By The Pricking of My Thumbs... Something Wicked This Way Comes
by Megan & Schehrezade


Chapter Five


Anne had found the comfy spot on the back porch late one night after patrol. Spending six weeks in the company of strangers had given her a need to seek out something of her own, though she suspected even this had been claimed before her. Maybe by the other Buffy.



Her acceptance of the situation she found herself in was sometimes too easy, while at other times she thought she would break with the strain of keeping up appearances. She seemed to have divided the little ‘slayer devotee’ group into two camps. One that seemed to enjoy her company, and made an effort to put her at ease while she was getting used to existing in this new world, and the other that was uncomfortable around her. Sometimes antagonistic.



Surprisingly, she had found that she was developing a bond with Dawn, the pseudo sister who at first was inconsolable that Anne had been brought in as a replacement Buffy. Dawn-- more than the others-- seemed to be able to differentiate between her doppelganger and herself and had reached an easy and calm acceptance of Anne’s individuality. It could have something to do with the name change, and it could also be that they shared a house. Having nothing to see over the breakfast counter but the double of your dead sister would probably inspire you to see difference before insanity took a grip.



Whatever it was, Anne was grateful. Other than the Slaying, all she had to cling to in this world were these people. She found it ironic that she- a loner in her own world- had become rather reliant on her adopted sister and the resident vampire to keep her grounded.



And here she smiled. Her mission had dictated that she kill all vampires, but in her world she had met one, one who claimed to have a soul and was on a mission of redemption. She thought that had been a load of hooey, but being in the thick of war, she had released him and allowed him to partake in the fight. According to Anya, they both had died. Now she wondered at the ease with which she had given her trust.



But then there was Spike. Her smile grew wider as she recalled his blue eyes, his full soft lips and his lightning white hair. She had never had the chance to be interested or become friendly with a boy; to her, the mission was everything. It was what she had been born for-- to rid the world of demons.



Until her death.



And in this world, her death had come at the age of twenty. In her own world, it had been earlier. But Spike could easily draw her thoughts and fears away from that eventuality, and she grinned at the irony. A vampire giving her hope in her own lifespan. And giving her rather yummy tingles, too!



Her last six weeks had been filled with some wonderful moments with these two. The three of them shared meals, laughed over movies, and talked about things that mattered. Anne could feel the web of serendipity bond her to these two…it was almost like they were a family. The little sister, the big brother that was more like a dad. And her. She guessed she was like a long lost cousin. A close cousin maybe. A cousin by marriage.



Whatever it was, being around them made her happy and secure. But being with Spike-- it made her pause and look at the loneliness she had willingly trapped herself within. He was so warm and caring, eager to share his experiences. Make her adjustment easier. And he was devoted to Dawn.



After a number of nights of getting associated with the evils of alcohol with him and letting her hair down, she thought maybe he might come to be a little devoted to her as well. She knew he would come to her aid, defend her with everything he had now that he had gotten to know her. But she could still sense a yawning gap between how close she was with the vampire, and how much closer she at times thought she would like to be. In her naiveté, though, she didn’t think he was giving her any signals. She had time.



As for patrolling, sharing that with him had become something highly charged and special. The fight was what made her blood pump hard and fierce. The fight was who she was, all hard edges and graceful death. She was the general and took no prisoners. The collection of piles of dust spurred her on to more, to let loose with whom she was. And Spike allowed her to be. He gave her the encouragement and space to rediscover her place in these new graveyards-- new streets. She may have been a visitor to Sunnydale in the other world, but in this world, it was becoming her home.



The combination of belonging and being did more than make her blood pump hard and fierce. It tended toward becoming molten in her veins when she engaged in combat with Spike by her side. Each night became hotter, awakening a need in her that she found both embarrassing and enlightening.



Each night ended with them departing from each other at the porch. She would sit, contemplate and allow herself to calm down while he disappeared inside the house and straight to the basement. She was glad that Dawn had insisted that he stay at the house. His presence-- while hell on her hormones-- lent both girls that sense of security that being a mystical key devoid of blood family, and a girl ripped from her world could only crave. He had become their anchor, and yet he was so much more. To Anne, he was fast becoming her everything.



