*

The truth, the truth, ah, the truth is a powerful invocation and Buffy asked for it, she did and so she sat the way you do when you’re tired of running and the dodge ball game.

When one asks for truth one faces the place of no return. No going back to not knowing and it will change your world it will. After illumination only the craziest person closes her eyes and pretends she is still in the dark.

When she went looking for Dawn, for the truth of Dawn this change had happened and did her new knowledge of who Dawn really was become the magnetic attractor sharpening Glory’s attention to The Slayers own household? Who can say?

But it was still something that needed to be done. Ignorance was not bliss, it was ignorance.

And now she needed to know who William was.

Who is he?

And this:

Who is he to me?

And within two minutes inside the salt circle she had drawn on the carpet in front of the fire place she was seeing porn.

Well, O.K. maybe not porn, more like looking through your window and accidently seeing the couple next door doing it on the floor in front of the fire.

She was looking at a fireplace and saw a woman in old fashioned clothes, like last century stuff riding a man as he lay on the floor in front of the fire.

She felt a tightening in her own womb as she watched and wondered; O.K.. Don’t really wanna be a perv here and privy to somebodies private parts intermingling and then the woman threw her head back and yowled and it wasn’t the profile or the shape or the last bit of glow from the dying fire that illuminated the identity of the woman.

It was that yowl. That yowl of deep pleasure and the smash of creation and this was one of the few ways the world gave back–to The Slayer.

The truth.

This was about the truth.

So. O.K. Sex was a compensation. The kind of sex she was capable of, the way she needed sex combined with love was all fodder to create a beautiful world, a world worth living in, this was her compensation and real gift to the world and what if every time she had an orgasm like that with loving seed inside her a new universe was created? That was something to think about because, watching this scene from the outside that is what that felt like. Cosmos created and how about that?

And so is that why people holler for god when they come together like a train wreck?

Quiet now as she watched the man and Slayer stroke each other.

Good for you, glad you found someone thought Buffy and then stopped when she heard William’s voice calling her name. It was lighter, younger maybe. There it was again, no mistake.

Buffy looked closer, leaned in closer to the vision as if this would help her see more clearly, but no, it was too dark and it wasn’t the familiar shape or her own body that cinched the identity of the woman for her–it was the ffocused intent of how she, how The Slayer took William.

This is how she recognized herself.

She was capable of feeling that, of almost doing that. Several times she had wanted to pounce on William and just ride him (as she had Spike?) but no, never again, right and wrong are not comparative things, they exist in themselves.

The vision was gone now. Guess that meant the message got through.

What next?

She had sat with the intention of the Truth, and she had received some but how did this relate to the present?

As if in answer she saw herself getting up and leaving the circle, with the world blurred and dark around her except for a single light that shown from upstairs. She was in an old townhouse kind of thing very similar to Williams place in New York, but with older furnishing and there was a staircase leading to a second floor and the light. The blue white light said come hither and so she did.

She walked toward it and then suddenly found herself looking at a desk; at papers and books and with ferret fingers she went to the right and opened a small drawer and up under the desk she felt a latch and pulled and the concealed lower drawer down low and to her right popped open and she reached down and pulled out the journal that lay on top.

She opened the cover and leafed through what looked like a tome of verse, all in Williams hand, in cursive, which was a little hard to read in places, but all seemed to be about love...and loss.

The woman was unnamed in the poems. In the sonnets. But it wasn’t hard to put it together.

It was even easier when William spelled it out.

I’ve gone mad, I have, I have--I am in a fever now that never ends and is it in my mind or did it start there and does it matter because now it is in my body and burns me from the inside out.

Buffy.

I know you are real, I know it, my flesh is seared from your touch and so I know you are true but where are you? What are you? And now I am made to wonder if there is any battleground, any war any cause or twist of fate greater or more important than the small act of kindness, of being kind to just one person at a time.

You have suffered, I know you have suffered and I hold this thought inside me as a teacher to trust and helps me not to hate you. God help me if I begin to hate love....god help me if that happens. I feel my soul to be in peril, I feel I may fall into a terrible place will sell anything, buy anything, do anything for power. Power to find you, power to help you, power to help myself back to a measured world.

God help me, please, I fear I am going mad, the things I have seen since you left me in the night--the strange terrifying monsters that leak out from the dark and I will not go to the devil, I will not hate and so I must find you again, I will, because I believe you might love me, if you could only love your destiny a little less...

Buffy held the paper and saw into the words, saw the pictures in back of the text and she felt she knew what had happened. And what this Buffy had done...she was capable–no, the truth now. This was something she had done too.

It wasn’t sex, recreational sex that was at issue–it was the responsibility of power. The keeper of another’s heart. This Buffy knew how William had felt and yes had returned that feeling, she believed that because to know William was to love him, but she had entered the liaison, knowing she would exclude him from one of the most important parts of her life.

Buffy knew she had lived a great deal of her life cherry picking her moments with friends and lovers. You can be in my body but not my heart and this was a defense of sorts against a world that taught distance was circumspect, but did that make it wise? Did living like that help herself or anyone in the world?

Spike had taught her otherwise and so part of the answer to her query was this:

William was her teacher. No big surprise there and that answered the question: ‘who is he to me?’–

--And she could learn, she could, she did–but that still left: who is he now?

She heard a sound at the desk and turned to see William hunched over his writing and he looked so fevered, so terribly pale, so ill, her heart went out to him and her hand too.

She came up behind him and touched his back gently and then wrapped her arm around him and kissed the back of his head.

“I’m all right, Buffy. I’m...I’m alright now. I know who I am, where I am going.”

Buffy drew back a little at this because, yeah, he seemed to be addressing her directly right there as she stood behind him--he was speaking again.

“I know you are not in my world any longer...I don’t know if you...passed on...” and here his voice grew tight but he continued. ‘But I know you are gone...because I can feel you now and thank you for coming to me like this, it has helped, it has...I guess you know from where you are that I was a poor poet indeed when you met me. I had a small mind–no, no, I know it’s true, I had a small space for ideas to grow in and meeting you...knowing you has broken down every wall and window pane and pain yes, there has been...pain”

And here he stopped and so Buffy pressed her cheek up against the side of his head and he went on simply.

“I’m a better man for knowing you Buffy, I have bad days, I do, but I can write now when I only imagined it before and I don’t want to give the gift of that away because it is connected to you and so I believe in you Buffy, I believe in your heart and trust that what you said is true...that if you could be with me, you would...I believe in you Buffy...”

Buffy began to cry and then leaned down and kissed his cheek, she watched his expression soften and his head turn slightly toward her and then she kissed him on the mouth.

Sweet, soft and yes, I love you...

His flesh cooled beneath her lips and when she pulled back slightly, it was Spike.

Spike.

Her heart sang it and did he hear her?

“Buffy.”

He said softly.

He was hunched over a red Formica table in what looked like a greasy spoon restaurant; in much the same position William had been in and now he was talking to her.

“Buffy, luv?”

She tightened her arm around him and then sat down next to him on the torn and taped red polyester seat of the booth and laid her head on his shoulder.

“I can be as dim and dense as they come, pet, I can be the definitive bloody brick wall and I know it, but something has been breaking through for a while now, starting...with you, with, with what almost happened, you know and sorry to bring it up and all, like old news thas’ only good for wrapping the kippers–but sometimes a lad learns something that sticks forever and thas’ it, the beginning of never again and just what all needs to happen to want a change that will last forever an’ all this to say: I’m done luv, I’m dead and done with it, and so killing meself is redundant, isn’t it? An’ so that leaves only life. An I don’t know how to do that–I was a piss poor man and I know it an’ so I don’t know what to do–will I only be setting myself up for the same mistakes? If it works at all that is–if they take me on–“

Spike. Buffy thought and remarkably he stopped and appeared to be listening.

If she really had his attention, what to say?

So do they serve bloomin onions here, or do you have to settle for onion rings?

And now he smiled but it was so broken looking she almost regretted her quippy question until he said.

“You’re right, pet, my luv, my lamb–never settle, never settle for less than what’s wanted. If it’s not on the menu, I can make it myself, right? A self made man.”

I love you Spike

She wanted to say, please, please make a man who will remember me, but it wasn’t right to interfere with his future in any way, because who could say? And hadn’t she just learned the lesson about respecting hearts and be available only if you are available? No, he had chosen to stay away from her after the Hellmouth to stay in L.A and not contact her and maybe, just maybe there was a reason for it that belonged to him.

Respect. Let him know she loved him and the other half of what to do next belonged to him.

And so she gripped him hard and pressed the words so fierce and true it could be heard all the way and into the year 329 B.C.

I love you.

He said nothing to this, simply hung his head and then as if the weight was too heavy, slumped down onto the crook of his arm on the table and began to sob and it was a dry heaving sound without water.

Oh Spike.

The phone was ringing.

She didn’t want to leave him.

Burrrr brrringgg burrr...

But she wanted to find him more and so she left him so she could go looking for him.

And with that thought Buffy was immediately back in the circle on Williams carpet to be known hereafter as the magic carpet and opened her eyes to the shocking quiet of the empty room and the phone ringing.

William was Spike.

William was Spike.

She knew it.

Not translocation, not a vengeance wish or a discarnate entity from another world.

But...more like a selected memory, shopped and picked by Spike for private reasons, for the kind of man he wanted to be maybe, the best version of himself he could find to hind deep behind–

–Or–

–Maybe he had picked a William that had known her and had forgiven her flaws and loved her still much the way her Spike had...all this flashed and downloaded lock stock and loaded into Buffy and...

She wanted to find him and hug him and squish the puddings out of him, the crazy man.

Was he crazy? No. No. Just deep in hiding from himself...

The phone was still ringing.

Small, light burr bringgg far and away and yes it was her cell and it wasn’t going away and hadn’t she turned it off?

She undid her legs slowly letting the blood circulate back into them and still the phone rang.

Maybe it was Spike, er William and wait a minute, just what would she say?

He didn’t know, he didn’t know, he was out there in the world walking around and didn’t know and how just how was she going to tell him that he, himself was the creature he loathed most in the world?

She wanted to look into his eyes and see all of him looking back and was it right for her to break his safe world apart and maybe she should take a minute and think about how to do this.

That might be him on the phone.

She was standing now and following the sound of the burrring bringing her closer to the whoever on the other end and so still a little dazed, still a little distracted, she reached the guest bedroom and went to where she had plugged her phone in the wall.

“Yeah, hello...”

“Oh thank god, oh thank you God, Buffy? Buffy is that you?”

Buffy was confused for a moment still disorientated from the truth journey and then:

“Sarah?” It was Sarah, Jacks sister Sarah. And then Buffy got a mental picture of her dark hair curling about her plump sweet face.

“Yes, yes, oh I’m so glad I got a hold of you–I’ve been ringing for hours–“

“Hours?” Buffy asked, confused she looked around her, just what time was it? She looked at the red digital numbers on the clock on the dresser, 11:11–almost two hours since Spike left? She had been under for almost an hour and a half?

“Yes, Buffy, There’s trouble, I mean hopefully there’s trouble still coming and not already here or there–“

“Whoah, whoah slow down Sarah, what’s going on?”

“Jack. I think--you know, he’s a good man and he wouldn’t hurt anybody, not anyone–bbbut I’m afraid Buffy, I’m afffraid he has...murder on his mind.”

“What?” But Buffy was getting a cold sick wanna start running for the door and down the street to Spike kind of feeling.

“He wouldn’t hurt anyone, but he is just so sure that...that your friend–“

“Spike.”

“Yes, yes, that he is going to hurt you Buffy–I saw it too but where I understand one never breaks God’s laws–Jack–“

But Buffy didn’t hear the rest–in her haste she had ripped the front door part way off it’s hinges and started running.

*

Chapter 26

Juliet:                “Come night. Come night”

                                                   Romeo and Juliet

                                                   William Shakespeare

*

It was important to stay calm.

It was very important to stay very calm.

William knew, he knew how fear accelerated a Vampires senses and like a predator compelled to jump on something moving, a Vampire attacked in a similar compulsion.

