CHAPTER THREE

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“Did you see her? God, it was really her.”

“It worked.”

“She’s back, she’s really back.”

“We did it!”

“We really did it.”

As he heard the group rejoicing, congratulating themselves on their success, it took all the self-control Spike possessed to keep the demon at bay. It was screaming for their blood as he fixed an icy stare on the excited group. They were caught up in their triumph but slowly his stare had its effect and, one by one, they turned their attention on him, falling silent. They shared a look amongst themselves and Willow, apparently the bravest among them, took a tiny step forward and spoke to him.

“Where did you find her?”

He was taken aback by her question – of all the irrelevant things to say right now - but in a second, his rage returned.

“Where do you think I bloody found her?!”

The witch recoiled at his harsh retort and Xander now stepped forward, apparently ready to defend his women.

“What’s your problem, Spike?! Buffy’s alive. I would have thought that’d be good news.”

“You really don’t see what you’ve done, do you?”

“We brought her back, Spike,” Willow said, half-defensively, half-cautiously.

“You didn’t even dig her up first!” he bit out.

There was a pause but after just a few seconds, he saw the horror dawn in their expressions as his words sank in. Willow let out a gasp and Tara covered her mouth in shock.

“That’s right,” he continued in a scathing tone, “You left her in the ground. In her coffin.”

“But I- I-“

He cut Willow off almost immediately, anger taking control.

“What? You thought you’d do the spell, and ‘poof’, she’d be standing right there in front of you, right as rain?”

“I-“

“Well it didn’t work like that! I found her exactly where she was left. In her coffin.”



There was stunned silence and he continued, almost trembling with the force of his anger at their ignorance, their selfishness.

“I happen to know a bit about waking up in your own coffin and let me tell you, it’s not an experience I’d like to repeat.”

“But she… Buffy looks okay.”

He gave a coarse laugh and stared down the witch. The foolish, naive witch. He could wring her neck.

“Did that seem anything like the Buffy you knew?” he almost shouted, pointing towards the stairs.

She paused and he saw the uncertainty enter her gaze for just a second before she pushed it away.

“Of course it was her. She just- she’s disoriented. She needs to… to adjust to… being alive again.”

“Might have been a bit easier to do if she didn’t have the trauma of clawing her way out of her own coffin.”

Willow winced and he felt a tiny hint of pleasure that something, at least, was getting through.

“And don’t think I don’t know what kind of magic you need to bring someone back,” he added lowly, holding her gaze, “Dark, black magics.”

“I handled it fine.”

“Did you tell them all the details?” he asked, nodding to the group, “All the sordid things you have to do to prepare for a spell like that?”

She faltered and he nodded slowly.

“Didn’t think so. Did you even think of the consequences?”

“Buffy’s back, isn’t she?! We saved her from- from some awful hell dimension. That’s the most important thing!” Willow got out defensively.

“Magic like that always has consequences. Always.”

“Leave off, Spike,” Xander butted in, “Like Willow said, Buffy’s back and that’s the most important thing. You should be happy.”

“Happy?” he scoffed, “Did you see her?!”

“Look me in the eye and tell me seeing her again wasn’t the happiest moment of your entire existence.”

His only answer for Xander was a cold stare.

“You’ll pay for this, one way or another,” he warned, addressing the group as a whole, “Someone always has to pay.”

He left them without another word and made his way up the stairs, listening in as he now heard Dawn’s low, calm voice.

“There now, all clean. Knew you were under that dirt somewhere.”


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Although she knew it was her own, she barely recognised the reflection in the mirror. She could only stare at the lines of her face, trying to piece together the fractured memories in her mind. Even more unfamiliar than her own face was the girl with her, her sister. Dawn. She felt nothing towards this girl, her blood relation. She felt nothing at all.

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Spike made his way to the bathroom and with a knock, opened the door a fraction. Dawn looked up and gave him a hopeful smile and he moved into the room. Buffy regarded him briefly and then turned back to look at her own reflection in the mirror. The only thing that gave him any hope was the tiniest spark of recognition in her eyes. She was cleaned up now, her hair brushed and pulled back into a ponytail, and with a change of clothes, she looked something like the old Buffy.

“Everything alright up here?”

Dawn nodded and Buffy regarded him slowly once more, before turning away again. There was a long silence, no-one quite knowing what to say, and he cleared his throat twice before speaking up.

“You probably want to rest,” he suggested to Buffy, “Long… long day, and all.”

She turned to him and opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again and simply nodded.

“Your room’s still, you know, your room. Just like you left it,” Dawn rushed to add, with a hesitant smile.

Buffy nodded mechanically and left the room, pausing for the tiniest of moments – almost as if she was lost - before turning and making her way into her bedroom, the door closing softly behind her.

“She… she’s gonna be alright, isn’t she, Spike?” Dawn asked quietly and he turned to regard the teenager’s fearful expression.

“Yeah, Li’l Bit. Course she is,” he lied, forcing his eyes from hers.