the land of nod and so he goes back to bed and listens to the gentle burr almost purr of the beloved voices as the symphony lulls him to sleep.

 

 

*

 

 

He wakes early the next morning.  And immediately thinks...huh, only thirty six more days of holiday before the new term.  It’s his own personal mark on the calendar each day and then he looks over at Sol. (Yes, he’s feeling decidedly more civil toward him this morning.  That resolved.)  He gets up, and goes downstairs.  As he walks down the hallway he sees his Father sitting in the kitchen chair at the head of the table and his Mother is there resting on his lap.  He has seen them hold each other often, but there is something so...personal...about them this morning.  His Mom has her head tucked in up under his Dad’s chin, and he is gently stroking her back...

 

Paul backs quietly away and goes upstairs to change his clothes.  He waits a few extra minutes and when he comes back down he sees his Dad taking his black canvas umbrella and opening the front door...

 

“Ta-rah, Paul...”  He calls out over his shoulder.

 

“Ta-rah Da...”  Paul calls back softly.

 

And this stops Spike in the doorway...their household is a mix of colloquialisms from Mom & Dad alike...and naturally Paul uses his Mother’s American expressions for him, and his Dad’s for her.  For him to slip into English idiom and say ‘Da’ instead of ‘Dad’ was...an acknowledgement...of some kind.  Something subterranean coming up to peep hello and welcome...welcome son...

 

Spike looked back and gave him a dazzling smile and turned to head back out and Paul thought:

 

(Oy aye, I want to see an alien, when do I get to meet one?)

 

And his Da reading his mind in that irritating way of his--sang back to him in answer:

 

“The day after never son, the day after never...if I have my way.”

 

And then, chuckling, he is gone. 

 

Paul pads down the rest of the steps and into the kitchen.

 

There are empty cups at the table...oh. 

 

Mom is at the sink washing some dishes, and Paul picks up a dish towel and goes over to dry.

 

(He is feeling very bad indeed about the crystal vase.)

 

She turns to look at him and her smile says ‘good morning’ and Paul sees her eyes are a bit puffy and a little red too.  Now he feels very bad.  He looks down and away, just can’t bear to look at her while he says:

 

“I...I’m sorry about the vase, Ma...”     

 

She grabs him so fast from behind into a bear/cub hug that he’s startled for a second, but then he relaxes in her Mom arms.  She is leaning over holding him gently now and kisses the side of his ear and Paul realizes. 

 

Dad told her.  (I wonder why Dad told Ma?)

 

She pulls his hair back and tucks it behind his ears the way she likes but the way he doesn’t and he lets her do it,  He lets it stay that way.  She kisses him on the top of the head and all this time she hasn’t said a word and when she does it might go something like this:

 

“So...we have to keep an eye on Sol, huh?  When we named him Sol, it was for being a shiny baby...not so he’d, you know, wanna go climbing up to touch it. The sun, that is.”

 

It’s kinda funny so Paul laughs a bit.   His Mom turns him around and looks at him, and then pushes the hair gently off his face again.”

 

“Gonna have to trim this patch for your eagle eyes, hinny, so we can keep an eye on Sol--“

 

“--And Dad.” 

 

Paul adds this so quickly his Mother looks at him carefully.  He watches her think about how to say this thing she wants to say.

 

“Paul...what you did, was good, very good...I don’t know anyone who could have thought faster...but you have to listen to me and believe this; you don’t need to worry about your Dad.  Not ever.  Or me.  But especially not him.”

 

Buffy watches her son’s brows pull together as he considers this and she knows she has hit Paul’s secret and long standing concern about his Dad.

 

“You mean because he’s strong?”

 

“I mean exactly because he’s strong.  And there a lot of ways for a person to be strong, and he’s strong in the best of them.”

 

Buffy paused as she considered how to say this, this thought she was just coming to herself after her long conversation with Spike last night.

 

“He...can...bounce back like no one else you will ever meet in your life. He has better...luck...than anyone I’ve met in my life.” 

 

Buffy ran through a preview in her mind of the long list of examples she could never give to a seven year old and finally settled for vague reassurance.

 

“He lives so hard, he loves you kids so hard and me...and no one who tries that hard, who lives that hard can get ignored by the lucky stars.  Effort like that is...is like money going into the bank.--“

 

“--But...if I wasn’t there...or...or if I had turned the sound up on the TV...I was thinking about turning the sound up, I was; so I wouldn’t be listening, waiting for Dad to get off the phone--“ 

 

And Paul stopped because his voice was doing a funny breathy thing like it was hard to talk...and it was...        

 

“Shh...shh...you did good...what I’m saying is...if you hadn’t been there to back him up...the girls would have simply waited for a another time to give him their present.  See, what happened yesterday was like a present for their Dad.  I won’t explain it.  It’s between them.  What we have to understand is...is...there are no guarantees in life, I’m not saying there are...but I have a very, very good feeling that we’ll be all right, the girls will be looking out for all of us.  But.  And listen to me because this is the important part.  It’s like if someone gives you a lot of money from something they worked real hard on--you’re very careful with that money, aren’t you?  You don’t waste it and NO this is not about the vase--forget the vase--“

 

And she says this so breezily they both laugh, then she picks up her thought to finish with:

 

“So you did good, your Dad did good, you both listened to your instincts, something told you to stay alert and you did, that’s what we do, we always pay attention, and we are a very lucky family.  You are going to see a lot of lucky things happen in the years ahead--but that just means we don’t ever, ever take it for granted.  So stay alert, think ahead but don’t worry about your Dad, because your sisters will do that for you.  It’s a two person job anyway.  Do you understand?”