He looked over the actors, they seemed confused and mildly irritated at Tony’s bizarre behavior and perhaps a little alarmed but no fear yet and truth spoken as soon as he had shown up they had all as one transferred authority (gratefully) to The Prof.

Now Ollie seemed more than a little tight and that could work for and against the situation and so William needed to stay cool and calm and play along.

Vampires liked to play with their victims, let them run and catch, give them false hope and then the snatch--oh yes, he knew all about it and here he had to swallow something hard that was trying to bark itself up into being born. Not now. Not now and he pushed it down hard.

Play along, but for how long? Until Tony tired and turned on them all? And he might have retained some martial skills but he was no match in hand to hand to hand combat with a Vampire even a baby one.

He looked at Tony out of the corner of his eye and yes, Tony was white, white deathly white and glowing with power. He may be a newborn, but he had power, and was that a carry over from his natural charismatic personality or, or from being sired by a master vampire–either way, it added up to bad.

He needed a weapon...and a game to play to amuse Tony until (Buffy? Oh god, Buffy, come soon, come now!)

“Yes, Ollie it’s all right, Buffy sent me ahead...” (he heard himself saying so cooly there was a part of him that marveled and critiqued his own performance, even now) he went on with:

“...So let’s break out the swords, Chekhov said you couldn’t introduce a gun in the first act and not use it in the third and so let’s play–“

Ollie was scratching his head and he looked to Amal and then to Maive, his gaze lingering for a moment on Maive, who nodded briefly to him and then he watched her turn to the other two actresses and the three women pulled together into a tight group and the image made him think of circling the wagons–didn’t like it–something not kosher here–

“I don’t know Prof...dontcha think Buffy and Millie would wanna be here for this.” Ollie offered

“They will be; they are right behind me, to be sure, we’ll just get the heft of the weapons–maybe go through a few paces.”

And then William took an odd risk and looked Ollie dead in the eye and thought hard.

Do it Ollie, do as I say.

Ollie had a strong will–you weren’t a stage manager and made of paper and paste but when something of Williams way got inside him, he looked him back evenly and then, he nodded his head and said in his terrible fake German accent to hide the maybe tremble in his voice:

“Yahvol, herr Prof–as you say.” And then he went off stage to the locked metal cage and there was the turn of a key and a squeaky hinge and all the while William breathed nice and steady, nice and steady...and Tony watched him

“You’re a queer duck, aren’t you Prof?” Tony asked a little archly

“Hmm..” William asked in a distracted way while he listened to Ollie’s foot fall and the cling, clang of the swords banging against each other as he carried them his arms.

“You’re a queer one...” And here Tony emphasized queer and the room grew quiet as they others turned to look on and listen in.

William turned and looked at him evenly

“In the dictionary definition or the common colloquial contraction?” He asked in deadpan and Tony laughed.

And the others laughed too, but a little nervously now, something was up, something was certainly amiss and they were all feeling it now. The women would certainly have picked up the odd dark vibe by now and wasn’t Dorothy beginning to edge away and into the wings? And wasn’t Rhonda placing herself in front of Maive and Dorothy and was Amal positioning himself in front of Rhonda?

Difficult to fool actors, energy was their life’s blood.

Stay cool, stay calm...nice even heartbeat.

Tony was looking up at the near empty grid of the retired old theatre and rubbed his chin and said continuing his train of thought.

“I mean it in the, you come across all ‘brown mouse and little birdie who me’? Kinda of thing and yet Miss Buffy chooses you hands down and no contest...over say, me–which seems unlikely, but there it is and now I have to look at it, the truth is, men don’t judge the character of other men by the kind of job he has or how much money–character, character, is judged by the kind of woman, the quality of woman who loves him. Wouldn’t you say that’s true, Prof? And so what, just what does that say about you–just who are you really?”

Heart starting to speed up a bit here but let him think it’s because of the swords–let it be about the swords–

Ollie was setting them up in the prop case he had constructed for the run of the show and William started the long stroll to over, there, over there..and we won’t be back til it’s over, over there....

“Perhaps, I just remind her of someone–“ William offered lightly.

“And then there is the way you fight–it’s stage combat sure...but man, you two could really go at it and so now you got me thinking about that possum who plays dead.”

William turned and looked Tony evenly in the eye and said:

“Who’s playing? And who’s dead?”

Game over.

Williams hand was only twelve inches away from the nearest weapon. It was a stage sword and so it would have a dull edge, but it was something, it would do.

“Oh King of Cats, I just want a little piece of what you got going on, I wanna a little piece of what our Miss Buffy finds so srumptious, just one of your nine lives–will you walk?”

Tony called out paraphrasing his lines from the play and William’s eyes went from steel blue gray to more than a little sad.

“I’m sorry Tony, I’m so sorry--you were a brilliant actor.”

“I am a brilliant actor.”

William simply looked at him and then looked at the sword and then in the moment that he reached for the weapon he felt space and time distend and fall away mask, fall away flesh, fall away dust, fall down and stand as a Real Person facing life facing death.

Hand on weapon, easing into the cradle like a babe into comfort and he knew who he was and felt like weeping.

Weapon in the air and two quick swipes to test balance and ballast and he was resigned.

On garde and task at hand and he was reigning royalty.

He was the King of Cats

“I am for you.”

He said Tybalt’s lines and watched Tony’s face.

Tony hesitated–something had changed, watching the Prof pick up the sword had been like watching a great actor step humbly into the role of warrior, or a phoenix rising...he paused.

Now Tony could turn and attack the actors behind him--he could do all kinds of damage but William was counting on Tony’s love of theatre and theatrics and the need to best the male that took the alpha woman. To beat him in the old world way–that is, before ripping his throat out.

He was right. After a moment Tony laughed and said.

“You sad, sad, queer little man, how I will enjoy tasting you bit by bit.”

William picked up a sword and tossed it to him which Tony caught with ease.

Tony made several quick silver swipes of his sword that made Maive gasp. Ollie stepped forward to cover Maive.

“We don’t need an audience.” William called out to Ollie

“Oh, I say we do, “ Tony said in dark voice that raised the hairs on Williams arms.

No time to argue the point because now Tony was on the attack and his sword came at Williams legs in a blur, William felt himself jumping into the air and swish the swipe through empty space and Amal crying out.

“Tony, what the hell is the matter with you?”

“Ollie, get them out of here–“ William called out and then forgot everything, everyone but the fight.

He didn’t see where the group went or how; he had to focus completely on the young vampire with the sword that was trying to shish kabob him.

Tony was fast, William had expected that, heightened skills, yes, he had expected that too–and another slash to his ear and a nick and a sharp sting and yes first blood and that wasn’t good, that would heighten the lust for the end. He deflected the next blow led with his left and then shifted his weight and sliced at Tony’s legs, it was a hit–

William had caught him on the joint and knocked him neatly to the ground but then Tony rolled (the way Buffy had taught him–thank you very much Slayer) got up rabbit fast and growling mad.

“You can’t win...” Tony called out.

Swish, swish, swack as William ducks and Tony hits the wooden block upstage center.

“You can’t win–what was it you said about mutual assured destruction?–well I got news for you Prof–you the only one going splat today–“

“–That’s because you’re already worm wood–so that still makes it mutual–“

“No! NO!”

Tony lunged at William but William ducked behind a black pipe light stand and swung around past the careening vampire.

William had a moment to breathe as Tony pulled himself out of the cables coiled just off stage on the floor and so now he asked evenly:

“Tony, where are you going to go? What are you going to be in the world?”

Tony came at him in a lunge using his weight and height to intimidate and damn if that wasn’t an Angelous move to make and would have worked too–on any one else in the world...except Spike.

Instead of stepping out of the way or standing his ground, William took a running leap and landed both feet on Tony’s chest and it was a crash in midair, and Tony was physically stronger but William was fighting smarter and using physics and the laws of ballast and balance and for every action there is a reaction and because Tony only had one foot on the ground when he was smashed in the chest, his feet shot out from under him and he landed on his back with William rolling over and back on his feet in a flash.

He was still talking to Tony in the even, unruffled, unhurried tone and Tony scrambled to his feet.

“You love the theatre better than any man or woman or animal act I have ever met and so where are you going to go?”

“I’ve lost NOTHING!” Tony was blindly angry now and William would have his moment soon.

“You came here after you were turned–that means you think of this place, of these Theatre people like family. This was your family and you have thrown it away. Why did you do it?”

Tony was attacking without thought now or planning and soon, very soon...

There was the clash of harsh dull metal on metal and it was a grating sound.

“You can go nowhere, the vamp who turned you will keep you ought of sight–too many people will recognize you and no nest can ever afford the: ‘Elvis lives problem’ can it, then?”

William was attacking now thrust and swipe to the left arm and a slice of dead flesh and angry scream and then strike left, right, right, right...pushing Tony up against the back wall of the stage with no where to go but the truth.

“Why did you do it Tony? You were brilliant, gifted...(strike, strike, slice the right arm ) you were not not a drunken lout, not a madwoman, not a small brown mouse looking for a shortcut to glory–“

Swipe, tear of clothes

“–you were not like me.”

And here William’s sword swirled around Tony’s sword--caught the other blade up in the spin and then away, leaving Tony lay flat against the wall.

“Who aaarre you?” He asked tremulously.

“Spike.” William said almost sadly. “You might not know me, yet, but you have been bested by Spike.”

Tony started to move lightening fast up the aisle and toward the theatre door.

“Stop.” Spike called out to the fleeing figure. He watched the figure slow down and then he reached deeper inside himself and using the voice of command he called out.

“Stop, Tony, come back here. Now.”

And Tony stopped...and stunned, shocked found himself walking back up the aisle toward the man standing center stage looking sad, but still and steady and strong in spirit and yes Tony was stammering and began asking but Spike cut him off.

“–We have to get out of here. Buffy–“ and here his voice tightened and almost choked and than he shook it off and finished with. “We have to go...”

“We? I’m not going anywhere with you.”

‘Tony, listen to me–whoever made you isn’t a friend to you and never will be a lover, I know it was a master vampire, that much is clear–but he won’t let you live or exist for long, you will be a liability, look, let’s walk and talk, I’ve got the feeling we should get our arses moving–“

“So you can kill me?”

Spike turned and looked at him and said so, so sadly.

“You are already dead.”

“That’s a little thing called SEMANTICS–“

“–GET UP HERE TONY, we are leaving now–“ Spike said and Tony obeyed. He came down the aisle and up the stage and stood in front of the man he had known as Prof William Ashley-Pitt

“I’m not doing this to save your sorry arse–but your sire will come lookin’ for it’s novelty act, most likely to kill you and anyone around, just for the hell of it and so best to get you away and seen somewhere else in the city far away from here–“

“So you can kill me there?” Tony asked

‘I’m not going to kill you lad, I can’t kill you–‘sides I won’t need to. Whoever made you, made you for the short road, a quick lay and hasn’t the one night stand been your forte and fort? Well, who you were has made who you are and that’s fast and easy and gone tomorrow.”

It was the truth and harsh and piercing and if Spike dealt it out in spades maybe it was because he was feeling some truths come home to roost for himself and was taking it out on the ex-actor.

Remarkably, Tony’s eyes welled with tears and he fought them back and Spike closed his eyes against the sight and the truth of that too. The human, the heart of the human that was caught deep and held prisoner far inside the demon and dead flesh was still there, buried alive but still watching, still feeling and didn’t he know about that too?

“Let’s go.” Spike said simply and turned to leave but was stopped by the sound of caustic applause.

At first it was two hands clapping and then more...more...

“Bloody hell.”

“That was just too, too touching and the drama? Oh yeah, baby gimme, gimme and grab the nooddle.”

“Bloody hell to all fuck.”

“Yes, you might well say that, William, yes, yes very well scripted...”

It was the same voice, a female’s high trill and now she was walking down the theatre and into the light.

Darla.

Spike looked at her, simply looked. Her petite unchanging form–her heart shaped face framed with loose blonde hair and the eyes of a devil.

