Los Angeles International Airport


“This is ridiculous.” Xander waited impatiently next to Giles, who was scanning the baggage carousel. The area around him was laden with carry-ons and duffel bags, and much to his horror, Buffy’s hot pink purse had been pushed into his hands as the girls made a mad dash to the restroom. “How much luggage did we bring anyway, Giles?!”

“The same amount that you groused about in London, Xander.”

“Well, airlines are notorious for losing crap so I’m still holding a morsel of hope. I don’t enjoy my new job as pack mule.”

“But you suit the role so well.” Giles said, brightening considerably when his tattered leather suitcase came into view. “Ah, there it is.”

“We’re not going to be here for a year, you know?”

“Yes, but we don’t know how long Buffy and Dawn will need. This is hard on both of them. If we need to be here indefinitely we will do so. It’s Joyce, Xander.”

“Gee, put it into perspective much?” Xander shoved his arm through the strap of Buffy’s purse, making sure it was positioned on his blind side. “I can’t tell. Is this my color?”

“Stop manhandling my purse.” Buffy stepped up behind him, holding out her hand.

Xander smiled at her and surrendered it, noting as he did the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. “You didn’t sleep at all on the plane.”

“Someone had to keep the pilot in line. I know he was contemplating loops. I saw this shifty look in his eyes.” Buffy replied. The truth was, every time Buffy had closed her eyes she had seen her mother’s prone form on the living room sofa or replayed the instant that Joyce had been zipped into a bag. “Besides, your snoring kept most of us up.”

“I don’t snore, Buffy. I have stayed awake many a night to see for myself.” Xander hefted several bags over his shoulders and pretended to buckle under the weight. “I think I got the bag that has the kitchen sink in it.”

“That wasn’t funny in London either, Xander.” Willow patted him on the arm, since his back was covered. “You know, when your grown up muscles spring out you’ll be thanking us.”

Xander pretended to be bowled over by the hilarity of her comment, then narrowed his eyes at her. “One day, Will, you and I are gonna throw down.”

“I’d just turn you into a frog and step on you.”

“You’re afraid of frogs so be my guest.”

“Touche,” Willow smiled, then glanced at Buffy and Dawn, who were standing next to each other while they waited for their luggage. “You think they’re okay?”

Xander shook his head. “Not even close to okay. I think Dawn’s dehydrated from crying so much and Buffy isn’t emoting at all.”

“Well, it took Buffy a while last time to come to terms with it. I guess this is like opening old wounds.” Willow said.

Giles, who had been listening to the conversation, joined them and watched as Buffy hefted a suitcase for Dawn and missed her own. “I think she’s afraid to feel. She’s not ready for this. Not so soon after Spike.”

“Ah, I wondered how soon we would reference Fangly the Wondermutt.” Xander shook his head. “If you ask me, his death didn’t bother her too much. I mean, she jumped headfirst into being a Slayer and helping all these new girls. She’s like a machine now. She’s better than a machine! I’ve never seen her in better form or more interested in Slaying”

“Why do you think she’s doing that, idiot?” Willow slapped his arm.

“If you’re going to hit me, Will, at least do it on the other side so I can actually see it coming.”

Willow ignored him and turned her attention to Giles. “You’re worried about her. I saw you watching her on the plane.”

“She’s hurting.” Giles studied Buffy as she scooped her own suitcase from the rapidly thinning piles that kept rotating around. “I think it’s more than just the task that lies before us.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Willow watched her friend as well, her heart aching for Buffy. “Because if you’re thinking what I’m thinking then I have a certain phone number programmed into my cell phone that could make it happen.”

“Should we?” Giles asked, raking a hand through his hair. “Will it do more harm than good? She’ll be furious that we kept it from her.”

Willow shrugged her slim shoulders. “But it could be worth it to see her happy.”

“Perhaps,” Giles replied. “Or perhaps it would overwhelm her. Especially now.”

“I think she needs him, Giles. I’ll take the blame.” Willow flipped open her phone and scrolled down the list of names.

Xander looked back and forth from one to the other. “Are you calling Angel? What have you been keeping from her? Oh god, is his soul gone? What?”

His eyes widened when Willow spoke a name into the phone. He dropped all the luggage he was carrying and clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Yes, Xander.” Giles bent and retrieved several bags, shoving them into his arms. “She’s calling Spike. He’s alive and well and has been for over a year.”

After Xander digested this information, he shook his head. “I think I’m going back to Europe. I don’t want to watch her murder all of you. I could never testify against her.”