 

Paul listens and he kinda gets it, so he half nods and his Mom laughs. “That’s all right.  We’ll show you how to use your instincts.  You’re a natural.”

 

“Uh...Dad too?”

 

“Especially your Dad, have you ever noticed how he can just about read your mind?”

 

“YES!  He can teach me that?”

 

“Sure...he says he can...the thing is, we, your Dad and Me will worry about you two and maybe you can keep one of your eagle eyes on your brother.  But Elle and Beth will worry about us, deal?--”

 

“--the cards?”  Paul said hopefully playing his first turnaround and grab the cats tongue on this earth ever backward pun and Buffy laughs until tears come to her eyes and she is only drowned out by the louder wailing fueled by pint size lungs. 

 

Amazing.  It is Sol and he is standing in the doorway of the kitchen clutching his stuffed penguin (oh...yeah, this boys a live one.)

 

“You...woke me up!”  He protests loudly

 

“Oh, did we hinny?”

 

“Yes!  Me...me...me...” 

 

When in jealous crisis, Sol reverts to some old baby talk that his parents usually try to gently tease him away from...but not today.  Buffy swoops down and scoops him up and hugs him to her chest.

 

He stops crying and looks seriously at his Mother.  Then he pats gently, so gently at the water leaking out of her eyes...as if he were trying to save it for her...or push it back into the her skin.

 

Heart in my body, Sol in the sky...his natural habitat...oh my god, of course he wanted-- 

 

“--So you like to fly do you?  Do you...hmmm?”  Buffy asks and then she honks a raspberry on his cheek until his somber mood changes slick as snot and the sun is coming out to play on a dull day--

 

--And holding him, she twirls around the kitchen, swirling his feet in the air until Sol starts to laugh.

 

Paul watches and smiles.

        

 

 

*

 

 

Angel said nothing for a moment and then asks:

 

“I thought you said Spike doesn’t tell her.”

 

Cordy laughs, “Well, that’s Spike, he can change his mind mid storytelling and out pops the revised.  ‘Things Change If You Change Them... Angel.’”

 

“Bumper sticker poet.”  Sulks Angel but he says it softly, more from habit than real feeling. 

 

Cordy looks at him for a moment...and then very quietly finishes the tale and Angel leans in to listen:

 

“Buffy stays with the children...decides against going back to school for the moment as things are heating up during the rest of Spike’s administration, she puts herself on guard, plus a hand picked team of slayers from the inner circle are always available if she needs the peace of mind.  She believes in what she told Paul, but she frost’s the having your cake and eating it too heavy with cream on the side of caution.  So they use an anonymous surname for their private life and live quietly as Spike serves out Presy time. 

 

Which might be just as well because, hey!  Buffy is pregnant of course--she has been so emotional...hormones are racing and she said she wanted kids, so kids she’s gonna have--Spike guesses it before she does when she starts crying at the sight of pop tarts.  Pop Tarts means children, children means theirs and the sound of the foil tearing just about unzips her tearducts to happy drops.   

 

 

Spike, well, he loves it--gives him more reasons to cuddle his wife, to pamper, to pet, to nurture her through a pregnancy more than perhaps he had with the boys.  And he isn’t surprised, no not at--with all the room being made in their hearts, then of course there was room for more on board.  So to speak. 

 

Buffy and Spike are happy with the prospect of a new one and Paul is happy his parents are happy--though Sol will take some convincing.  He likes being the youngest, you see...the center of things, but along comes Tildy and then only a year later Alexia comes into the world and so fast on the heels of her sister it was like she was playing catch up and couldn’t wait to be included in the fun and for a while Spike looks for signs, for evidence that is might be Beth and Elle but very soon he admits to himself that it’s not them. 

 

Buffy knows him so well, she sees this and says one day to him that ‘isn’t it wonderful, isn’t it good to know that Beth and Elle will always be watching out for their brothers and sisters in a way we never can?  Isn’t it good to have them there in heaven to watch out for us all?’  And Spike has to agree that it is good.  The thing that had dropped in the dining room when Sol had his first flying lesson was irrefutable physical evidence in his courting of the truth and so say all of us. 

 

And...and if the children were all brilliant and beautiful but...in a more ordinary way than Elle and Beth--well...didn’t that just point out how special the twins were?  That maybe they were too beautiful to be on earth for long in this time and space...and...and so...they had only come for a visit, like...and weren’t they lucky to have known them at all?  That they should visit the likes of him?   And if this was part of acknowledging that they would never get over it...but they could get used to it; that could work for him.  

 

And he could say all this without choking and Buffy could listen without crying.  Much.

 

They said all the things grieving parents say...but that didn’t make it less true.