“I think...I think...” And here she took a moment to think as if that illustrated her ability to ruminate--

“I think...it would be hard, very hard...for you to imagine, how angry, how very, very, very, very disturbed and pissed in my panties I am at you, dear, dear, dear...sweet William.”

She said it like ice, like razor slicing flesh off a living body and yes Spike would have to mad indeed not to know fear.

“Good.” Darla said smugly. “Good. Not exactly a shivering nancy yet...but there’s hope, I have great expectation for the quivering nancy boy level of emotional undress.”

“Let me kill him, Darla–he, he stopped me, let me kill him for you–“ Tony called out from the stage to the petite blonde with cold steel for pretend eyes.

They weren’t eyes--they were orbs that sliced and diced and killed.

“–YOU! You toad and toady, you are not to touch or see the likes of Spike again.”

Darla lashed these words at Tony with such dripping disdain Spike could feel the man’s vitals wither and shrink as he stood next him. Darla was looking back to Spike and now she spoke almost in an almost winsome whisper.

“He was one of the we four, we four, we four who are no more.”

And then she repeated the phrase in sweet sing song:

“We four who are no more...weren’t you William?”

Pause and then he looked into her eyes and answered:.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I was William the Bloodiest and learned it all at your table.”

This seemed to satisfy her and so she now called back to the crew he knew she had brought with her.

“Did you hear that everybody? Is he talking loud enough, projecting to the balconies, good elocution and enough tut, tut?”

And here her minions pushed and shepherded Maive, Dorothy, George, Andy, Rhonda, Amal, Ollie and god, they had Millie too and Balthasar or er Ted and Allen, oh god...almost everyone scheduled for the Saturday rehearsal except Buffy. No Buffy, not yet...(what time was it? Surely she would be here soon–stall, stall...)

They must have been watching the exits and grabbed everyone coming and or trying to go–but they weren’t all here, the complete cal list wasn’t in evidence–so perhaps anyone in hiding might still escape...and Buffy...

“Here...bring me a couple of pastries...I think our William has forgotten the taste of human blood and needs a refresher course–you there, breasts in blue and you ‘ass in black jeans...Hey! It’s tits and ass! That old money shot--well, there you go, it’s tested and true for a reason ...”

Here Darla gestured for her minions to pull Maive and Amal out of the hostage audience and down to the end of the stage. Ollie broke free from the small redheaded vamp standing next to him and ran at one of the vamps pulling Maive down to the stage and the redheaded vamp flew at him and took his arm and twisted it back at an unnatural angle–there was a crack of breaking bone and William swallowed.

Ollie sank down into a theatre seat but stifled his scream and that was good, that was very good–show no fear, fear was bad. Millie went to him and stood behind him one hand on his shoulder to help him stay still.

Good, good, Millie, good, keep them all as quiet as the background music you should never hear.

Maive and Amal were at the end of the stage looking pinched and shallow but still standing on their own two feet.

“Which one William?” Darla asked

He looked at her evenly and said.

“They are both excellent actors, both fine actors, but then so was Tony and looked how he turned out.”

William looked at Maive and Amal and they looked back, eyes large and luminous and asking:

What? What? What?

Darla was looking at the two and cocked her head and laughed prettily and said.

“Oh no, silly, not for turning, for plucking, I feel the need for a grape--The girl I think...look at those breasts–I think she must be juicy, don’t you? I think I can get through a six pack of these actooors–no problem...”

Oh god.

Oh god, Buffy where are you?

Where he would not have killed Tony–he would not hesitate to kill Darla. She was evil. She was in the three percent of the world that was beyond redemption and so he needed Buffy because he knew he would not be able to penetrate her aura by himself–killing a person or demon wasn’t just a matter of breaking the body, but piercing the will, and a team would be needed to take Darla down and she needed to be taken down.

He suddenly understood that if he was killed, if they were all killed, that particular tragedy might be second place to the opportunity to remove the terrible tortured thing called Darla from the world.

Her rage at the loss of Angel and Dru and their world plan had driven her hot and into insane red–her eyes weren’t pretend human any longer, she was starting to morph and stay demon–like The Master. Her Master.

Not his; his master was Shakespeare, but what? Was he gonna ‘ode’ her to death? Talk her death?

And then he got a terrible idea, a terrible, terrible idea.

He said mildly, because this had to be all about the smoothy, smooth and from the sideways–

“I see, you were watching the perimeter.”

William nodded toward the group of actors.

Darla a little distracted, turned away from Maive to look at William.

“Angelous taught me too, William...each member of my family taught me and brought something unique to the feast of us. Not like this toad.” And here she gestured to Tony.

Tony was trying desperately to hold onto something, anything instead of breaking down into a blubber. His sire despised him, worst than loathing, thought him less than dirt and unworthy of her gaze. She didn’t even look at him just pointed and let the rest of the room look or not.

Tony tried appeasement.

“I will do anything, Darla, give me something to do and–“

“You will never call me by name–for the short duration of your unlife you may call me Master and I will call you... ‘Maybe’– maybe now, maybe later. Spike speaks the truth Maybe. Weren’t you listening?” she said to Tony, still without looking at him.

“That is one of William’s amusing gifts and accruement...some of his others are not as obvious,” and then she added duskly; “with his clothes on.”

And then Spike felt a shiver, that old, old shiver of dark sex that terrible tantalizing pull of sex without thought or...conscious and the feeling of being in control and god of your own world. It was all illusion, all fakery, he reminded himself but still the pull was there, the old memories were very strong and here in Darla’s presence and only one generation removed from the old devil himself, yeah, yeah, he was remembering and he said this:

“I remember, Darla...never underestimate the power of the natural attachment.”

She stepped well away from Maive now and came closer to him.

“I believe you are right...you know, I really should strip a guy naked and turn it on before I take the trouble to turn him, but... Tony had other uses and imagine my pleasant grimace when I picked up the trace of the trace of the scent that was you near him and from at least fifty paces. That will tell you how dearly, how long and how relentless I have been in my search for you our William. How much I wanted to see you and doesn’t that just make you feel all rosy knowing how dearly great grandmama wants to hold you?”

“You were a whore in life, Darla and you are a whore now and you have a price and a payoff and nothing has changed and so what is it?”

Her face remained calm, her demeanor unruffled and Spike knew how sensitive she was about this particular issue and how deeply she had loathed the men who had used her and so she had extracted revenge throughout the centuries and so, yeah, it alarmed him that she remained so completely un-phased at his attempt to draw her out and as if to cinch that impression she said.

“Oh you are wrong Spike, for once your canny sight has a blind side.” And here she came up close to the edge of the stage and breathed softly. “I want you, my love I hate, only you.”

Spike shivered, he couldn’t help it. He was long past caring about pleasing his great grand dame but, but he understood the needs and the strange dark pleasures in being a slave. A creature without responsibility was free from self analysis and self reprisal because what was felt and done was never the slaves fault and in a strange broken way, he recognized the lure of it. And now he knew how Liam had been hooked, how Tony had been hooked. To be at the receiving end of such power, such hunger, such abandon and such need and men lived to be needed.

She felt her pull working on him, of course she did and so she sidled up to him, splaying her legs only slightly, just a bit but his eyes went down to look and as he felt his groin begin to pulse, he shook his head and took in a breath and then she was up close and whispering in his ear.

“I’m going to turn you into my potted plant, you will be my spike for ever and ever and I will water you a little, feed a little, maybe a little sunshine too–won’t that be fun? And you won’t be a pet, but a plant; I will keep you alive for awhile, maybe ten years or so, just planted right there for me to ride when I want. That’s your personal hell, isn’t William? No more of this running around the world and getting crazy with the getting of souls and the getting of life and doing just whatever the hell you want; because there you will be forever, and ever my own personal spike, and with a jumbo pack like yours–I won’t need anyone else for at least, oh, I don’t know, maybe three hundred years. Everyday you will beg me to kill you until day by day, I change the shape of your nature and you love me for hating you...”

William closed his eyes and breathed deep.

This is what his life brought him to. All his decisions, all his desires and his impetuous action brought him to this moment. He had killed Angel and Dru and now he was here and that was that. This was his lookout and no one else’s and so no one should bear the brunt of this but him and that was that too. Besides, she couldn’t touch him. He was the only one here she couldn’t touch and so just keep the focus center stage...

“Live in hell, Darla darling you bloody bitch.” He said calmly

Instantly she was in front of him and slapped him hard enough that his head snapped back but not off.

“You, you...monster...” she hissed into his face “you monster, you vile degenerate that would kill your own family...” She was almost screeching now and certainly projecting to the balconies.

“Praisin’ me then, are you? Next I know you’ll be a suckling pig nursing off ‘lil Spike.”

A gasp from the audience and he watched Darla, struggle not to rip his heart out and eat it.

And so he went on:

“I wonder if you’ll swallow–I think you will, I think you’ll love drinking down some borrowed power–cuz thas’ who you are right? A whore on her knees again and you came back a human–yeah I heard about it...you were given life on a platter and still you go back–you got nothing Darla, You. Are. A. Vampire. And so you steal and suck– “

She lost her human face and her monstrous rage was terrible to see, to feel, she filled the room with such black murderous anger, Spike could hear some of the cast members begin to sob openly and it made his mind up–Buffy wasn’t coming–fate had something else in mind and had kept her away and so he made a command decision and yes, there were some things worse than death and that was life with Darla or unlife with Darla or anything with Darla–and so this was it, the stand.

It wouldn’t be enough to torture him for the brevity of a human life span–oh no, she would need centuries for her brand of justice, but if she was angry enough she would blaze through them all before she had a chance to think and...and so they would all escape, in a way. But if she started with him...there still might be time for...

Buffy luv...Buffy...

And now Darla was gripping him in her iron claws and breathing into his face and shaking him and then a voice burst in...it was Tony crying out:

“No, no master no...no remember your plan...”

And this halted her, inches only moments away from success and poor, poor Tony, poor fool.

“Yesss, yess...” Hissed Darla. “The Plan. I’m going to remake the family you took away from me our William and I can’t think of anyone who would be a better slave to me than you in doing it. As a matter of fact, the sooner I turn you, the sooner I can be rid of certain toads who dare to correct me–“

She blazed this last icy blast over her shoulder to Tony. You could never win with Darla, never.

“Darla...put me down.” Spike said in his smooth even voice and Darla laughed.

“Don’t try your Jedi mind tricks with me, boy, I made that game.”

“Put me down Darla.” Spike said evenly and Darla laughed but did ease him back down so that he was standing on his own two feet.

“You and me, we go back and so there’s no use hiding in it. You’re just about as evil as it gets but even you should get one shot, one chance for a change and so this is it: you kill me, you kill any of us in any way whatever, undead or forever and Buffy will hunt you down and into dust. That’s a promise.”

He seemed so calm and certain her eyebrows pulled together and she looked at him intently. The mention of Buffy sharpened her attention but she was Darla wasn’t she?

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“Leave, get out here and consider it good advice from the long lost and a nod to the half of us missing–

“--Don’t you mention them, you don’t even get to talk about them ever, next you’ll be blubbering sorry–“

 ”--I was wrong. I acted fast and before they did the crime...and it hurt me to do it–to not give them a chance to back up–“

“–Oh, they would have done it, I was on my way to help and you would have been on board too, after Dru and I were done with you.”

It was impossible for her, at least at this time on this world–she was far too far into the pit to dream even of the color grey.

“You are done on this world, it is changing, can’t you feel it? Change with it, show some mercy or Buffy will hunt you down and dust you.”

He used the simplest words to describe the event to come as if to a simple mind.

Pause...and of course Darla only heard the threat; was only attuned to the fight.

“Well, if Buffy is coming after me–I better have you around to kill her for me, dontcha think?” Darla hissed back.

Good, good, this is what he wanted, all his life he had been fearing and wanting this moment, this small window, his small childlike cry of: ‘do over..do over...’

Spike smiled softly and whispered:

“I have my own will now, Darla, you can’t touch me–“

Her nose flared and her eyes went black and then she was visible to the world as the monster she was.

She said spat out at him:

“–Oh yeah? Watch this.”