But the other group, the ones mistrusting and distant from her, made her place here more precarious. The red-headed witch had used powerful magic to get her here, yet Anne sensed a dissatisfaction with the result. She found herself on tenterhooks around the woman, fearful that now she was becoming attached to her new situation, the witch might decide it better to just mojo her back to where she came. It was a fear that kept her awake many nights. Like Spike, she found herself sleeping more during the day. When everyone else was occupied.



She couldn’t really blame them, though. The snippets of information she overheard from their whispered conversations was that their Buffy had been very close to them. They were all knocked about a bit with grief. And Anne was so different in character to what they knew that it was probably more difficult for them to embrace her as herself. They had wanted to have a protector for the Hellmouth, but deep down she thought they had really expected to get their Buffy back in some way.



She’d heard snippets of conversation between them that implied that some kind of interest in the former Slayer by Spike had been a cause of concern, but not a single eyebrow was raised in worry about Anne’s prolonged association with the vampire. She wasn’t sure if she was hurt by their complete lack of interest or not, but it did raise questions that she really didn’t know who to seek answers from. She couldn’t ask Dawn about Spike’s feelings for her sister, and the Scoobies didn’t spend more than a few awkward minutes at a time in her presence.



The only one she could really ask was Spike. And there lay the oddness. Whenever she had ventured onto the subject of Buffy, he clammed up. He didn’t act grief stricken like some reports told of how he had dealt with her death. He usually just complained of a headache and then headed off to either kill vamps or return to the basement, depending on where they were.



The thing was, he had acted right from the start like he hadn’t a clue who she really was. He at times looked right through her. Only once had he seemed to look closer, trying to seek under her skin for something. But then his face contorted in pain and he pounced on a rising vamp. She found it sort of creepy.



Though she kind of liked the idea that he had had a crush on her predecessor. That would make things easier for her. But still that blank look whenever Buffy was mentioned by any of the Scoobies seemed to imply that they had been mistaken in their assessment of him. If she didn’t know better, she would assume he had barely known the infamous Buffy, let alone claimed to be in love with her.



But she knew that his strange behaviour had mystified the Scoobies, too. The few questions they asked her about how he was with her, how he had reacted to her being around him now, was enough to raise her suspicions. Something was off with this scenario, but she didn’t have the background to really know what, or whether to do anything about it.



And she had no one to turn to about it.



All she could be certain was that she was here, at this moment, and that the Scoobies were uncomfortable with that fact. Their lack of interest in her was shown in the way they didn’t care about her contact with Spike, as well as the complete disinterest in what she had to report about patrol. It put definite strains on their relationship. Luckily for her, she was used to the loneliness that came with being the slayer. It was what she was confident knowing…so why did it hurt so much?



Giles seemed to be the worst, though. For some reason he was even more distant, hesitant even to have anything to do with her, intermingled with bursts of over-protectiveness that just left them both feeling displaced. His weak suggestion of training, offered in a moment of duty to her, seemed to be another sticking point between them. She had refused, though politely, and gone to Spike instead.



The vampire’s lack of nervousness around her bolstered her confidence no end, and as he was the one she patrolled with, she guessed he might be the better-trained and equipped man for the job. It completely weirded her out, though, when she caught the older man out some nights watching her fight, a strange look to his face being leant a sinister air through the tight angry bow of his lips.



“Hey, you’re lookin’ a bit pensive, luv,” Spike called to her as he ambled from the path to the backyard. He paused in front of her, and after a strange moment with many emotions flitting rapidly over his face, he chose to perch beside her on the step. He swept his coat out from underneath him and rested with his elbows on his thighs, arms hanging between his spread legs.



Anne stared at his fingers for a second before chancing a smile. They always seemed awkward. Before coming into this world, she hadn’t been used to smiling-- having fun. Killing demons was what she had been raised her whole life to do. She’d been raised by her Watcher and he had taught her how to seek out vampires and demons-- how to eliminate them. Having crushes- friendships- was something she had never been taught to do.



“Spike, how was it out there tonight?” Her eyes carefully remained shy of his, making sure they never had the possibility of clashing. She stared at his chin, his throat, and felt her blood start to speed up.