 

So now they talked about the kids here with them now...and their deeds and doings and Spike says: 

 

“We gave Alexia a tough name, pet. Lot of energy in that name.”

 

And Buffy smiles.  Alexia, the last of their brood...will be the one most likely destined for public service of some kind.

 

Her charisma and intelligence and...passion for doing the right thing...holds her apart from her peers and siblings since an early age.  They are all talented, brilliant in their own right (as every parent knows their children to be)...but Alexia is the one most likely to step up...or fall down...in the world in a big way...And the other kids don’t mind, matter of fact, they support and encourage her to be the one to step up into THE SHOES; it takes the pressure (never spoken) off their dreams and so they kept a sharp eye out for Alexia, they help pave the way for her hard life ahead and ask Elle and Beth to do likewise...”

 

Or Buffy would say one day:

 

“We need to get Tildy a piano.”   And surprised, Spike would say:  “I didn’t know she was musical.”

 

“She is Spike, she is, but hides it--I think she feels small next to the Elle’s recordings.”   They all had heard Elle’s recordings.  And now Buffy shushes Spike’s protest and she tells him about her discovering their quiet middle child’s penchant for music...and how she hid the simple flute, the wood recorder under her pillow when Buffy came in to get Tildy for dinner and then the next Sunday morning as they are preparing brunch--they always put on music---no telly on a Sunday morning so Spike puts on Tom Waits and it’s his gravely voice and fine storytelling set to spin the day--‘what is that?’  Paul hollers ‘I wanna hear The Messiah...’ and then Spike says ‘Well there’s more sides to music than George Frederick Handel, isn’t there then?’--and Paul starts to protest and his Mother says ‘now just slow down and listen first...then argue with your father...otherwise--you know he’s gonna win.’ They all laugh--but they all listen too and then Paul, Spike, Sol and even Alexia pipes in her bit about it all and Buffy asks all innocence ‘what do you think Tildy?’  And Tildy thinks and then says, ‘They are both good.  But different, that’s all.  You guys are crazy for fighting about it.’  Buffy and Spike share a look that says piano or something coming soon--and oh god, how will it fit through the front door?--do we need a bigger house--and why not get far away from THAT TREE thinks Spike, but then: ‘No. No running...training, yeah, that’s what’s needed--take the problem from the other end--train the lad to climb proper and balance himself--shouldn’t squelch a calling’ he thinks swallowing his own fear and turning it into action and ‘that’s what my parents were to us...’ Paul would write decades from then, decades from now... ‘Not in the world, not big in the world, but big at home.  That’s how it is to be loved by heroes.’”

 

 

 

*

 

 

They paused for a moment, quiet together and finally Angel said.

 

“That’s good...I like that...a true mix of reality with dreams...the hard and easy of it, yeah that’s how life is--I like it, I like them all, and I like Paul...the oldest son watching out for everybody, the unsung hero, he’s my favorite already...yeah, Cordy, let that happen.”

 

He said it like it was a fix.  Ah, Angel would be Angel would be Angel.

 

She smiled a smirk and said.

 

“I’ll see what I can do.”                           

 

 

 

*

 

 

Authors note: It did happen that way...the only difference was Vi became the third President of the United Council and Willow Rosenberg was the fifth and as they all lived long lives they were able to lean on the council and participation of Buffy and Spike for upwards to a century. After he left his administration. Spike was still active in the World Court from time to time and he and Buffy concentrated in helping their children find their way in the world respectively and doing good works in anonymity.  ‘Beauty of the unsigned artifact’ says Tildy. And so the unsigned clay pot of an ancient Navajo woman became the family crest.  

 

 

*

 

 

“Our garden is like a public passage; they walk and ride through.”

 

Olga; Three Sisters

Anton Chekhov

 

 

*

 

 

And so it was the year 2427 when Angel, as human and breathing and soul filled and all walked out into the world.

 

There was no fanfare, no applause...no one to greet him.  No one to know.  Didn’t matter. 

 

He had heard The Immortal was still in the world, Cordy had told him that she had been approached through...ahem other channels that he would like to meet with Angel and to offer his services.

 

Obviously he took his oath of fealty to Buffy and Spike and them and theirs seriously.  Angel’s response had been a polite but firm...’thanks, but no thanks’.

 

Cordy had told him of the value and high esteem the world bestowed on Buffy and Spike and he had heard her, understood the gist of what she had told him and why--but nothing...NOTHING on this earth or off it could have prepared him to see Spike’s profile on the ten note.

 

He had gagged himself into a coughing fit...like he had suddenly forgot how to breathe and now he had to pay for his humanity with a tenner that had Spike’s quite distinctive profile placed smack dab in the center.

 

He went into a bank to cash the certificate the world court had stopped to give him.  Just a little something to get him going...help him start his new life....and now he was cashing it and he asked for all denominations...who else from the Scooby gang made it to currency?

 

There was Buffy on the one note...of course, Spike on the ten (gag again) and Giles was on the fifty.

 

Interesting. 

 

So now he had a heads up of sorts, of just how seriously they were regarded.

 

God, if they only knew; if anyone ever knew...