And then with a pounce and a dip into an almost tango; she was bending him back, back, back, back on then on his neck, she was on his neck and he felt the sink of her sharp fangs biting deep down into his flesh and pulling him up and out and into her.

Pulling, pulling him up and sucking his bright light into her dark abyss. He was helpless in her grip and so lay there in her arms, quite disjointed and dared only to stare at the ceiling of the theatre–to look at the cornice and small paintings in each box and wonder at the time and attention to detail and was there more time back in the day? Were there more hours in the day? For such an art took time and attention and patience, patience--‘wait’ he told himself: wait for the moment. He kept himself deliberately remote from thoughts of his beloved, wouldn’t even think her name lest her energy be tied up in this mess and he got confused about just what was trying to suck him up into orgasm. No. No. No.

This was not his mate. This was not his beloved, his wife and forever chosen life and so he said: ‘No’

He said it spitting her blood back out and into her face. Somehow her minions had forced his mouth open to take some blood dropping from her breast and so now he had spit it back at her.

Doesn’t belong to me, bitch, here, take it back in spittle and spades.

Shock.

Rage.

He was too weak to think, to care to do anything but smile softy and say once more:

“No.”

He thought of Romeo, oddly and even now saw something new in the best of Bards and oh god, now I see-- ‘fortunes fool’ was fool in the old world definition, walking blindly, leaping faith and is this a cliff or my trust?

It was a pun.

His heart laughed and bugger all–he had got it wrong all these years or half right and left behind the best bit and speaking of which now he dared to think of Buffy–

--Now he dared to call out to Buffy in his mind and yes, there she was, there she was, a sweet bright light like fresh rain running and no tears luv, no tearing--she would be here soon, the others would be safe but his greeting and goodbye never made it to out loud.

The world went inky and come night, come night...

*

Chapter 27

Juliet:                Where is Romeo? Where is my love?

                                      Romeo and Juliet

                                      William Shakespeare

*

Jack had been watching his place, his building all night, ever since that night, the night they had met face to face and Spike hadn’t taken the warning seriously and he hadn’t left Buffy alone and that in itself deserved a smack and then, them alone all night and into the morning deserved another.

He knew himself well enough to know that it ate at something vital in him, something intrinsically import to his own nature and the nature of his work. Of how he helped people and now all the best advice he had given over the decades and all the best advice given to him by spirit, now felt like tin hurting the inside of his mind. The angry hurting child in us all was hard to reach sometimes and here he was face to face with the darkest part of his nature.

The shamanic way of present the tidings, give the news to seeker and step back, be the small part in the big story and step back–love god first and best and let the heart lead–all that was true and he knew, he experienced it to be true and still here in his own crisis he ate it and choked it down and hardened his heart against the soft pats of spirit, of angels on his back.

He felt them there as he often did, the soft pats and warm hugs and kiss and how they had helped him when he had parted from Buffy, how they kept him on track and seeing straight and he had done the right thing, he had believed he had done the right thing when he had left her and now he didn’t know.

Look, there he is–here he comes and indeed William Ashley Pitt was opening the front door and yes there behind him was Buffy. He watched them say goodbye. She took his hand and looked into his eyes in a soft steady way, stroked the side of his cheek and then kissed him gently and then he watched as Ashley-Pitt leaned into the kiss, deepening it, pushing into her the way a man does when he feels he has a right.

Jack looked down and away. Buffy loved him. She loved him...in an odd seldom seen way. An old married couple way. Complete, steady and the hard work done.

Well, he was sorry for her, he was–Buffy didn’t need another loss in her life so soon of the heels of others, but there was nothing for it. Because Ashley-Pitt, no, no–Spike. Best to think of him as Spike (that will keep what he had to do real) Spike was not long for this world. That was just the way it was going to be–in one way or another. And so it might as well be in a way that served everyone involved.

Not long. One way or another, one way or another he was a dead man walking.

Jack felt his right hand angel, his top hat guardian touch him gently on his right shoulder but the meaning was unclear. Jack stopped, looked down at the cement of the sidewalk.. Looked at the cracks and felt and listened, but received no specific message no ‘advance go forward’ no ‘halt’ just a loving hand at his shoulder.

Frustrated he asked in his mind, tears in his eyes.

What? What do you expect me to do? I’m down here in the trenches, I’m the one down here, I’m the one who’s gonna take the heat for this and what do you expect me to do with this information?

Do the right thing.

Small, quiet soft voice and Jack shook his head and wiped away the tears with the back of his hand and whispered fervently:

“I don’t know what that is!”

No answer but the soft presence was gone now and he hurried after Spike. Hurried after the walking nuclear bomb he was going to defuse.

Jack followed Spike at a distance, old warrior that he was, even one in hiding, under human flesh–Spike might sense Jack at the perimeter of his aura, but no. Spike seemed distracted, walked an odd pace, sometimes slow, sometimes speeding up and this seemed to indicate something was going on inside his mind.

All well and good. He hadn’t looked like much to Jack at first glance, but those were the ones to watch sometimes. He did have a Richard Widmark quality though--hard and heroic in an off kilter complexity. He was not the Hercules, but the Everyman in his own private revolution. Sparticus. In short, he could run the world right off it’s storyline. That Buffy loved him was already an indication of the revolution underway and yes he knew this would hurt Buffy, he knew it.

But it would be the lesser of evils. It would. He reinforced this last bit in his mind as if speaking to god herself and had to underline it so the nearsighted deity could read the situation right

He looked at Spike again–his glasses. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. That could work for him

When the opportunity came it came fast and Jack took it with out thinking.

Spike was waiting at a streetlight for the light to change and when it did he began to cross the street and when his first foot hit the pavement, Jack began a swirling motion with his right hand clockwise and double time while holding his left palm up toward Spike holding him in place. It was ana easy thing to do, Spike was so distracted it was a small thing to step into the space around him.

Technically he wasn’t interfering with Spikes free will, just speeding up time around him.

Technically.

To the onlooker, it would appear as if a man suddenly appeared as if from nowhere in the middle of the street, horns honking and yes a van, a delivery van was on a beeline for the Spike like an asteroid looking to make a new ice age.

Out of the corner of his eye, out of his left eye he saw a little girl with long honey brown hair step off the curb and into the street, she was moving slow, very slow and instantly Jack knew she could see the hologram bending and to her innocent eyes the traffic was at a standstill and so Jack only had three seconds to choose and so--he did the right thing.

He snapped his hand shut and leapt into the street, grabbed the child wrapping his arm firmly around her chest and pulling her back in from rough seas to safe shore.

He didn’t look back to Spike but heard the horn honking and the call to ‘wake up!’ And yes, yes, he did. He woke up. Barely, barely in time.

He was still holding the child and hugging her hard, patting her hair when a tall willoy woman with long light brown hair and large eyes, tear filled eyes, come running up to them crying

“Stacy, Stacy...oh god, thank you, thank you–“

And here she pulled the child from Jacks arms and into her own and the little girl confused at the fuss, looked around with large eyes.

A tall man with dark hair and a piercing intelligence in his eyes came up behind the woman and embraced her tightly and then kissed her head.

“Wesley, did you see? I couldn’t move–Stacey was running into the street and I couldn’t move.”

“I saw.” The intense man said simply staring Jack hard in the eye and offered no thanks, instead he pulled the woman in under his arm and whispered.

“Fred, we need to get off the street now...”

And then he pulled her into the crowd and they were gone.

That’s how it worked sometimes, that’s how God cast her vote in things.

Jack looked after them for a moment and then stepped out of the way of the busy sidewalk and went to lean up against the nearest building.

He braced his hands on his knees and shook his head from side to side and thought:

(Sorry, sorry)

–so make amends--go, now..hurry... 

And so he raced after Spike, knowing where to go, but still not completely sure what to do.

*

Jack felt the caution light come on when he came within fifty feet of the theatre and he slowed down to look the place over. To get a feel for things. The back way–there was a window round the back way he could get through and he checked for the abbreviated rapid firing crossbow under his long coat on the left side and the assortment of blades on his right. Ready as he would ever be.

He found the window and climbed the dumpster and hoisted himself up and got in and down onto the first flight, which turned out to be the back stage concrete stairwell as noiselessly as he could. Which was soundless compared to the fight, to the battle raging somewhere out there on stage.

It could have been a rehearsal, it could have been a brilliant performance by two brilliant actors and then he almost laughed to himself, because weren’t we all actors to the audience in heaven?

Funny, God, funny.

Somehow, doesn’t seem so funny down here sometimes, though, but save the review for later...now, what was going on–what to do?

Was he to wait until Spike was turned?

Was he here to make sure that Spike stayed dead?

Spike was still alive now, Jack could hear him out there–he moved to stand behind the curtains masking the third wing and watched a fight royal between a man and a fledgling. A strong fledgling.

But it was no contest really. Jack could see Spike had the fight and was using it, extending it to wear the vampire down in his mind and spirit.

Jack was just at the pointing of thinking of hoping that he had misread the fates when he heard the voice–it was a female voice, but so hard and dark it made him shiver. Truly.

It started with his heart, a quaking in his heart that moved right down through his limbs knocking his knees and shaking his hands.

He could barely listen to that things voice without running.

His hands were shaking so badly he worried about holding the bow without dropping.

He had one clear shot at her when she stepped hissing like a snake up to Spike, but his hands, his body was shaking so badly he dared not risk it. This thing was evil. Evil beyond recall, beyond redemption. He would only get one chance. He closed his eyes and breathed until he felt himself calm somewhat and waited. Wait. Just wait. Just wait a little longer and get them both. This was about bagging a bigger fish. Kill this vamp and postpone Spikes death for another day? No. No. Now.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t kill Spike when he was a man–but he could damn well make sure that he stayed dead.

And so he waited and watched.

*

Three things happened very fast and in succession.

Spike falling to the floor.

That complete drop and drop of body without spirit on board and Jack knew he wasn’t getting back up again and when the she-devil stood back and looked at her upstart on the stage floor gone from her grasp, she threw her head back and raged a roar that shook Jack’s bones and he fired.

On instinct or accident he fired and the arrow made of hard oak and true as trees, flew straight at the organ called her heart. Was it his sharp intake of breath or the slight sound of feathers on the wind that made her spin around? She caught the missile in a dead stop lizard fast and only one inch away from her body.

She looked up, her feral expression going green now, suffocating in her own gaul. “Get him!”

She ordered and two minions fairly flew at him, he shot at them both, nailing one in the stomach, the other shot going wild.

They pulled him out of hiding and dragged him to Darla.

“You.” She said with accusation and lust. She held him in her eyes and Jack felt the pull dark, and terrible and the promise of power. “You can entertain me until Spike comes back–“

She never finished her sentence--

–A sword swung around and hacked halfway through her neck. She was shocked into stillness and then screamed as she turned to face her attacker–it was Tony.

Tony standing behind her and forgotten in Jacks wake, her minions were all holding hostages now and so Tony had picked a blunt sword, a prop from a play he was once in and hacked at his sires neck. The sword was still stuck in her neck and he didn’t dare pull it out to try again. She was reaching up to pull it out herself holding Tony trapped in her steel gaze and then:

“Darla!”

She spun toward the voice–couldn’t help it because it was The Slayer. The Slayer of her nightmares come to flesh and fight, and she knocked aside the first stake Buffy threw from across the room, the second one she did not. It went straight into her heart and shocked and falling already to dust she screamed out a wordless curse.

Jack only had a moment, only one and so he pulled his long axe from inside his coat and arched it high over his head and swung down aiming at Spike’s neck.

Buffy flew.

Nothing less than flight was called for and so she went through the air aiming for Jacks knees to lift him up and away–the angle, the stage being higher by almost a foot would help and all this she noted like giving clinic as she sprung.

She hit Jack just right, just so and lifted them both up and over Spike to roll sprawling across the stage. She knew the impact of the axe had not been made–she would have felt that conducted through Jacks body to hers. But had there been a glancing blow? She looked back to Spike and saw his still, very still body and something inside her began to break apart, still laying sprawled on the floor. she turned on Jack–

“What did you do?” She asked in deadly calm her and eyes were something too terrible to look into–but Jack looked, he did and he said.