“More vamp risings. ‘F I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was trying to raise an army. Seems to be lots more each night.”



Finally her eyes lifted to his in concern. This was Slayer territory, her territory. Thoughts of men and kisses-- first kisses-- flew from her mind as she tried to sort out the threat and determine where it originated. But she wasn’t familiar with Sunnydale in her world, let alone this one.



“What do you think is wrong?” She valued his advice, and though the Scoobies seemed fine with leaving him in control of both her and Dawn, his opinion was often taken and agreed upon but never credited. They seemed both grateful that he took up the slack with patrolling, but resentful as well. The dichotomy of this group and their relationships was too confusing for her when she had no experience even with a friend.



His considering expression had her catching her breath, wondering just what it would take for him to continue looking at her, taking some time to consider her. But he was thinking about her question, not possible romantic moments.



“I’m thinking all this started when they brought you through that portal. We know that Harris’s double came through, so it’s possible there’s more we ‘aven’t seen yet.

Way they tell it, Red came through another time. She’s wily, could be she’s ‘ere, and maybe the Master with ‘er.” He caught Anne’s nod of acknowledgement and got to his feet, ready to turn in for the night.



“P’raps you could let Rupert know in the mornin’?”



“Um,” she started, but nerves cast her eyes back to the floor, and in the softest voice, she continued. “Would you mind letting Giles know? He really isn’t very comfortable around me. And I don’t go to his store very often.”



As a delaying tactic, it worked. Well, if she’d done it deliberately, that is. Instead, Spike reacted to her tone of insecurity.



“What’s the problem?”



“Ah, Giles hasn’t really spoken to me much since I told him I’d learn more from training with you.” Her eyes had slid higher to take him in, and she felt her senses go swimming in the depths of his ocean blue gaze. It never failed to strip her of breath to see his beauty.



He cocked his head to the side, contemplating her words, and trying to suss out the reasoning behind it.



“You didn’t want to train with Giles?”



Instead of speaking, she hesitantly shook her head in the negative.



“Why not, pet? He knows his stuff…and you could benefit from havin’ a Watcher.”



“He makes me feel uncomfortable.” Once the first obstacle was cleared, it all came tumbling out in a rush; her dejection at being supposedly rejected. “They all do. They just stare at me and make me feel like I shouldn’t be here. And they’re the ones that brought me here, you know. If they didn’t want me to replace their precious Buffy, they shouldn’t have done the stupid spell.” Anne jumped to her feet in agitation and not knowing what else to do, she strode across the yard and kicked at a tree stump. Immediately she recoiled and started hopping.



“Ow, ow…remind me to not do that again without shoes. Buffy toes and tree…not the best idea.” She turned, cringing at her slip of name, to find Spike smirking.



“Not mixy then, pet?”



“Mixy huh?” She often found herself confused by the odd valley type talk that these people spoke, and it was another thing that distanced her from fitting in with the new group.



Spike seemed to squint, giving her that alarmed look again before he suddenly moaned and rubbed his temple with his hand.



“Right then, I’ll talk to Rupert for you. Let him know what I think might be goin’ on. Maybe tomorrow we should venture out a bit. Not go staking vamps so much as searching for the root of the problem.”



“Root? What root?” She looked at him alarmed, her cheeks tinged with a becoming shade of pink.



Spike offered her his confused expression, but as understanding started to filter into his eyes, she jumped in with a much-needed distraction. Anything to avoid the humiliation.



“No, that’s a really good idea. Maybe take Willow, see if she can use her magic somehow to see what’s out there…you know…in case we miss something.”



Suitably sidetracked, Spike agreed and then headed inside to his cot in the basement, leaving Anne to count to ten slowly. She rubbed her toes absently, wondering what exactly was the correct procedure to go about getting a guy to show some interest in you. Maybe she should have a talk with Anya. The ex-demon seemed to be the only one who didn’t act uncomfortable around her.



Giving the world around her a final inspecting glance, she turned and made her way up the steps and back into the house. She thought she might as well take Spike’s example and turn in for the night.



With her back turned she missed the subtle shift behind the bushes of a neighbour’s house several doors up, just out of reach of her Slayer senses. Red hair flared under the shine of a muted streetlight, giving the impression of fire.