 

Angel changed his name...or rather settled for the derivative of Lee. Lee for Liam but not quite.  And he decided to study history.

 

He felt himself so much in the past, and Cordy had kept him up on world events...but still he was an expert on the eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth centuries and so he went into a field where he could feel...well like he was among friends.

 

He was very good at it.  His memory was keen, for details and dates and he had developed patience over the years and now he found he could analyze events in history with compassion and objectivity.  Very highly sought after traits in an Historian of 2427.

 

When he won a full scholarship to the University of William and Elizabeth in upstate New York...he thought for a moment there had been a mistake, and the stationary was meant to read: William and Mary...but then the penny dropped and so did his jaw.

 

He just wasn’t going to get used to those two as historical founding whatevers...Buffy, maybe, of course Buffy...but Spike...Spike...

 

When he saw the statue of Spike, head erect and standing, poised and looking out serenely, nobly over the campus...his wise countenance assailing all the hopeful students with inspiration from his life, the wind billowing, just slightly, the corners of his bronzed duster...he laughed...he finally, finally just broke down and laughed until he cried. 

 

He found the statue of Buffy bookending the campus; and his heart sighed for a moment.  This was the Buffy he never really knew but he could still see shades of the child she had been when he did know her.

 

Long hair hanging down and blown just back from her serene, wise, loving resolute face and her slight build all to 5’3” scale it was her sweet, strong body in bronze.  

 

It was months later when he discovered the statue of both of them together, Buffy and Spike together forever at the center of campus.  It was bronze, in keeping with the theme of the trilogy. But there was a hologram too.

 

The image would burst up like rushing water in a fountain and superimpose itself over the statues...bringing them to life, for a few moments.  It was mesmerizing.

 

What was so captivating about it was that it had clearly been taken without the subjects knowing.  So warm and intimate was their shared look...and surely, if they had been aware of any camera nearby...they both would have sheltered this intimacy from view.  But here it was.  Warm, large eyes, Buffy taking Spike’s hand and placing it over her heart, Spike leaning in to rest his forehead on hers...

 

Angel wondered what time period the footage came from...before, the girls...what happened to them...or after...

 

He came closer to see evidence of age...and the picture shot down...falling away like water, sliding down into the ground to grow something.

 

“It’ll come back.”

 

Angel turned around to find the source of the comment that he could tell, just tell was directed at him.

 

It was a woman...maybe her early thirties, but youthful looking, long brown hair that glinted red in the sunlight, bright eyed and intelligent...but soft too.  Soft there, around the full mouth.

 

“It’s just you looked so sad seeing it fall away...”  And then she continued a little uncertain under his scrutiny.  “I’m sorry, am I bothering you?  Did I speak out of turn?”

 

Angel hastened to say... “No...no...it’s good to know they’ll come back.   Uh...” and he looked away from her and back to the bronze statues..

 

“How long?  Oops...here they are...” 

 

And indeed they were...the image built itself back up like a bubbling fountain and the scene was...the same day but different footage...it was the next moment.  Buffy moving her hand to Spike face and stroking the flat cheek.                    

                   

“Aren’t they beautiful?”  the girl beside him breathed.  “I never get tired of seeing this...sometimes I come out...whenever I feel low or sad...and this makes it real for me.  Something this amazing can happen in the future...because it has already happened in the past...right?  What are you looking for?”

 

“A date...or something...I can’t really tell by their faces, Buffy looks so young and Spike of course barely changes...”

 

“Oh I can tell you that...see the white streaks in her hair.  She never dyed them out after the kidnapping and murder of their children.”

 

She said it so smoothly Angel bristled...but then was instantly contrite at her fallen expression and he said,

 

“I’m sorry...you said it so casual...I know...I know it’s history and long gone...but it still feels alive to me,” 

 

She looked at him her eyes going wide and moist.

 

“Me too...I’m so sorry, I just said it like that...because I try to keep my passions to myself.  Not everybody understands. So I shoot for over-calm.  I can break down sobbing on an old historic battlefield.”

 

“Yeah...”  Angel agreed.

 

“My name is Lenore...”

 

“I’m Lee...”

 

“Yeah...I know...I’ve seen you around the history department.  First person in the history of the university to pass the understudy courses with dissertation and oral exams...you wanna go get a cup of coffee, maybe?”

 

Lee smiled.  “Yes...yes I would...”

 

“Oh good...we can talk about Buffy and Spike.”

 

And for once Angel didn’t mind...he didn’t mind at all.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Lee and Lenore’s common passion for history drew them together as friends and kept them together as friends all through Lee’s long protracted brooding periods.  She learned not to try to snap him out of it...just let it play out...in the meantime she would pump him for information on the areas of his expertise--the 18^th 19^th & 20^th  century and of course Buffy and Spike.

 

He seemed to know all there was to know and so intimately he spoke, he seemed to know it from the inside.

 

Finally one day she just flat out asked him:

 

“Are you a descendant of theirs?”

 

Angel just about coughed himself into an apoplexy.  When finally he got out a ‘no’.  She countered with I don’t know why that’s so shocking...there are plenty around you know.”      

 

And then Angel had a startling thought:  “Are you?”