“Look at the wound, Buffy–look at the wound.”

She didn’t need to–from Jacks voice she knew, even when she was out running on the street she knew.

“No...no...” she whispered and crawled to where Spike lay.

He looked quiet, calm. She said it again and this time it seemed to be addressed to him.

“No...”

She leaned forward and put her hand on his chest feeling for his heart beat, leaned down and pressed her cheek on his, looking for a stirring, that soft stir in him at her touch. When she touched him even when he was a vampire in the deep coma of his deepest death sleep, she could feel a stir. Just a murmur back like a soft greeting buried in his flesh always there and only for her.

Nothing.

She was sitting close to him on the stage and pulled him up to her chest.

“He’s gone, Buffy.”

There was the sound of sirens now, the sound of sirens just outside the theatre.

Jack looked up toward the sound and noticed the theatre cleared of vampires–they ran when the Slayer killed their master of course and now there was Millie opening the doors of the theatre and the emergency unit running down the ramp.

“He’s gone–“ Jack said again.

“How long?” Buffy asked without looking at him

Pause...

”You, you don’t want to bring him back, you won’t want to bring him back–he wouldn’t want it–“

‘Don’t you dare tell me anything except how long.” Buffy said quietly but her eyes shot something so hard and broken into him he felt like crying. He whispered.

“About five minutes.”

The emergency crew were running now down the aisle with their kits and a stretcher.

“Pack him in ice...” she ordered the emergency team. “Millie?”

“Got it!” Called out Ollie, he was cradling his arm, but already limping out the double doors followed by Amal, George and Dorothy. They were heading for the concession area in the lobby and ice.

No need to tell Buffy about brain damage, lack of oxygen or the other thing, the fate worse than death–she knew and so no one spoke a word, simply did as ordered and soon they were on their way to a special ward in a downtown clinic.

Buffy knew Sarah had already called ahead–it was all being arranged and now.

She rode beside him in the emergency van, sat behind his head while the team worked on him, I/V’s hooked up to blood, sweet blood from some kind anonymous donor, and strangely, Buffy thought of them now. Those people, the donors and the kindness of strangers. Some kind stranger giving up a pint of the precious on a Saturday afternoon and getting cookies and orange juice as thanks.

People were wonderful.

Her hand found Spike’s hair and she wove her fingers through it, finding and taking heart in the silky. soft curls, the spring of the curls and how alive this felt in her hand and said nothing, thought nothing and held on.

 *

Chapter 28

Romeo:             Well, what was yours?

Mercutio:           That dreamers often lie.

Romeo:             In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

Mercutio:           O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

                                                                William Shakespeare

                                                                Romeo and Juliet

*

He was aware of her skin, the feel of her soul beneath her skin and stroked her soft like playing music on her and she pushed closer to him and then raised her head to look into his eyes.

Just look.

Wide green eyes into blue gray and glowing with the clarity of knowing oneself.

And loving anyway.

They smiled together at the thought.

And then bowed their heads together too.

Humility. The perc that comes with being self aware and winning the war against fear.

Spike stroked the long fine scar there, just there under Buffy’s right eye and running down her cheek.

“How did this happen, Buffy, you never said...”

“Oh that, “ she said, “That’s from the tracks of my tears...”

“Ah pet, ah lamb...” he whispered

“Sorry, shouldn’t have said that–didn’t mean it, not really.” She thought for a moment and then said.

“Slayers heal, you know, everything–“

“Ah, yeah...so I’ve heard...” he dead-panned and she shook her head

“Get over yourself...” She thought for a moment and than said “I think I kept it, I think it stayed, because I wanted to keep it. I wanted to remember and every time I looked at myself and every time the world looked at me everyone would see how much it hurt to be alive sometimes.”

Pause as he fingered the scar.

“I did it didn’t I?”

She looked down and then said softly.

“Not on purpose...not–“

Spike had closed his eyes and he looked for the life where he would do such a thing and found the thread.

“You tried to stop me.”

“Yes.”

“You tried to pull me off the Hellmouth...you pulled the amulet off...”

She nodded and then said, “and made it worse...you fell in and it closed after you. I’m so sorry Spike, I’m...”

“Shh, shh, pet tis all right, you never did it again, did you? Just that one world–right?”

She looked away and rested her cheek against his chest.

“Wanted to.” Was all she said.

“Still, you respected me, that’s something with no price...”

She kissed his chest and then he chuckled; “–I mean...it’s not like I haven’t had my moments of bad decisions.”

“That’s true.’ She readily agreed.

And they laughed.

“And what now pet?”

“That’s the question I’m here to ask you.” Buffy raised her head and looked deep into his eyes.

What now?

As if in answer Buffy supplied.

“I’ve done all I dare to do, all that’s right and respectful under the circumstances...and, and it’s up to you William. I’m told it will be tough for you for a while if you come back, new adjustments to make--but there are good things, great things too–“

“–Just like life.” He supplied easily.

“Yeah...” She nodded but didn’t smile.

There was a question, he had to ask--had too.

“What do you want Buffy?”

“This is your life, William aka Spike, I can’t decide that for you–“

“No joking now, tell me. I invited you deep into my life, into my soul and so yeah, you matter.”

He looked at her and waited.

“I want you to come back if you want to work this story into the something wonderful. I think it can be. Spike, I think this can be a great one.”

She looked down here to collect herself and then looked at him, joy barely daring to shine her eyes.

‘I think we can be something wonderful.”

He pressed the crown of his head to hers and sighed. He knew that of course, he knew it, but like all great visions and dreams, it begins with someone speaking the words out loud in an amazed whisper.

Life was wonderful.

She was fading now, less substantial and so he had to ask quick:

“Buffy, Slayer–will I be...alive?”

But she was gone and if he wanted to continue the conversation he would have to follow her into who knew what.

*

Chapter 29

*

There was no talking to her.

She was all stone and sentinel and never left his bedside and never spoke.

Not to Jack, certainly not to Jack, who was not allowed within her sight and Ollie saw to that.

The cast and crew had rallied around one of their own and how quickly their world view shifted to include monsters and miracles.

Hadn’t they all thought themselves to be dead? And hadn’t the Prof stepped up for them?

Yes he had.

And so Ollie stayed outside the door or down the hall and Millie sat in for Buffy when she fell asleep because she would not sleep, would not, unless someone she trusted watched over.

Giles had flown in the day–that day and after one look at Buffy’s face, he gathered the small group for a counsel.

They were down the hall from the special unit Spike was in with Buffy still at his side. They were speaking in low tones going over the details for Giles.

Spike had ingested the blood of a master vampire–Jack emphasized this, but then Millie offered hesitantly:

“But he spit it out.”

What?

“What?” asked Giles

“He spit it out–“

“–Right in her face.” Finished Ollie from a few feet down the hallway, where he was watching Buffy.

“Jack?” Giles turned and addressed the tall man who had his head down now and was looking at the floor.

“I’m not sure–“

“He did–“ insisted Millie “And he said something terrible, something that made her, or rather it go into a rage–“

“–Yes, He cursed her, I heard that—but I was backstage, see? Jack said “I was behind them, I couldn’t see it all–“

“And so you don’t know how much he might have taken in?”

“Impossible to say.” Said Jack

“But does that matter, if he says ‘no’ and spits it out?” Millie asked in honest curiosity.

Giles looked at her and shook his head in bewilderment.

“I don’t know...we have no record of this happening before–I simply don’t know. He died, that is a fact, and the emergency team has him going with an almost subterranean heartbeat that most hospitals would never register–and in fact, this has never been done before and so no one is sure if...well, when a person is turned into a vampire, if they truly die–or go into a very deep coma where nothing registers to the human eye or ear and the vital signs simply haven’t, up until this modern age registered on medical equipment. He could be undead and in a coma waiting or....he could be alive and in a coma waiting. There are recorded cases of a human being clinically dead for almost twenty minutes and then coming back. ”

“–So he’s alive.” Millie said grabbing hold of this better idea to her mind and making it a statement as if that put an end to the discussion.

“His temperature is cool, the respiratory equipment is breathing his body for him and he has a heartbeat softer than a small bird–there is no precedent for this. Which, considering the parties involved...seems in itself typical.” Giles said

“Meaning?” Millie asked

“Meaning, this is Spike.” Giles said as if that said it all.

Silence for a moment as they all thought about that.

Jack said it, of course he had to say it.

“Tomorrow will be the third day–no vampire has taken longer than three days to...come back.”

“Yes...” Giles said distracted now looking down the hall to where Spike lay.

“Whatever comes back–won’t be Spike.“ Jack insisted.

“If he comes back as a vampire–“ cut in Millie. Jack didn’t respond to that.

“Jack, just what did you and Sarah see?” Giles asked.

Jack drew in a breath.

“I saw Spike turning her...into a vampire...”

Stunned silence and then Giles asked a strange question.

“What was Buffy’s feeling about that in the dream?”

“Excuse me?”

“What was her attitude–was she defiant? Frightened? Defeated?”

Jacks brows drew together as he thought.

“She...she had flowers in her hair.”

Well that was unexpected.

“She was weaving flowers in her hair and...and...”

“Did it ever occur to you that it might be–metaphor? Or a mixed message?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

‘I mean, life, the world, the heavens indeed have their own way of working something to a private cosmic inside joke. A little bit to one person, a little bit to another and weaving it all into a big picture no one person can see. Clues to get people to behave in a certain way–put you, for example, in place at the right time as a stepping stone for Buffy to kill Darla...enough information to take us only as far into the story as we are needed, and no further.”

Jack thought about that and then before he could speak Giles said.

“I know Buffy. Have you seen her face? Well, not now, you best not go near her for the moment–but I’m telling you I know that look and I don’t know it. She will let nothing, she will let no one interfere with what’s happening to Spike. Not even herself. She sits and waits and watches and I trust she knows something more than the rest of us. She is holding the next to the last piece of the big picture and Spike is holding the last–or so I assume, but who can say? Something big had happened here...and every great change in the world begins with a new idea.”

Giles paused and looked up briefly at the ceiling and then back at the small group.

“So Spike said ‘no’ did he? Well, well, well...this may very well be the beginning of a new idea working it’s way into the world and so what I’m saying is--we can’t see it all and so we let them be. That’s it, that’s all.”

Jack stared at him.

“Now do I need to have five Buffy trained combat actors show you out of hospital?”

Jack shook his head and said.

“I’ll go–and by god, Giles, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Giles sighed. “Jack, sometimes it doesn’t matter if we know what we are doing--we do it anyway..”

Silence and then:

“I learned that from Buffy.” Giles said softly and patted Jack on the back. “Good bye old man. And thank you.”

Jack nodded, looked over his shoulder once and left. After he was gone, Giles felt Millie and Ollie relax a bit.

“He looked at them and said in a low voice; “Buffy will do what needs doing, no fears on that–whatever it is–but perhaps, perhaps, it might be necessary to remain at hand, to be available, very near–if, if she needs you...after.”

Millie swallowed and then asked: “You think she might hurt herself?”

Giles shook his head.

“No...no, I don’t think so–at least not on purpose–but she will need friends.

Millie caught herself twisting her wedding band around and around her finger–she stopped and clasped her hands together.

Oh god, oh god, please don’t let it come to that

They all thought as one.

*

Chapter 30 

*

Buffy sat by his right side right into the night, watching the half moon rise and move across the dark sky. It was sliced in half and moving fast now, almost running, looking for the other side.

A beautiful halved moon dipped in shining bright and half filled.

Not half empty.

And once it was gone from sight, she rose, went to the window and closed the blinds tight against the morning sun.

Just in case.

And then she sat back down and watched Spike’s face.

She said nothing, simply sat there with her heart in her eyes and waited. She intertwined her fingers with his and stroked the back of his cool hand with the fingers of her free hand. She looked at his face and then at his hand in hers, fascinated now by the design of bones meeting muscle and covered with sweet skin. She kissed the back of his hand and touched his shoulder lightly, in wonder, like she had just discovered the beauty of his form and then crawled up halfway onto the small single bed and tucked her body in close to his and lay there quietly next to him.