With the slayer back safely in the house, the vamped Willow stepped out fully into the light, her lips curled in a saccharine smile of evil intent.



“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the little Slayer far from home. And another little vampire puppy.”



She closed her eyes and hummed, her body shivering in ecstatic participation. She rubbed her hands seductively across her chest, up her throat to finally tangle in her hair, encouraging a young fledgling that had been hiding with her behind the bushes to launch himself at her feet. He rubbed his face over her leather-clad thighs, nuzzling between her legs as she parted them and allowed him the space. As his body rose, the burnished chestnut hair coming into her view as his tongue pushed cold saliva over the curves at the top of her breasts; she raised her foot and kicked him into a tree. He looked at her, shocked, then disintegrated into a million particles of ash.



Her eyes widened comically. “Oops!” she said, quite unconcerned that she had just lost their little army another fledgling, along with another nine that the peroxided vampire had claimed that night. She really must announce that new fledges should be buried closer to home, somewhere new that this do-gooder vamp didn’t know about. There wouldn’t be much of a clan if all the minions were dusted before they were trained. Their army needed fodder.



Her eyes continued to catalogue the surroundings of the Slayer’s house until the back light switched off, and she pouted at the pavement.



“Bored now,” she called to no one and then almost skipped along the street, looking forward to telling the Master about a potential new toy.


~@~@~


The morning found the Scoobies arriving at the Magic Box all fresh and present. Their gatherings had faltered a little over the weeks, varied levels of guilt and concern often held up conversation as pockets of disquiet settled. The group resisted ever inviting Spike to contribute to the discussions that invariably erupted around the table for a number of reasons. The predominant one was because often the discussion centred on him.



As it was on most days when they finally forced the gathering, the first topic on the agenda was Spike’s weird recovery from his suicidal grief and near catatonic acceptance of another Buffy. The appearance of her as he entered the house had raised no look of recognition, no gasping breath of shock and hope, no enlarged eyeball of awe. His reaction was of a man who had just met someone for the first time, not the disbelieving wrench of pain in being confronted with his love whom he knew was dead.



“I guess Spike’s love was really of the kind that lasts, not!” Xander was always the first to start the diatribe.



“I-I’m not s-sure we can blame Spike.”



All eyes zeroed in on an uncomfortable Tara, and while Willow was curious as to why her lover would offer that concession for Spike, she recognised the overwhelming nature of the Scooby attention blitz.



Giles took charge, making the role something he was determined to claim to stave off his feelings of uselessness he had been experiencing lately. Despite what he had expected, the arrival of the doppelganger Buffy, and the recovery of Spike, had not lessened those moments of anguish when he wondered at the fate of them all. Funny how he had expected Buffy to go on forever, even though he himself had asserted her short expected life span so often.



“Spike’s change of heart seems to be a little too convenient and fast to mesh correctly with his behaviour in those first days after Buffy…left.”



Not a one of them could still bring themselves to admit their Buffy- the happy, bright and shiny Buffy who had sparkled with her love for them all- had died. To them she was just lost.



“I don’t believe he was putting those feelings on. So, as cynical as you want to be, Xander, I am inclined to believe that his feelings are genuine. Which is not to say that I am not a touch relieved that he has seemingly gotten over it, by whatever means was necessary.”



“But Giles, that’s not it. It’s more like he has repressed the memory of Buffy, rather than just gotten over her.” The attention Tara received now seemed kinder, Spike’s strong emotional attachment to the dead Slayer receiving some stamp of, if not approval, then at the very least, weary belief. “His aura is still inconsolable with grief, but it’s underneath. It’s like there i-is this um, curtain over h-his true self.” Tara looked around the table hoping to see a crowd of people with understanding eyes. What she found was another disparity about their everyday lives.



“Do you think it might be a spell?” Giles was cleaning his glasses, this time in frustrated boredom rather than pre-apocalypse anxiety.



Willow and Tara shared a look and finally Tara turned to Giles.