 

They were out for a brew and a meal and now they leaned in to talk to each other over the din of the place.

 

“No.”  Lenore fairly shouted back.

 

Angel wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not.  “Still, 300 years to track the generations...kind of hard to prove.  You might be...”

 

She laughed.

 

“Nah...it’s like a club or a secret society or something... If you think about it...with the long lives people have these days, that’s really only four generations or so.  They have some kind of special promise to stick together and help each other, and keep the wolves from the door...did you know that each of their children made a significant contribution of some kind--but they all changed their last name so no one knew who they were.  I got a hold of Paul’s secret journal that tracks everybody in the family.  Anyway it started a tradition they keep to this day--or that’s the theory.  So they show up now and again at world functions...it’s a very respected philanthropic society.  But no one knows their surname.  Not for sure. They went underground...oh, I said that and you probably know that--am I boring you?  And as everybody knows her full name is Elizabeth Summers--I have a theory on his and the conjunction they made to live under--“

 

“--Buffy--not Elizabeth .” 

 

“Righto, Buffy.  But whoever they are--it’s very respected, and a very charitable foundation.”

 

“Buffy and Spike would be pleased...”

 

“See? Things like that...and you do you say things like that...like you really know them...how do you do that?”

 

Angel just shrugged.

 

“You should write a book.”  She said and Angel snorted.

 

“Seriously...you should...what you know, the way you talk about them the way you see them...like people, with qualities and flaws...and desperation and dreams...you should write it...I think it would help history...not hurt it.”

 

“Maybe I will.  But some things you don’t want to know, believe me...”

 

“I going to California .”  She had slipped this in.  He simply stared at her. 

 

“Going on a field trip to Sunnydale...an excavation...I got the funding for my theory on how the Hellmouth was closed and I think I can prove it.   So...I going.”

 

“When?”

 

“Tomorrow.”

 

She said nothing, waited for him to say anything like ‘don’t go, or ‘I’m coming with you, wait for me’...but he couldn’t say it...didn’t know if he had the right to say any of it and so he took a drink of beer and got up to use the washroom and by the time he got back.  She was gone.

 

 

 

*

 

 

He had a dream that night, the way he sometimes did of Spike or Cordelia...but seldom Buffy...this one was Spike laughing that laugh of his and saying ‘you great lump of sod, you sorry excuse of a wanking wank, set something up, give a bloke a three square on a platter and he’ll knock the food off and use it for a mirror!!’

 

Angel had awoken in a sweat...feeling well...not good.  It seems he made a mistake with Lenore...and had no idea how to rectify it.  So instead he focused on the book that would shut up laughing Spike for good with a tell all--that’ll show him.

 

He finished it in a year along with his doctorate. 

        

He was offered a position at William and Elizabeth, which he took, and taught classes on his area of expertise, and so found himself fielding questions and discussion on the Lives of Buffy and Spike at least twice a week.

 

One day in early winter he saw Lenore at the back of the class...his heart skipped a beat and he had to turn in toward the chalkboard while he regained his composure.  So that’s how he felt about her?

 

Today’s discussion was on Spike...or William as most of the students referred to him.  On Spike and what were the merits of applying street savvy justice to the global situation he found himself in the second year of his first term.  

 

After the class broke up and left he heard her voice from up high where she had been auditing his class.

 

“You don’t like him.”

 

He turned to look at her...her shiny chestnut hair was cropped closer to her face.  He wasn’t sure if he liked it.

 

“You cut your hair.”

 

“It kept hanging in my face at the dig; you don’t like him do you?   You like her all right...but not him.”

 

She said it like a statement not a question.  He shrugged.

 

“I liked--I...like him alright...he went after what he wanted, he knew how to make things happen, he loved Buffy well, he loved his family, he suffered greatly...and kept going, even got better for it all...maybe...maybe was too lenient on secret societies and cults, he had his reasons, to get tough, should have tightened things up--“

 

“--He held a pretty tight hand during most of his administration.” Lenore countered

 

Angel shrugged.  “Matter of opinion.”

 

She got up now and was walking toward him and he noted her tall lithe body in dark blue jeans and felt himself stir at the sight.

 

Well that hasn’t happened in a while.  He bought time by looking down at his notes, gathering them together,

 

“See, I don’t see it that way...you have this tone through your book,” and here she waved a copy at him.

 

“You have this tone that starts off slightly judging, slightly superior but ends up sounding almost...envious...or maybe even wistful...”

 

He turned around and wiped the chalk board clean...

 

“Don’t remember asking you for a review...”

 

“I don’t remember you asking me for anything.  But still here I am; are you gonna ask me about my dig?” 

 

“How is your dig?”

 

“Huh...funny you should ask...it’s going very well, very well, I’m going to write my own book--“

 

“I didn’t say anything terrible...I...I didn’t...”

 

“No...you didn’t but no great glowing endorsement either...what is it Lee? Ensouled Vampires you have a problem with...or...is this a family thing?”

 

Silence as Angel turned slowly to stare at her.

 

“Funny, the things you can find at the bottom of a school library on a non active Hellmouth. Portraits in tin types that can last a millennium. The vampire Angelous...”