She had heard what they said, of course, down the hall and in the room, those doctors talking; Giles talking–she knew what they said , what they thought, but nothing mattered.

Except for the fact that Spike had said: ‘no.’

She knew him so well and knew this was the thing that haunted him, the thing that played deep into his remaining self loathing. That he had been weak, and that weakness had cost the world thousands of lives. He had been seduced by a short cut to power and so there had been a terrible cost in life and damage done to innocent souls and it was one thing to know that a way of being in the world was the wrong road and quite another to face it and remake it.

Spike had been given the terrible...gift of opportunity and he had won. He was a champion of cats, of small birds, of free will or whatever. He had spoken up as a small thing walking.

Which meant, he had spoken for probably everybody.

She...oh god, Buffy was happy for him, she was. Because it was what he had wanted. And sitting here, thinking here, she could see her own life story go back entwined with his. Back and back and now here and here. And she was grateful to be here, to watch him do this. Amazing.

She began to feel something that she might someday call: peace. Because maybe, just maybe, it all fit together, if you worked the puzzle and didn’t let go of your place in it all--maybe, just maybe, the world wasn’t crazy. Maybe.

Spike had done what seemed impossible and impassable. Find something true and live it. Say no to the stupid things and blow them away.

He wasn’t going to come back a demon strange to her, he wasn’t going to come back some strange monster; she knew it--she believed in a better world than that.

No. The question was. Would he come back?

She remembered heaven, she did, she knew what it felt like to be done and if anyone had completed a life journey, Spike had. He had fulfilled his promise, he had done the deed the Great Earth Mother had asked--she felt sure this was true, so sure and so would he come back after that? She didn’t know.

And so she said nothing, did not beg him to come back, did not press or push but waited, letting him know she was here, still here, regardless, regardless if he came back alive or undead...because of that little detail–she wasn’t sure. And it mattered not at all. Not at all. Just let it be what he wants.

She fell asleep sometime in the night and she hadn’t wanted to–she had meant to stay up and keep watch, but, finally exhausted, she had fallen asleep next to him on the crumpled sheet of his bed.

*

It was soft and warm and felt like sunshine, the sun come up and gently brushing the hair on the back of her head.

When the touch grew heavier her awareness sharpened and she came full awake and drew in her first morning breath. She pulled her head up and looked up at Spike.

His eyes were still closed, but there was movement behind his lids and a fluttering and his hand stroking her hair was drifting now on down to the back of her neck.

He opened his eyes in a surprised start and stared at the white tiled ceiling.

Where was he?

He blinked and..yes, yes he remembered the bite...he remembered and then he saw his chest rise and fill with air and then slow exhale. His left hand rose and removed the respirator from his mouth and throat, his chest lay still and then there was a deep pull of sweet air in and then rise and fall...

Alive.

He was alive, he was barely there, but here he was alive.

He closed his eyes against the sharp joy of it and when tears squeezed out and slid down his cheeks he felt her gentle touch on his arm, and then on his shoulder and then he turned his head, blinked to clear his vision and then opened his eyes and looked into hers.

Buffy.

Buffy, and from where she had fallen asleep on the sheet, there was a sharp red mark an indentation on her cheek that so closely resembled the battle scarred Buffy William had loved so dearly Spike smiled, or did he smile inside? Muscles not quite working right.

His hand worked though and so his fingers went to the red mark and touched it lightly, traced the jagged edge and red protest on her lovely angel face. He touched the scar without worry for her–this would fade. Pain fades. Love lives. She took his hand and kissed his palm and then interlaced his fingers with hers and god, it felt good, so good.

She looked into his eyes and saw him and so she whispered in a cracked voice.

“Hello Spike.”

He smiled a crooked smile that was part paralysis part Spike and her face crumpled into together again tears and she buried her face into his shoulder and so she barely heard his soft voice lilt:

“Hello luv...”

Hello love.

* 

Epilogue

*

And so stories come and go.

One goes through life and bumps up against an amazing story in an amazing person and sometimes it bounces away and sometimes it stays for days and weeks and decades.

Decades of my: ‘what I did today and who I met on the train’

Sitting next to your: ‘I did this today and I thought that too, did you?’

And sometimes the answer was yes and sometimes the answer was no but always it was amazing because Buffy and Spike lived at the center of their world filled with real people, true human beings–even the ones that weren’t. Strictly human, that is.

It was easy to want to be like them, to live like them, to love like them, but how many, after hearing their story were willing to try as hard as them?

Now here is the place of choice–

There are those, who, after hearing the tale, may chose to twist the story into something dispiriting. Deliberately break the moral into:–‘my god, do we really all have to go through all that for a little love?’ And so make it easier to back away, hands in the air and shake, shake, shake heads at a mad, mad world.  

And then there are who those who chose to be inspired by them. Look at Buffy and Spike and think; O.K.. O.K.; there they are on the mountain top and good on you, good on you, it looks good on you up there and maybe if you could do all that–maybe I can do just a little. Smile at the clerk in the store and mean it or help a senior citizen find her way from the parking lot and into the hospital to visit her ill sister.

Are you confused? Are you are lost? Are you hurting? So O.K.--let’s walk together for a little while, cuz, I’m going that way too and isn’t this love? Isn’t this something available daily?

Isn’t this Buffy and Spike working all the levels of all the lives all around them? 

Yeah it is.

And so the following stories are the ones that spin like gold from our Buffy and Spike.

We’ll begin with: The Show Must Go On.

Millie had it on her shoulders, it was in her kit and cradle and would the show be born or be a blow out?

Tony was...gone, if not from the world (and that was a worry in itself) then from their world–he was, in the Bards words–‘banish’ed’ and if that weren’t a blow enough with only a week now before tech...the emotional and psychological condition of the actors involved was shaky to shattered depending on each individuals ability to absorb the world rocked off it’s axis and put back on but with monsters on board now. Real ones.

The actors who were not there that Day–were told all about it from the ones that were and there was no doubt, none, about what was true. Actors are a superstitious lot and lean toward the metaphysical side of things and theatre itself is magic and so it was not too much of a mental stretch to accept the news but what now? How was everybody feeling?

Millie had been prepared for these past few weeks, ever since her dream and she had understudies lined up across the cast and was now looking for understudies to the understudies–Buffy had recommended a guy, a cab driver AKA unemployed actor named Kelly for a new understudy and her instinct was guiding her in that direction and so Ollie was looking into that and now should the current understudy step up? Or should she hire another ‘name’ to play Mercutio. (?)

Ah Tony, my friend...

There was no missing persons report, no police involved–because Tony was still seen around town. He had been seen at his apartment and in several clubs–and as far as the world was concerned he was around, just a drop out and maybe a drug addict and did Millie want to sue for breach of contract?

Well, obviously she did not. She convinced the Producer to let him go and keep the show afloat for one reason only.

It was good. It was a wonderful play with a wonderful cast and the message resonated in a way that brought the world ‘round full circle. It was the right time to do this production and so she had called a cast meeting and detailed the status and how they all stood in production. And...here was the deep breath and risk–she would not hold any one to their contracted obligation, if any he’s or she’s felt they were unable to participate for whatever reasons–they would be free to leave...unencumbered.

She let that sink in and then said. But.

The Prof was in the clinic and there was some therapy needed, but he would be fine and Buffy was there watching him and so they would both be fine and see those five women in the corner of the room? Those were Slayers, personally trained by Buffy and would guard every corner of the theatre throughout the run--but here was the real thing:

How much did they want to tell this story?

They all were like the townsfolk now, the Montaques and Capulets on the morning after and what was would they chose?

There were so many ways the world was willing to tear things down and people up too and were they willing to create something up out of their fear and bitter gaul? Their world had been torn down around them and now what? She couldn’t guarantee everyone’s safety, she couldn’t promise that...she could only offer that the play was a brilliant shining light and did they want to light up the night or not?

It was really that straight.

After Millie gave her speech she watched and waited.

Amal and Rhonda were sitting down in the front and Millie noticed that they were holding hands in a discreet way, yet public too. They had come together softly, and surely because of Buffy and Spike. Buffy and Spike and the visit to the clinic and watching Buffy hold The Prof’s hand; fingers intertwined and her other hand on his temple, brushing the fringe of his hair. Just sitting there and being still together like it was no big deal–just soft and easy while they had chatted with Amal and Rhonda about nothing, they had talked about flowers, of all things, and how someone learning English might have trouble confusing flower with flour and the culinary hijinks that could ensue and all the while Buffy held the Profs hand and stroked his hair and after that it had been so easy for Amal and Rhonda to come together and be still and just stop worrying about tomorrow or the world.

It had taken Buffy and Spikes gentle reminder of fragile life and fragile blessings and if you don’t take them when the come your way–how very long it is until there is another.

And so Rhonda aged 42 and Amal 26 were in love and so they were the first to stand after Millie’s speech.

A real life Romeo and Juliet (sans the tragedy, thank you very much).

And then Allen the gentle man playing the Friar stood and then George playing Tybalt and Andy’s Benvolio, and the Prince and Ellen McKight who was playing Lady Montique and Balthasar/Ted and Abraham, and then, and then...Dorothy stood and Millie relaxed a bit.

Not everyone stood, not everyone was ready–this wasn’t about peer pressure, this was about to thy own self be true. But still it was good to have the core group now and so would Maive stay?

Millie looked toward where Maive sat at the back of the room trying to make herself small. Millie noted the baggy clothes Maive was wearing to conceal her figure, to hide herself and Millie’s heart went out to her.

She should get back on the horse, she could be a brilliant actress and she needed to get back on the horse–but she couldn’t force her, all she could say was:

“Thank you everybody–now if you haven’t been able to stand up–I understand, but I don’t necessarily need to know until, what? This evening, I think–please think about it and give me your final answer by this evening...say 9:00 p.m.--but if you decide not to be involved, please come to see the play because this show will go on and please, please go to see The Prof and Buffy because if they don’t see you in the play, and you know they care about you, they will worry about it and so drop by to see them, O.K.? Right. Long day tomorrow, good night everybody.”

Millie meant what she said about leaving some slack for the decision making process–but she wasn’t above using some guilt as well. Well, a lot of guilt, really, because how could anyone take one look at the Prof...or Spike, as Buffy was calling him now (that switch was gonna be hard to get used to) and not sing out the battle cry of:

‘Win this one for the Gipper!’

Couldn’t be done.

*

Maive was afraid. She was. She could admit this to herself and to anyone who wanted to listen–which, seemed like no one.

People were chatting and if not actually laughing yet, were definitely going about this all like it was all about getting this show on the road–which, she guessed it was.

They were moving to the performance space. No one was going back to the old theatre and if Millie had to absorb the extra cost herself she would and there were bodyguards and that was great, just great. But none of them, the other actors almost got turned into bite size. Well, maybe Amal, would get it–but he was in love. This whole nightmare had brought him and Rhonda together and so he wasn’t crying a bitter tear and might just see The Terrible Day as one big bonus and so that left her...

The cheese stands alone.

She was afraid to do the show–but she was even more afraid to go see Will.

She wanted to see him...and maybe Buffy too, she could throw that in as an aside...but she was afraid too in a way she didn’t quite understand. Yes she did. It was about those terrible things that woman, that creature had said about him, and, well, he hadn’t denied them, he had agreed...and then there was the terrible things he said. And so who was he? Who was her mentor? Where was the person she had trusted more than any one else in the world? Was he a lie? Did that make everything she had found in herself a lie?

But. Still. She needed to see him. Especially if she was going to quit the show, she would need to face him.

And so she went. Funny thing about people in hospitals–you could just drop in, no phone call, no appointment just drop in like a house falling on the Wicked Witch of the West.

But please don’t let that be a metaphor for this scenario.

*

She checked her reflection in the glass of the partition before entering his room, her hair was rumpled, she wore no make up, she had on a baggy black sweatshirt and still orderlies and Docs and guys from the staff were checking her out. Whatever.

She took a deep breath and moved into the open doorway and knocked gently on the door that was ajar.