Willow clicked her phone shut. “He’ll come. Tonight.”

Xander readjusted the luggage and followed them toward Buffy. “You guys are in big trouble. Big.”

“Who’s in trouble?” Dawn asked, smoothing her hair back into the messy ponytail she haphazardly secured on top of her head.

“Xander’s still threatening us about the luggage,” Willow replied innocently.

Buffy took several of the bags from Xander and slipped them over her head. “Better?”

Xander gave her a grateful look and fought the urge to pull her into a hug. He knew in his heart that she was about to lose the war of emotion she had been fighting. And he didn’t know if she’d survive it all.

*~*~*~*~*


PART TWO:

“This place is so nice.” Willow slipped her shoes off and dug her toes in the thick, white carpet that was so plush she sank several inches into it. “Way better than the Holiday Inn.”

“Whose beach house is this anyway?” Dawn asked, stretching out on the sofa with a leaflet that had been placed on the coffee table. “It has six bedrooms? Damn.”

“Don’t say damn,” Buffy reprimanded in a low, exhausted voice. She was perched on the edge of leather chair and had her fingers pressed against her eyelids. “It belongs to one of Angel’s friends.”

Dawn ignored the first comment and whistled appreciatively. “Angel has some rich friends. Damn rich friends.”

Buffy picked up her purse off the floor and pawed through it. “Did anyone pack Tylenol? Aspirin? Morphine?”

“Headache?” Giles asked.

“More like blinding agony that is concentrated in my head.” Buffy sighed when her search weilded nothing and stood. “Maybe I should take a nap.”

“You can’t!” Dawn shot to her feet as well. “We’re supposed to go to the funeral home.”

“Damn, I forgot.” Buffy glared at her watch. “They’re open until ten tonight, right?”

“Yes. Why can you say damn, but I can’t? I’m an adult now, too.” Dawn watched Buffy for a second, then reached out and squeezed her hand. “I just happen to be an adult who will always need her big sister.”

Buffy attempted to smile, but she didn’t quite make it. “We’ll get through this.”

~*~*~*~*~

Dawn stood next to Buffy, fidgeting as the familiar brown casket was wheeled down a long hallway and into a delicate pink viewing room with a nauseatingly pastel border. She reached out and looped her fingers through Buffy’s, holding tightly. Buffy’s hand remained limp in hers. The coffin had clearly been polished, but it had several long scrapes and cracks in it.

“I wasn’t aware that it was damaged,” Buffy said, reaching out to touch one of the deepest scratches.

“Sorry, miss,” the man wheeling the coffin said. “You should have seen the destruction over there in Sunnydale. I’m surprised it’s still in one piece.”

Buffy took a deep breath, wishing that he had chosen his words more carefully. “I’d like to purchase a new one.”

“Yes, ma’am. I thought you might. But I didn’t know if you’d want -”

“I do,” Buffy cut him off before he could finish. “We’ll make the selection tonight before we leave.”

“Absolutely, ma’am.” The man pushed the coffin against the wall and spread a delicate pink coverlet over the abused wood. “I’ll show you where our inventory is if you’ll follow me.”

Buffy reached out and caught his arm. “Have you - I mean, did - did you view her - her remains?”

“Yes, ma’am. She’s well preserved. Would you like to identify her yourself?”

“Buffy, no,” Dawn whispered and she knew her grip on Buffy’s hand had to be painful, but her sister didn’t acknowledge it.

Buffy stared at the floor before whispering, “I have to.”

Giles took a step forward, his jaw tight as he fought his own emotions, and rested his hand on her shoulder. “I can do it for you.”

Shaking her head, Buffy pulled away, taking her hand from Dawn’s. “I’ll do it.”

“I can’t be in here for this!” Dawn said in a shrill voice that made her sound far younger than she was.

“Take her outside,” Buffy said to Xander and Willow. They complied, both putting a protective arm around Dawn as they led her from the room. To Giles and the funeral home director, Buffy said, “I should do this alone.”

Giles shook his head and started to protest, but Buffy held up a hand. “Giles, I just need a few minutes. Please.”

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Giles cupped her face and quietly left the room, positioning himself at the door so he could hear her if she became overwrought.

Buffy’s palms were sweaty when she turned back to the coffin. She put them on the cool surface of the coverlet and slowly pushed it aside. With trembling fingers, she fumbled with the latch until it finally clicked open. She didn’t lift the lid immediately, however. Closing her eyes, she tried to get an image of her mother, alive and vibrant in her head to combat what she was likely to see now.