 

“God, please don’t say that name...” Angel breathed as if the words would conjure it somewhere up through his human flesh.

 

“This doesn’t go in the book, I swear it...but maybe I asked you the wrong question--maybe you’re not a descendent of Buffy and Spike...maybe you are related sideways.  Angel...this Vampire Angel was Spike’s granddad...and you look a lot like him, Lee.  A lot.  And you know how stories can come up only from inside of a family, passed from generation to generation--so are you like the tortured cousin or something?  The bitter near-do-well relative that never got over it?  Because there is another side, a deeper side to Buffy & Spike that needs to be told...and I will tell it all and still stay true to facts...and who are you Lee?”

 

“Some of those things are very personal Lenore...and you shouldn’t tell.”

 

She nodded “I’ll use my intuition...and your advice.  But you should get straight with History...because it all comes out eventually.”

 

Angel stacked his books getting ready to go. And Lenore kept talking.

 

“Please don’t be afraid of me, whoever you are.  I...liked you before...and I like you still...it just won’t go away...it’s like I know you...I feel so good with you...don’t you feel it?  I think that’s why I found those tintypes.  I’m just fascinated with those long string of shops they had--“

 

“--Shopping malls--“

 

“--YES!  I could spend all day on the sight of a shopping mall and never get tired, so amongst all that stuff I find those tintypes?  Just too, too lucky.  I told myself, ‘Lenore Cornelia Clark, this is kismet or a message or something, so ask me for something, ask me over to your place so we can talk and...so you can autograph your book.  And I don’t want you writing any old thing...I want you to think about it see?  And that will take at least three hours.”

 

Angel finally relaxed enough to laugh.  It did feel good to be with her.  “Alright.  Alright please come over to my place.”

 

“Why thank you Lee, do you mind if we stop by and see the holo of Buffy and Spike?  It looks really great after dark.”

 

“No I don’t mind.”

 

Fifteen minutes later found them in front of the image...and Buffy and Spike were kissing now...and it was...beautiful.  It was.  And once again Angel wondered about the world and the oddest bits that could come together in the end to make strange sense.

 

Lenore was saying something now, and creeping closer to him.

 

“It’s a miracle.  Love is the miracle that’s real.”

 

And Angel nodded.

 

 

*

 

 

They unwound and confided in each other...and if Angel didn’t tell her everything...he told her enough...to see if she would run screaming.  She didn’t.  She merely looked at him with her light brown eyes and nodded.  Perhaps she had already put the worst together and settled things in her own mind long before she had arrived on his doorstep.   

 

No matter.

 

And then she asked softly.

 

“Tell me, what happened to Anastasia Romanov?”

 

Angel stilled.

 

“I know you know something...please tell me...there is such a controversy in history---did Spike kill her? Did Buffy? Did Alexander Harris?”

 

“Xander?  That’s a conspiracy theory I haven’t heard yet.”

 

“Come on Lee...it’s important to me...what do you know?”

 

“Whatever I know is heresy--from a second source, albeit a reliable one, but second hand, you can’t use it.”

 

“I don’t intend to, couldn’t anyway without facts--I’d be laughed out of respectability. Please.”

 

Angel er Lee leaned back in his chair and thought well...why not? The strangeness of what happened had been sitting on his mind for centuries.  Why not share it with someone?  Get a second opinion from another observer?

 

“Do you know who The Immortal is?” 

 

He watched her think, recall and then nod.

 

“He tried her case; he prosecuted her in the world court before The Judge.  By her, I mean Romanov.  Harris brought her in of all people.  You’ve got part of it right.  She had thought him weak and underestimated him and Harris?  He just, just barely controlled his desire to kill her and instead brought her in for trial. 

 

Spike in the world court for ten years, Buffy as first president of the United Council and now Spike in the second year of his first term...and Harris bowed to the family mantra:  Justice Just Us

 

Spike and Buffy were by now true believers and Harris respected that, and after overcoming himself, he let it be how they wanted it.

 

And so The Immortal lambasted Romanov...as only he can...she had no defense council...no one would stand for her.  Three court appointed councils went to jail for contempt rather than serve as her defense and Malachonna was sitting as The Judge and  working on the fourth maybe council--when Spike and Buffy walked into the court room.

 

Dead silence as you can imagine--they had not been to court on the previous days to witness the events and no had expected them...too painful perhaps...but here they were.  They moved like water.  That’s what I heard.  Two minds like one river flowing in the same direction.

 

The Immortal had stopped speaking...as if anything on earth could stop him and here it was.  Spike addressed the judge softly.  Never looking at Romanov and all the time Buffy stood, just there behind him.  Just like she had so many years before.

 

Silence and then Loraine prompted:

 

“What did he say?”

 

“He asked The Immortal to concede, and Spike made a small slashing gesture on his palm which meant he was calling in the oath of fealty and...The Immortal had to concede.  He had to step away from the right way to process this...and also he found he wanted to...he wanted this to be in Buffy and Spike’s hands--it had been a grisly double murder and so be it. Let the Parents of Elle and Beth have their way, whatever that would mean to the scales of Justice.  Spike said he had one piece of evidence and one proposal and then he began.