Buffy was standing to Will’s left and so was in his line of vision to the doorway. Buffy turned around and looked at Maive and did she smile gently or was that just her eyes going deeper, and warmer in welcome? Maive was a little shocked at the site of her. Buffy looked deeper...more resonant...something like still waters that ran deep, very different, ancient, but beautiful too.

Peaceful.

That’s it. She looked like she had found the answer to everything and great, great, great. Yoda Buffy.

Maive blinked and moved soundlessly into the room and then she saw Buffy lean over and say very low into the Profs left ear.

“It’s Maive...”

Buffy was still blocking the Prof from view, but Maive could see enough of his face to see him smile. Soft and easy and genuine and she relaxed a bit at that. He seemed pleased that she was here.

When Buffy stepped away from Will and moved around the bed and back to her post, her chair to his right, Maive got her first clear view of Professor Will Ashley-Pitt.

She wanted to cry.

Right there, she wanted to break down into a blubber.

He seemed so altered, so changed so completely devastated...

She looked down while she breathed and tried to calm herself and cover her reaction. She played with the corner of the plastic bag containing the book she had brought and had absolutely no idea what to say.

What do you say to someone who looks like he was slammed into concrete from a twelve story drop? Well, one thing...she couldn’t be as afraid of him as she had been...not when her heart was breaking for him.

She risked a glance up and it was to see the Prof smiling gently at her, amused, genuinely and softly amused and when she looked to Buffy she was shocked to see an almost identical expression on her face. Why, these people...were happy. They were actually happy.

Maive came a little closer as if this was something she needed to study up close.

She watched Buffy take his hand and intertwine her fingers with his and when he turned toward Buffy, there was such a warm look of complete unfiltered love between them, Maive wanted to cry again. But this time for a different reason.

Her eyes were weeping, she was crying...she searched for a Kleenex, couldn’t find anything in her pocket and then Buffy’s voice chuckled in the silence saying softly.

“Uh...here’s a wipe...better take it, Spike’s afraid you might wipe your nose on the book...”

Maive took the offered wipe and it was one of those sanitation wipes but better that than her sleeve and she was mumbling.

“Sorry, sorry...it’s not what you think...not because...”

“--I look like death warmed over?” Now this was Buffy talking but the words were coming from behind William’s eyes.

What? Couldn’t the Prof talk?

Maive looked to Buffy and she smiled one of those Buddha smiles again and she said.

“He can hear you...mostly...though I think he’s being a little vain about it and really can’t hear as good as he claims...”

Just then Buffy broke off from talking to Maive and looked at The Prof as if he had just called out to her and she dropped everything to listen and now Maive watched as his hand came up and gently stroked Buffy’s hair and Buffy bowed her head and then leaned in and pressed her cheek against his and simply rested there for a moment. Like they were giving strength and sustenance to each other. And even though the Prof was in this terrible physical state–it seemed mutual. They were healing each other.

It was like they just had their own private conversation in public and the world and all the people in it had fallen away.

Buffy pulled back then without looking back to Maive, called over her shoulder:

“Spike says, we know you are still here...” Buffy said as if answering her mind rattle, “And we’re glad you came...” And here Buffy turned and looked back at Maive and then smiled, “And he wants to know about the book. Is it for us?”

Maive laughed. “Sorry...it’s just, you know, you two could be a side show or something...er...in a good way.” And then Maive looked down at the book “it’s ah...”

“Dickens...it’s David Copperfield, isn’t it?” Buffy asked and then turned to Spike. “Did I get that right?”

“Yes, luv...” He said in a soft rasping lilt.

“Oh...you can talk...” Maive said and moved closer

‘Yeah, he can talk, in little bits...with therapy (Slayer/Spike therapy)...he’ll be fine soon...”

“I’m so glad...” Maive whispered. ‘Wait a minute–how did you know what book this is–it’s still in the shopping bag.”

She looked at them and they both just stared back. And instead of answering that question Buffy said.

“William wants to know if you’ll autograph our programs on opening night, with something personal maybe–so we can say we knew you when.”

Maive looked down, didn’t know what to say to that and when she looked up it was to see them looking into each others eyes as if they were having another private discussion. she watched Buffy’s face go impossibly soft and Will’s eyes grow large and warm and of course this was why they were happy, the whole world could fall on them and it didn’t matter they had found the real, real, they weren’t unfortunate–they were blessed.

And then Maive felt her own fears dissipate there, right there as she stood by them–she felt them just fade away and disappear with a small pop. She wasn’t sure how it happened and maybe it had something to do with just being around love, just standing in the same field with this effortless warmth made her fears small and hollow. Wouldn’t that be funny if love did have the power to heal all things. Huh. How about that?

She watched William reach over and gently stroke Buffy’s forearm, tips of fingers over flesh and little hairs growing just this soft gentle intense perusal of another human being and Maive began to cry again. There had to be something wonderful in a person who could love like that...and even if he had done those things, what that woman had said in the theatre, even if he had been a monster, he wasn’t now and maybe this was the reason why.

“Sure, I’ll sign your program–I’ll even let you pick the color of the marker, how about that?” Maive said in a small pretend normal voice.

She may not be back to normal. She may never see normal again, but she was on her way to something.

Now.

*

Now, Dorothy could not get those lyrics, those phrases, that whatever poetry out of her head.

The ones from her dream–plus now there was more.

More from more dreams and an almost waking vision walking stuff too and the thing was, she knew she wasn’t writing this in her imagination, and it wasn’t a muse gifting her with something to pretend to call her own ...it was not that. It was distinct and separate from her and always, always connected back to the Prof.

She knew they were his writing, but lost somehow and now that he was learning to talk and walk and everything all over again and the doctors said that would never happen, but he and Buffy weren’t listening to that and so they had their hands full right now with getting upright and so how could she bug them about this? But it was driving her nuts.

El bonkos. And she had the play to think about, to concentrate on and hey? Playing Juliet? Not exactly a walk in the Park and she loved it, she loved the part, felt grateful and lucky and all that stuff to be doing it and she wanted to do it well and now she was distracted by this compulsion to write down these words when they came and when she ran out–she looked at the empty pages ahead and knew there was more–but how to get them? She needed enough to fill all the cracks in the world--all of them or she wouldn’t sleep nights.

She had left a couple of stanzas out on the kitchen table and her roommate had seen it and Paulette thought had struck gold and a new hit song too and Dorothy had to say no–no that doesn’t belong to you and there had been a scene about it and so who does it belong to, Paulette wanted to know and who can I ask? Who does it belong to?”

“The Prof...and Buffy...” Dorothy had answered and then she knew that it was true and what she had to do.

She told Rhonda about it first–they had bonded as friends for life during The Terrible Day and Rhonda had shrieked and said yeah, yeah, both she and Amal had stanzas too and so then they were on a mission and went around to all the cast and culled and what they could from everyone.

And then when Ollie overheard them talking he piped in his stanzas–he had fallen asleep, into real sleep after The Terrible Day and in his sleep the Prof had been writing furiously and handing him sheet after sheet and saying, ‘here, you are just the person, you will understand this...’

And Ollie through his amazing mind and almost total recall, recited at least ten pages worth and Dorothy wrote it all down in the green room, between running scenes.

And then one of the costume techs saw what she was doing and asked about it and then there was Helene and her crew, and then the set building crew and designers to tap for treasure too, because that is what it felt like, digging up buried treasure. Not everyone had stanzas and not everyone came forward with the ones they had....but ‘tis enough, twill serve...’

Three days before opening...Dorothy could sleep again and so she knew she had done what she could and so she handed the assembled script to Ollie because he said he had the time and equipment to translate all this in to a self published book by opening. His badly broken arm only slowed him down a little–Millie had hired him as Assistant, Buffy’s recommendation and so Kelly now doubled as an additional understudy and ASM and so it looked good.

The book of William would be complete by opening night.

*

Tony was in the back of the Theatre.

He kept himself near the back of the theatre. He remained on his feet, in the dark and skulking by the door. Many people wore black in New York and many more people looked like death walking and so he fit in most places, the Theatre especially, especially the theatre.

And so it hadn’t been difficult getting inside the building but now that he was–he was dead nervous about it.

Spike was right about that–he thought of him as Spike now, he thought of him as he was, his last remaining family on earth. By now, he knew who Spike was and he knew their family history and knew now that Spike had been right; he had been made for the short road and wasn’t long for this world.

And so he stood now at the back of the theatre watching the play and the people that had changed the course of his existence. There had been one last shock before opening–the understudy, Peter something who had stepped up to the main stage, had broken his leg of all things and the understudy to the understudy, Kelly something had stepped up...and it had been a scare for the audience at first. They had been frightened for the man–but within five minutes of seeing him on stage, they all knew they were witnessing a star being born.

He was brilliant and he was connected to the life force–something Tony would never know again and did he weep? Yes he did.

He should be beyond this world, beyond the cares of this world and the living people in it, but he wasn’t. Spike was right about that too.

There was no where for him to go, no one to be....he had lost everything and that included his soul too. Now most vampires wouldn’t feel the loss, or know it as loss–but Tony suspected it was because one half of his soul belonged to the theatre–and because he had only lost one half of himself, he was still connected to an institution that celebrated life, and that explained the rest.

Bitterly, he now thought...and all because, all because he had seen what Buffy and The Prof had and wanted something like that for himself and got confused by blonde hair and power and so stepped onto the wrong road.

It was certainly more complicated than that–but this is what he told himself and now he thought this:

What if there are people like Buffy and Spike in the world that stand like a mountain, only for the rest of us to fall from? They are the rock and I am the wave and we throw ourselves at their feet again and again until we break because they never will.

Well, that was moody and maybe it was because he was hungry, so very hungry...but not for blood, not for life...but for that thing actors need more than both of those—to dance for God.

To perform on stage was to do a dance for God...and that would never happen again, would it?

No.

He searched the house and he didn’t need to look long or far–intuitively he sought and found his kin. The skin of his kin, or shadow kin, whatever Spike was to him. There he was...and there she was. The other. He could only see Buffy now as The Other—one of those women. Those who slay.

Funny, that he thought he loved her once...but no, it was the stage, he loved and lost, it was the stage that was his never again.

Spike was right about that too.

The play would be over soon and then back out into the night.

*

Buffy was resisting the temptation to look back over her shoulder. She was being damn decent about it and so she felt Spike’s hand move into hers as reward and squeeze hers gently as he thought to her:

Tony?

She turned to him and nodded.

They looked each other in the eyes. It was the end of act Two and the house lights came on amidst tremendous applause and only Buffy and Spike sat still and looking into the other.

I’ll never get enough of you, pet, never...the swell and sway of you goes on and on...

Oh how you talk...

Spike smiled.

Buffy smiled and they leaned in, foreheads together and noses skimming a quick kissing.

Smile again, so warm and then Spike said out loud.

“Thank you for not staking him.”

His voice was low and beautiful to her ears, his lilt often swung back and forth from standard English to the North London accent she first knew and she loved the mix. Right now, it was a bit more of the high Brit and maybe it because they were here in The Theatre and everyone was calling him Prof–yeah, he was bound to put on the touch of posh.

Watching his lips move, Buffy got distracted from what he said to the fact that he was saying it and her fingers moved up to trace his lips and he smiled against them.

“He won’t come over unless you step away, pet...” He slurred his ‘ss’ a bit but not bad for somebody bouncing back from a Near death experience, three days in a coma, massive neurological damage and coming back psychic.

Read my mind about how I feel about that–

Well, that wouldn’t take a mind reader, more like an editor performing expletives deleted.

Spike just looked away and to the empty stage.

Buffy sighed. “I’m gonna be right outside the door.”

“Ta, luv...”

And remarkably, she was. She stepped outside the door and waited and watched and listened. She wouldn’t need to see, if Spike was in trouble he would call–and he had the master vampire voice of command..and so there were no real worries–unless another master vampire came around. No, Buffy was more concerned about the emotional impact on Spike. Misplaced sense of responsibility kind of thing–because what he had done to Dru and Angel was there, always there in his eyes now.