The lid opened with an angry squeak and Buffy opened her eyes, gazing down at her mother. “Hi, Mom,” she whispered, and gently pushed an errant piece of hair off Joyce’s face. “Your hair is so long. You wouldn’t even believe it.”

Buffy gasped when she saw how well preserved her mother actually was. It was unbelievable. She still looked the same as the day they had buried her. The makeup that had been artfully applied had smudged and the fingernails that Buffy had selected a pale color of polish for had tripled in length, but otherwise she was breathtaking.

In a flash she was engulfed in memories. Her mother spinning around and around in her dress, her long, delicate arms flung wide. Her mother’s laughter during that last Christmas when Buffy had pulled a turkey leg off her plate and into her lap. Buffy’s seventeenth birthday, wrapped in her mother’s arms on the sofa as the candle burned out on her special cupcake. Shopping at the mall. The Juice Newton jacket. The band candy. The love.

Home.

“Oh, Mom.” Buffy’s heart soared as she gazed at her mother’s face. “I think I almost forgot how beautiful you are.”

Brushing several specks of dirt off the pillow, Buffy continued to speak. “We’re getting you a new coffin. A better one. And we’ve found a place for you. I think you’ll like it. I’m sorry that you’ve been pushed around all over the place. I can almost guarantee that Los Angeles won’t be sucked into a Hellmouth. You should be okay here and I’ll come see you every chance I get. And I’ll bring daisies. And a Christmas Tree, but I can’t do the fireplace thing even though you really liked that.”

Swallowing back tears, Buffy attempted to straighten the collar of Joyce’s suit, but the back of her hand kept brushing against her mother’s cold, hard face and it was shattering the illusion that she actually had her mother back for a moment. “Things have been kinda crazy. I’ve mostly been living in hotels, but I’ve been seeing a lot of the world. I’m not the only Slayer anymore. There are hundreds now. Dawn’s okay, too. She couldn’t stay and see you, but she loves you and she misses you as much as I do. I don’t think a single day goes by that we don’t find a way to mention you. Or miss you. Or wish you were still here.”

Buffy felt a tear slide down her cheek and brushed it away absently. “When I lost you, I had to become a stronger person, Mom, for Dawn. Losing him made me a different person. All that strength you gave me is now used to build up walls that I don’t let anyone through. I’m not strong enough to love anyone else because they could leave, too. I can’t deal with that.”

Leaning lower, Buffy studied her mom’s profile. “Can you hear me? I believe you can. God, Mom, I wish you knew how badly I want you to wake up and tell me it will be okay.” Her tears came in a rush and her breath caught in her throat. She rested her head on the edge of the casket and choked out, “I’d give everything just to feel your arms around me.”

“Will mine do?”

For a second she thought it was Giles, but as she turned and leaned into the open arms behind her she smelled the leather, felt it against her cheek, and glanced up. She saw his blond hair, the chisled cut of his cheekbones and took a step back. For several long seconds, she stared at him. Had she fainted? Was this all a dream?

“Spike?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper when sound finally escaped her and she stumbled as all the blood seemed to rush from her head. Or to her head. She wasn’t sure of anything at the moment.

“Easy, love.” Spike caught her arms, steadying her. He gazed into her wide eyes, struggling to find the right thing to say.

Buffy stiffened and drew the back of her sleeve across her eyes, then she focused on him again. She wanted to ask how he came to be standing before her, but her gaze fell on her mother’s face again. And suddenly nothing made sense. It was all too much. Far too much. What was happening? Her teeth began to chatter and she shivered with cold, but a steady stream of sweat was beading its way down her back, across her forehead. She thought about where she was, tried to remember what had happened, but her mind was and endless foggy maze. “My mom. She’s in Los Angeles. Someone called me and said they found her. So we came. And I had to see her just to make sure that she was okay, but she’s not okay because she’s dead.”

Spike nodded slowly, studying her. All the color had drained from her face and she had drawn her shoulders inward. He could see moisture beading on her pale face and was stunned at how glassy her eyes were. Cautiously, Spike took a step toward her. “Buffy, are you okay?”

“They’re gonna bury her, see? Put her in the ground. That - that’s what they do.” Buffy reached into the coffin and shook her mother lightly. “You won’t know, Mom. You’re eyes are closed and you won’t know that you’re buried, okay? So don’t try to dig out! Mom! Mom! It will hurt your hands if you dig! It's not fun to dig!”

Spike pulled her away from the casket and reached for the lid. “We should close this.”