“It doesn’t l-look quite like a-a spell, but it m-must be. I don’t think S-Spike would get over Buffy just like that. And to be confronted w-with A-Anne…” she trailed off; embarrassed that the group hadn’t actually thought about any reaction Spike might have had to being confronted with Buffy’s double. That he hadn’t reacted at all didn’t lessen that sense of guilt.



The group had quieted in contemplation.



“Well, his recovery is good for Dawn, at least. No one has to stay there now. We can all get on with our lives.” Four pairs of eyes stared at Anya, completely dumbfounded at her rather insulting effort to be reassuring. “And I’m sure he is very good for Anne, too. She isn’t as distant with him as Buffy was. I’d almost lay bets that they are already sharing superior orgasms.” Mouths dropped open.



“But…but…as long as he isn’t ga-ga over Buffy, still. Right?” Xander’s complete dismissal of the girl who was Buffy-- just formed from different circumstances-- was a little disturbing to Giles. Though, he felt relief at the prospect of not caring about the romantic interludes of this Anne. In fact, if Spike became interested in this girl, all the better. She seemed to prefer instruction, guidance from the vampire rather than from him, thus relegating him to a superfluous position within the group. Once again, he questioned how needed he was in Sunnydale.



“Yes, well, they seem to have come together in patrolling rather well.” The security felt in this action garnered widespread nods of relief. They felt safe again, for the first time since Buffy…left. It was the pat on the back they all needed to feel comfortable with keeping Anne in their dimension.



But Willow was always left wondering. She had hoped that by saving this Buffy that she might have regained a friend, might have assuaged her guilty feelings of not saving Buffy. But Anne was cold, distant, and unemotional. She never laughed; she hardly ever spoke let alone smiled. She seemed to keep away from them all, only requiring Dawn and Spike to exist in her new life. Other than their feelings of safety, Willow wondered every night when she went to bed if she had done the right thing bringing the girl over.



And lately, every night her head hit the pillow she began to lose breath in the fear that Buffy had passed through the portal and left her soul in some Godforsaken place that she couldn’t escape from. It had been an opening to Hell dimensions after all. It stood to reason that that would be where Buffy was. It seemed more than logical. It was obvious.



The seeds of an idea caught hold of the earth then, and she spent her sleeping hours wondering about the possibilities, the abilities. She was in the process of slowly gathering spells, and rehearsing for the possibility. She didn’t want to tell her friends unless she was sure she could do it. She was only days away from that surety.



The Spike situation bothered her. She agreed with Tara that he had to be affected by some spell, even if it wasn’t immediately obvious. She had spent too much time in his company just after they lost Buffy-- trying to make sure they didn’t lose him as well-- to believe that his about face was anything other than supernatural. As relieved as Giles and Xander were that Spike’s entire personality did a one-eighty, Willow thought she owed it to him to work out what was going on. But first, she had to save Buffy, bring her back from whatever Hell she fell into through her sacrifice.



The concentration of the table had broken off into independent factions, Xander and Anya flirting over the service counter while Anya prepared the till for her expected abundant sales. Giles had wandered off to his desk, muttering quietly to himself, and Tara sat focused on Willow, a look of concern tinting the metallic blue of her eyes.




Willow shot her a smile intended to mislead, and took herself up onto the balcony to do some more research. An hour passed with Xander heading off to work-- starting time late due to it being a last minute fix-up on site-- and the rest continuing whatever had kept their attention for that length of time.



So concentration was at its height when Spike burst from the basement stairs, energy shooting from him and bouncing around the walls of the shop. Though she didn’t have the skill, for a brief moment Willow fancied she could sense the cloaking aura that Tara had briefed them on. But then something powerful kicked in and she could see for one short moment that the soothing forgetfulness might not be the only result of a spell. Suddenly she remembered the mode of his avoidance in all conversations concerning Buffy. It wasn’t done in an offended, ‘can’t live with even the sound of her name’ avoidance. It was more a ‘trying to think about her makes my head hurt,’ kind.



Now that Willow was partially onto the problem, she could see Spike rubbing his temple just entering the shop, as if memories were trying to crack through some barrier but head pain kept them safely at bay. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had done a numbing spell on himself. Further thought along those lines, though, convinced her that the prospect was impossible. Spike was in no fit state to contemplate anything so organised. He didn’t want to exist without Buffy. The memory of her was excruciating to him, but she doubted that he would ever try to rid himself of them. She had never thought to see Spike as vulnerable, but his reaction to what happened with Buffy showed the gang that he was.