 

He submitted from the Library of Records a hologram of a little girl, cramped, crawling from hiding in a dark house, crawling through blood on the floor, her nightdress getting weighed down with it and tangled in about her knees...a little girl crawling out of the house from an open window and pulling herself into the shit heap out by the barn, she burrows into the waste, she buries herself in the filth, covers her hair, cloaking her scent...and all the time there is screaming...screaming...and the laughter of demons. We see a close up of the little girl and--who is it?  Not Elle, not Beth?

 

There is a gasp and a crack of a cry from Anastasia and by the physical similarity, the long black hair...we know it is her. 

 

Anastasia Romanov as a little girl.  She sees her little cousin run out of the house and then is brutally attacked and raped and then drained dry, by a Vampire--her head twisted off her body for good measure, long black hair spinning, spinning.  The vampire...it is nobody...no one notorious, I know them all, by description or by rep...no it’s just a vampire and this is the carnage any several vampires in tandem can manage.  There are more screams.  And Anastasia is now shoving waste into her ears to stop hearing and waste into her mouth to stop from screaming.

 

We feel her thoughts and they go something like: Never, never, never, never, never, never more...”

 

“Oh god...: breathed Lenore:  “Oh god...”

 

Angel stared into space for a moment and then continued.

 

“After the hologram ends Spike says nothing for a moment he doesn’t need to post script that.  It stood for itself, it was terrible and it broke her young mind...and it was...her truth.  He then turns to face Romanov and says something like this, very soft almost quiet just for Buffy and he and thee to hear:

 

‘I kept asking myself...how?’ he says ‘How could anyone...be with them, look at them, listen to them, look into their eyes and still do such a thing? And then I realized...you couldn’t. You could not do that to them and walk away, run away.  No. No, there is nowhere you can go, no one you can be and as a Slayer at that.  Remain a Slayer, and that holy purpose will sit so hard against this thing--it will drive you mad.  You feel it already.

 

Your Honors she bears the marks of fallen masters on her arm, on her body for everyone to see...all she has killed...except for two.  Beth and Elle...are...’

 

And here Spike fights for control over his voice and Buffy steps up closer to him so he can feel her heat and he finishes:

 

‘They are master guardians of this planet sent to keep the peace and give peace and want to be worn over her heart.  They ask to be in her heart.  And we ask, we ask that for the first time in the history of creation, a Slayers calling be revoked.  For her sake...and ours...we ask that she be marked and revoked and then released back into the world to walk.’

 

Gasp and then. The judge says something like: I see the case Mr. Spike, I see the evidence submitted and where you are going with this...and we are humbled before this act of mercy and the seven heavens besides bow before it and We can allow the mark, We can allow the walk but only if the defendant’s calling be revoked and only First Slayer can do that.’

 

And now Spike turned and looked directly at Buffy and stepped aside for the court to recognize her.

 

The Judge nodded. 

 

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was the incarnation of The First Slayer here on earth for another go around and to the power of ten. 

 

Buffy stepped up the Anastasia Romanov small now and crumpled on the floor, eyes brimming with unshed tears.  Buffy kept her face still and quietly placed a barrette, a small pink plastic barrette over Romanovs heart, Spike looked away, and then Beth’s hair trinket faded onto her chest.  She then placed a blade of grass...dry now...but once Elle had kept it in a bouquet with other grass blades...just because she thought they were beautiful and no one paid enough attention to the grasses...Buffy placed the dry blade under the barrette bow tattoo and watched it fade into the other woman and rest over her heart. 

 

Buffy then leaned forward, and kissed Anastasia chastely on the mouth and when she pulled back The Slayer in Romanov was gone...and she was a girl left crying, crumpled on the floor and...and someone to be pitied.

 

Buffy rose and stood next to Spike and he asked, his voice just a rasp--Please seal the records of the day, your Honors, for reasons, obvious.  And without looking back they wound their arms round each other and walking as they did...it was difficult to say who was supporting who.”

 

 

Angel finished and there was quiet for a while and then he said.

 

“There’s no record of course, no way to prove it...it’s just what a bird told me.”

 

It was dark, very dark, they hadn’t turned on a light past deep dusk---some things were easier told in the dark.

 

Lenore was crying...quietly...it felt true...it had the ring of truth and she asked very quietly...

 

“How did Buffy know she was First Slayer?”

 

“I don’t think she did.  After she found out, she recognized First Slayer as her Higher Self.  Her intuition.  Spike had gotten the notion, years before...during a different trial, but it was an angle he never had to play.  When the rumor first started going around the Buffy was corrupted and his intuition and heart told him that could never be right, in fact only the reverse of that could be true.  And seeing they are both people who live in the present...it didn’t matter after that. Just wasn’t important to either of them--“

 

“--Until this.  This...this has to be made public...maybe it couldn’t before...to protect Buffy...to protect Spike, too I guess--couldn’t have the President of the United Council making such a merciful call in 2017 or so?  But...god, they were centuries ahead of their time. Angel, centuries.  These judgments are made all the time these days, that is now; but historically, it has taken centuries to get to this point...and now you have just shone a light on the 100^th  monkey that made the change begin--don’t you see how important a discovery this is?”