“No!” Buffy screamed, struggling to hold the lid open. “She doesn’t like that coffin! It’s broken! Leave it open!”

Giles rushed in and helped Spike wrestle Buffy across the room. Willow hurried in after him and silently lowered the lid, then turned in time to see Giles slap Buffy, hard, on the cheek. “Giles!” Willow screamed.

Buffy collapsed against Spike and he gently sank with her to the ground, holding her against his chest. Giles knelt in front of Buffy, tilting her chin back so he could see her. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the cold, blank expression on her face.“Dear lord. She’s in shock,” he told Willow.

“I should have waited until you told her I was back. I shouldn’t have let her find out this way,” Spike said. He handed Buffy’s limp form over to Giles and shook his head “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”

“Spike, you don’t have to leave.” Willow tried to stop him to no avail. He moved past her and exited quietly the way he had come in.

Willow sighed and walked to the door, barking that they needed a glass of water and wet cloth. When she turned back to Giles and Buffy, her heart broke. He was cradling his Slayer, much like a child, and Buffy had her fists clenched against her chest, eyes closed.

A few seconds later, the man who had wheeled Joyce down the hallway entered with both items. “Oh my goodness. This happens a great deal. Poor little thing.”

Without preamble, he splashed the entire contents of the glass into Buffy’s face, leaving her gasping and looking confused. She sat up, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes and accepted the cold cloth the man dangled in front of her. “What happened?” she finally asked, taking stock of her position on the floor.

“Grief, honey,” the man replied, petting her head like she was a good dog. “Your mama is going to be okay where she’s heading. You just collect yourself and we’ll take a tour of those coffins.”

“Dawn took care of it,” Willow told Buffy as the man walked to the corner of the room and put the cloth back on Joyce’s coffin, then left. “She picked one. You’ll like it. It’s white with pretty flowers on the lining.”

Buffy nodded. “Okay. I thought I saw- I could have sworn that he was here and he-” She trailed off, wiping her face with the cool cloth again. “I really need a nap.”

Willow extended a hand, helping Buffy to her feet. She shot a worried look at Giles, who nodded at her. “There’s something you need to know, Buffy.”

Giles ushered Buffy to the overstuffed floral sofa that sat against the wall, keeping a firm grip on her as she sat down. “It was not our idea to keep this from you. You have to know that.”

Willow kneeled next to the sofa and took Buffy’s hand. “Spike is alive. Well, he’s technically not *alive* because he’s still a vampire, but he’s back. Here. In Los Angeles. He’s been helping Angel at Wolfram and Hart and well, we thought-”

“He’s not dead?” Buffy asked, her brow creasing in confusion. “He was here, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was,” Giles replied.

“Where did he go?” Buffy glanced past them, staring at the door as if willing him to return.

“He didn’t want to upset you more than you already were.” Willow gave her a reassuring smile. “But you can go see him. He’s just a few blocks from here.”

Buffy laid the washcloth on an end table and shook her head as if to clear it. Spike was alive. The words kept echoing in her head, a steady symphany of dreams coming true. But the anger she felt at Spike, at Angel, at everyone who had chosen to keep her in the dark, was coming close to drowning out the happiness she *wanted* to feel. She had to see him. She had to find out how and why and what would happen now. “I think I’m gonna take a walk.”

“Buffy-” Willow began.

She held up a hand. “You guys make sure Dawn’s okay. Please?”

Giles watched her walk away and glanced at Willow. “Well, that certainly went well.”

Willow shot him a narrow eyed glance. “Whoever said the art of sarcasm was lost clearly didn’t know you.”

**~**~~**~~


Part Three:


Buffy made it back to the condo in record time. Rushing into the bathroom, she washed her face and studied her reflection in the mirror. The cab driver had asked her repeatedly if she was okay and as she took in her appearance, she realized that his concern was not unwarranted. There were dark circles under her eyes and her skin was devoid of color.


Spike was alive.


That thought kept sounding in her head followed by the realization that he had not contacted her, had not searched for her. She had spoken with Angel twice the week before and he had said nothing either. She yanked her hair back into a ponytail and by the time she looked into the mirror again, a scarlet flush tinted her cheeks. She was angry.


It felt good to be something.


She stalked back into her room and rifled through her bag until she found a leather bound book. Shoving it into her Slayer bag, she threw it over her shoulder and decided to walk the eight blocks to Wolfram and Hart. Maybe by the time she arrived there, her anger would be subsided enough that she wouldn’t be contemplating killing both of them.