But now he was back to the same old Spike, minus the passionate drive to turn their spleens into hats for Halloween, and so forth. Now he acted as though he was their friend, and though Xander especially seemed uncomfortable with that moniker, he wasn’t rejecting the idea, either. Sometime during their vigil over the suicidal vampire, she had begun to care. And, she knew, Tara probably more so.



So, Willow had decided. Once she had sorted out what she could do to get Buffy back, she would try and find out what was off about Spike. He wouldn’t thank anyone later for letting him forget about Buffy.



Spike entered the shop and seemed to hesitate before finding a seat at the large round table occupying one corner of the floor-space. Giles took off his glasses, seemingly exasperated for the interruption to his reading. Researching. As Giles took another quick glance at the page he had been staring at for the past hour, he rose and resumed his earlier place at the table.



“What can we do for you, Spike?” The watcher’s voice was tired, reflecting the weary hopelessness he was beginning to feel by being surrounded by all these children. His impatience could be witnessed in the tightening of his shoulders, the slight hardness of his lips, and the determined but chilling glint in his eye.



“Thought I’d give you a report on patrol las’ night.” The blond shrugged his shoulders, a non-committal gesture designed to irritate the already edgy Watcher into displaying some temper, something that had yet remained too restrained for the Scooby kids to get a gander at.



“So, get on with it then,” was the impatient reply and a number of eyes turned to the two men exchanging a supposedly non-inflammatory conversation.



“Why didn’t Anne come and report?” Willow questioned, and that little twitch itched in her throat that reminded her of Buffy’s daily report of the evils in the graveyards of Sunnydale. The absence of Anne in this capacity was both a relief and alarming.



“Seems she doesn’t feel comfortable round you lot. I’ve noticed that none of you can bear to look at her, let alone speak to the girl. Wha’s the problem?”



Spike picked up an ancient looking book from the tabletop and flicked through it absently, confused by his split feelings about where these confessions could take his happy existence. He was concerned for Anne, worried by her disassociation from these people who could easily be friends…and the thought that it should be so between this particular group of people was starting a throb in his temple. It suddenly seemed too difficult to challenge this status quo and he decided to leave the opening behind.



“Thought I should prolly let you know that the number of fledglings is rising pretty quick like. Somethin’s goin’ on. Seems to date back to when you brought Anne over, and Harris killed his vamp self. Might be possible a bit more came through the loop than you lot bargained for.”



Giles and Willow wore serious expressions as they thought about what Spike was saying.



“I mean, it’s possible, right. We don’t know for sure what came through. Heard mention of Willow’s double comin’ through once before.” Spike looked at them expectant, waiting for them to either confirm or deny. He felt frustrated then when his speech was met with silence, only broken by the quiet swiping of cloth against glass lenses.



“We can only assume that vamp Xander was not the only one to come through the portal. In fact, going by what we know of the Master’s regime in that other Sunnydale, this trend of increased risings would seem to fit.”



Giles released a long, laboured breath, seeing his escape become possibly distant over this threat. He couldn’t possibly leave the group in the midst of such uncertainty…but then again, the Slayer and vampire seemed to have the situation under control, or at least half-figured out. It seemed he had nothing to offer this version of his beloved Buffy-- this hardened unemotional copy-- and he felt distance was his only option.



“Why don’t you take Willow out on patrol with you tonight? See if she can sense anything?” His tired dejection eclipsed his commonsense concern for the innocent, non-superhero members of the group as his mind firmed on the idea of leaving.



No, he had fulfilled his duty to the last, even getting his Slayer killed. There was nothing left here for him. He had lost most of what was important to him-- a possible life partner in Jenny Calendar, a good friend in Joyce Summers, and finally his surrogate daughter--Buffy. His only recourse now was to return to England, perhaps approach the council to return to his former job, and try and derive some sense of purpose in his life. Without a thought, he relegated those that were important to Buffy to the back of his mind, and mentally embarked on the first plane out of the Hellmouth.


To be continued