It was the price he paid for remembering who he was. He had his whole self now, his complete power and presence of mind and she had the many rooms in Mansion Spike to look into–she had the kaleidoscope of his eyes as he had hers. And so in her mind it was good to be back to whole, back to true, but still she didn’t want to see him hurt himself unnecessarily, because what, in reality, could he do to help Tony?

What?

*

But Tony didn’t come over.

He simply stared at Spike until Spike turned as best he could to look back at the tall dark figure staring at him from the corner of the room.

He felt no malevolence directed toward him–it felt more like a blank...and defeated and simply looking.

Ah Tony...

They looked at each other over the mostly empty seats and people milling in and out and Spike waited, the seats around him empty and waiting like an open invitation, if Tony were to come over.

But he did not. A small group of senior citizens passed in front of Tony for a moment and when they cleared Tony was gone.

Spike drew in a breath. Buffy was right. What could he do to help him? How could he help him?

He had gone to get his soul because he wanted to help himself–he wanted to be a better man. And of course that was the key to any change anywhere and in any time—you had to want it for yourself.

He felt Buffy coming back into the room and down the aisle and he was already apologizing to her in his mind.

I’m so sorry pet, if you need to stake him–do what’s best–

“–He hasn’t been feeding.” Buffy said to him as she sat down.

Spike thought about that a moment and then nodded.

“Not on humans anyway...” She added. No need to ask how she could tell–of course she could tell.

“Will any of your girls...”

“I’ve asked them not to–but I’m leaving the command decision up to them, he’s out of the building and Njsk is following him...” And then Buffy shrugged.

“Sorry pet, I don’t know why, I’m putting you through this–but” and then speaking became too hard and so he switched to mind to mind as if it was easier to shape what he wanted in thoughts rather than words.

This is not about Angel or Dru...it’s about something else...some half idea and I can’t see the other half...but Buffy, if I can change...if I can say ‘no’, if we can say ‘no’...than...

“What next?”  

How do we know what’s possible and what isn’t?

Buffy looked at him, turned in her seat so she could press her shoulder against him, so she could touch her body to his–she needed to connect to him to get what he was suggesting.

He took her hand and placed it over his heart and she leaned her head next to his and they stayed there like that breathing each other in until Buffy whispered.

“You want to make my child hood dream come true?“

“It’s your vision pet, it’s what you saw.”

“No parents fighting, no yelling...everybody hugging on the holidays...and...”

Buffy pulled back and looked him in the eyes.

“You want to change the world?”

“You want to change the world, and I want you to have your dreams come true.”

Buffy thought for a moment and then smiled and said.

“Amounts to pretty much the same thing.”

Spike smiled his crooked smile–no paralysis this time.

“Well, where do we start?” Buffy asked in her perky ‘let’s cross the ocean on five pop-cycle sticks tied together’ voice.

Spike reached for the slim book of verse the cast and crew had gifted to him and Buffy.

It was an amazing gift–Dorothy had told him the story behind it all and it had left him speechless and so he had tucked it safely into his coat breast pocket. He held it in his hands now, stroking the cover, the binding and turning it over to look at the back. It was very well done.

Buffy put her arm around him and leaned in close, kissed his cheek softly, reverently, he turned his head slowly, they brushed noses briefly and then kissed, their lips skimming each other, igniting nerves and sending the good news to the whole body–love found, lover here...

“Buffy...Buffy...” he breathed into her mouth

Her hand came up and stroked his cheek and then snuck around the back of his head to tighten her fingers in his hair.

He kissed her again going deeper and was she trilling under his gentle touch?

Someone did a low whistle as they walked down the aisle and Spike pulled away, a little embarrassed. Buffy smiled.

What would it be like to be loved by this man? The battle scarred veteran one moment and the tender heart tucked into old world manners the next? She thought that she would like it. A lot.

The house lights blinked and the third act would begin soon. The tragic act...but with opportunity too. That’s the way Millie was going. Opportunity for change.

Spike fingered the book still on his lap and said low.

“What if everything we do, everything we are, feel, say and create goes someplace real? What if it is kept somewhere and counted?”  

He looked at Buffy

“I never thought I’d see these again, Buffy–they were left behind, left...and now here they are...” He shook his head slightly and said softly.

“What does it mean? I don’t think I could write like this again...I...I’m not sure I can teach either. William could do that...”

And then he stopped and amended that by saying

“I could do that as William–but I don’t think I have the...passion in me now for that...I don’t know. I think there might be something too...worn down inside me to teach right now–if ever...”

“Well, you just described me-–and you said you thought I would make a good Mom, are you taking that back?”

He turned to look at her and said simply;

“No, no pet...no...”

“Well now, double that back at ya and so get over yourself–or...what I mean is--we’ll heal it, we’re healing each other, you know it’s true and so the real question is–do you wanna teach? What do you want Spike? Cuz whatever it is, it’s good.”

Spike opened the volume, looked at the page before him and caught his breath.

My sweet, sweet girl

My Love, my last life and first world

My first word on the morning

My thoughts seconding the day

And you my resurrection

In my third world away.

How many walking worlds

How many times time turns us

You are my wonder, my amazed reflection

And me...I am yours into sunshine heavens yellow forever...

Will you have me?

It was his marriage proposal poem, the one he had written here, in this world as William in this world–it wasn’t as good as the others, but it was his heart, it was who he was now in his best effort and it was here and how could that be?

Well how could any of it be?

If this could happen, if small words like these could stay alive and be strong enough to push like little blades of grass to grow through strangers and into his world...what did that mean?

Only one thing.

We are powerful and everything is counted. Everything matters.

Buffy was looking at him with a question in her eyes? What? What?

In answer he drew in a shaky ‘have courage man’ breath and handed her the open volume to read.

Now the house lights were dimming and Buffy had just enough time to read it through once and then more slowly twice and then fade to black and the sound of her sniffling a bit and then her reaching around her neck and pulling something off and her hand sneaking into his and finding the middle finger on his left hand and then the feeling of a ring slipping onto his finger.

Spike moved his right hand over to cover his left and felt the band it was smooth with what felt like a twist in the center.

He sent his questioning mind into hers but she held herself away from him and hid behind a smile.

He insisted: Buffy

“Shh the play is starting–“

“Buffy...” He said in his low voice of smoke and sex and that got her.

She turned her head and he kissed her mouth and growled something like possession into her.

Mine.

Yours

*

Turns out the ring was actually his.

His given to her and now given back again smelted down and remolded, quite transfigured but still the same skull ring he had given her years and years ago under the spell of Red going blue.

As he sat in the dark of the theatre he touched the ring and saw the history of it–well, these highly developed NDE enhanced physic abilities were certainly coming in handy with an enigmatic Buffy.

She had kept it at first because she was too embarrassed to give it back–giving it back would mean that she had actually accepted it (not to mention what happened between them during the engagement) and she hadn’t thrown it away...because (and here he smiled) because it would have been impolite to throw away someone else’s property and a gift at that and then she kept it as a memento of strange youth and the odd amazement of it all and then she kept it in her back pocket for luck and love and a symbolic thing as they walked into the Hellmouth and then she kept it for her own hearts sake after the Hellmouth and he was gone and then she had kept it for herself, smelting it and recast into a twist of white gold that she could wear in public and have him on her heart but in hiding.

Now what could he possibly give her in turn to that?

You already have

Eavesdropping luv?

Pause and then soft and sweet.

No. I just know you.

Still he had to think of something...

Spike...we can take turns wearing it...

“Sharing?” He asked outloud.

“Shhh...” She said softly and smiled.

Huh...sharing the wedding band–not bloody likely, but he let it go for now as they watched the rest of the play.

*

There was a full few moments of stunned silence after the Princes closing words.

And then the audience went mad–they erupted into thunderous applause and there were five curtain calls.

Five.

There were calls for the director and Millie wouldn’t come out with the cast and finally Ollie pulled her from the wings and onto the stage with the last call and that seemed to satisfy the audience and she simply stood there with tears streaming down her cheeks and shaking her head at the audience and gesturing to Ollie and the cast and then she looked out into the audience and pointed to a particular row and at two specific individuals and of course the audience all turned around to see who she was pointing at and of course Buffy and Spike stayed quite incognito and under cover and the fact that they were weeping too did not distinguish them from everyman everywhere because everybody was weeping.

They audience lingered as people will do at an amazing party and yes there was going to be a huge opening night celebration in the lobby and so no one was in a hurry to get out of Buffy and Spike’s way as they tried their best to struggle up the aisle.

Spike had absolutely refused a wheel chair, if he had to be wheeled he wasn’t going–he would simply wait until he could walk and a walker was just as bad–so he had a cane and Buffy’s arm wrapped around him and the slow tread up the aisle through the crowd.

And then Ollie was there sounding official in that way of his and saying “make way–clear the aisle and he nodded to Buffy and Spike and they smiled back and then he came close and said:

“Millie wants us all to meet first, before the party–just us, the immediate family.”

Quiet for a moment–Buffy and Spike had seen everyone individually at the clinic or at Williams flat–but this would be the first time they would all be together since...then. Facing them all and all the terrible things they knew about you.

Spike sighed...and nodded and then he and Buffy followed Ollie back down the aisle and through the exit by the stage and around to the large Green Room.

It was filled with the entire cast and members of the immediate crew...the people closest to Ollie, the ones who knew what was what and they were all waiting for them.

They stood there like that for a moment simply looking at each in solemn silence. There was no burst of applause, no calls, just being together and quiet in the moment and then Millie stepped forward and hugged Buffy tight and then hugged her Prof and kissed him on the cheek and now everyone was wet eyed. Oh these theatre people and all their hugging and all their emotions.

And their speeches. Gotta have a speech.

And so Ollie and Ted were pouring out the Dom P. into plastic cups and handing them around–the gift from Buffy and the Prof to cast and crew and once all poured they turned to Millie, who looked down for a moment and said.

“A lot of people say the world is ending, this is 2011 and a lot of people think the world in ending, and a lot of people are right about that but wrong too, because the world ends everyday and all the time and we have just seen that happen tonight. We all felt it. Our world of rehearsing life, our world of waiting and wondering what will happen, how will it happen, are we mad to try? All that ended tonight and now we are in a new world of having. Having our dreams made real...because what does a dream matter if your can’t have it be real someday and that day is now.

Here Millie looked around the room at the entire cast and everyone stayed, everyone stayed to play. And get paid–don’t forget about that. She laughed at that thought in her mind and they all smiled at her smiling and then she said.

“Thank you so, so much.” She nodded around the room and then raised her glass and said:

“To our, 8 billioneth, 793 millioneth, 320 thousandeth 802 new world!”

Rather than risk repeating the toast, as per tradition and getting the numbers wrong there was gentle laughter and calls of

“Here, here..here, here...”

They drank and then looked at each other.

“Before we break and step out into that madness–Buffy? Prof? Anything you would like to add to that?”

They looked at each other and at Buffy’s slight nod, Spike cleared his throat and said.

“Buffy and I...well, Buffy has just agreed to marry me...”

Silence for a moment and then whoops of glee and then Buffy’s hand went up and the whooping halted for a moment as they waited to hear what she had to add–

“--And we’re going to have a baby...”

She looked at Spike and was he shocked? Yeah, a little bit and so she leaned in and whispered next to his ear.

“Some psychic you are...”

The room was filled with cheers and conrats and tears and more sparkling brew.

And then her arms went around him and he felt so stiff under her she leaned back to look into his eyes.

“You O.K..?”

You O.K. I should ask–should you say this out loud so...soon?–and she stopped that thought with a hug and pressed this thought into him

We make our own luck

Well that was true.

Slowly, his arms went up around her and he buried his face in her neck and whispered:

“I love you so much, Buffy...so much...thank you, luv..”

And then:

You asked me what I wanted–this is what I want.

He felt her nod her head on his shoulder and then someone–was it Andy? Started singing a snatch of a song from Three Penney Opera and one by one everyone joined in:

“Happy Endings...

Nice and Tidy

It’s a rule I learned in school...

Get your money

every Friday

Happy endings...are the rule!”

Laughter, cheers, hugs and...

Prophecy Schmophecy

*

The End...(of this world)

* 

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Contact Lizerrrbeathan: sekarsn@aol.com