 

“What did you call me?”

 

“What?   I was just saying...they were visionaries; they started the energetic chain reaction and imagine everyone thinking for centuries that Spike killed her--I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!  I have a theory Lee, that, the more they loved each other, the more their true natures felt comfortable enough to come out.  And William would have shown mercy--it’s the warrior transmuted to the stronger side of the battle.  God.  I KNEW IT! This has to be made public...”

 

Angel stared at her...he could have sworn just for a second back there she had called him by his other name and she had sounded like...Cordy saying it. He shook it off and tried to focus on what she was saying...there was an infectious zeal to her plea...maybe...maybe...if what she said was true, that was why it happened that way, well maybe...if Spike could change, the world could change and if the world could change...maybe he could change...maybe...

 

“Lee are you listening? You have to go public--“

 

Pause as he thought for a moment and then he jumped into the picture.  He joined the world:

 

“There is one eyewitness...there is one person, who, just so happens took an oath of fealty to Buffy and Spike and them and theirs and...yeah...I guess, I really wouldn’t mind bending his arm back and cashing that in.”

 

“GREAT!  Lets’ call him.”

 

“Lenore...let me think about it...can...can we just be quiet for a moment...I’m feeling talked out right about now.”

 

She smiled softly at him.

 

“Would you like some tea?”

 

Nice to know some things haven’t changed in 423 years.

 

“Yeah...yes.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

So she made tea for him, for her, and sat beside him and they were quiet for a long while and then because they had run out of words and there seemed nothing else to do.  They kissed.                    

 

They finally both felt comfortable enough, secure enough to kiss again.  And that kiss led to another and then to bed and then to Angel waking the next morning with a soft smile of his face.

 

Lenore had her arm stretched across his chest and he thought it was the most delicate, most amazing articraft of humanity he had ever seen.

 

He was happy...god...oh god...he was so happy to be alive...and then he swore softly but fervently.

 

“Damn.  Damn his eyes.”

 

But a debt is a debt and a promise is a promise and so Angel got out of bed and stark naked and with male bits jiggling about in the morning breeze (Lenore likes the window open no matter what the weather) so starkers and hopping now, foot to foot, with hand on hip and a smile on his face, he did a jig.

 

Lenore sleepy eyed and a little puzzled at the sight asked cautiously:

 

“Uh?”

 

“This, my love...is how happy I am, how happy you’ve made me and this:” and here Angel did a tricky twisty turning thing ending in a double hop from foot to foot.

 

“This is ode to Spike and Buffy!”

 

Lenore clapped her hands in delight at first and then clapped in time to her loves ballet of the most sacred theme she knew.  

 

Oooh...that was a nice hop...he was really getting into it now.

 

Angel didn’t mind paying the old debt, didn’t mind at all...he was happy.

 

 

 

*

 

 

Somewhere in the seventh heaven, Spike heard the bell....THE BELL. 

 

Bells would ring when someone on earth thought of you and needless to say the bells for he and Buffy rang quite often.  Since he had more ties to earth right now, a lot of his students from their soul group had just reincarnated to several different planets...he liked to keep an eye on the correspondence coming back up the pipe and monitor for cries for help.  So he heard bells all the time but had just about given up on THAT BELL.

 

But then ‘ting, jing a ling’ it rang and he slapped his knee hard and laughed out loud and he put his hand on his heart and called out:

 

“Buffy, luv, you have to come right away, I’m taking you out for a slap of meal...and here’s something to feast the eyes!”

 

She was immediately there at his side...they touched hands and hearts as they always did when seeing each other again...the pleasure was just too fine not to do a sharing thing.

 

“Look...look...” and here Spike broke down into a giggle.

 

“You know, you really should work on a full bellied laugh...”

 

“I know you’ve been angling to incarnate again but Father Christmas and Mrs. Clause are taken for the next millennium, luv, ‘sides, who would be who? No just...loookeee”

 

She did and smiled and then laughed and then hugged Spike hard and said against his chest.

 

“Don’t you just love having the last word?”

 

“Oh aye I do. I do.  Look at him...he’s so...happy.”

 

“Good.”  Buffy said simply.

 

“Good.” Spike echoed and they wound their arms around each other and laughed gently with Angel as he jigged, clapping their hands lightly together keeping time. 

 

“Elle and Beth, Paul, Sol, Tildy, Alexia, and Dawn--even Rupert are gonna want to see this.”  Spike said softly

 

In a minute, in a minute we can call everybody in a minute...let it be us for a moment, just us...

 

They kissed gently and then hugged each other tight and turned to cheer Angel on and the merry tinkling sound of their light glee fell down on the earth and around Angel and Lenore and the continent they were on besides until it slipped off the sides and fell down in to the ocean and the dolphins picked up the thread and sang it back to the beloved of angels; Buffy and Spike.

 

 

 

*

 

 

The End.  

         

 

    

*

 

If you enjoyed; please pass the word to other like minded minds and souls.

 

 

much love,

 

Lizerrrbeathan   

 

 

Contact:    Sekarsn@aol.com

 

 

 

 

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