Echoes of Beljoxa by myrabeth
Chapter #1 - Plan B

Author's Notes: Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing but my own wish to tell a story.

Scattered throughout this story, there are numerous references that do not exactly match what was seen on screen (primarily in season 7). None of these changes are significant alterations to canon, and were made to better serve the story that follows.

What began as a simple 'Fix It' fic evolved into something even the person behind the keyboard never imagined. I hope you'll trust me with all the ups, downs, and seemingly out of place detours. If I'm lucky, you'll find the journey engaging, the characters believable, and will see past the 'Fix It' framework to the story that I didn't even know I had in me.

Also, the dates at the tops of the chapters matter. Skipping over them will leave you confused, more than once. Consider yourself warned.


Chapter 1: Plan B

May, 2003

“We did this,” Anya said, for probably the hundredth time. “The Eye made that very clear.”

“There’s no use in dwelling on it, Ahn. What we have to deal with is now, not two years ago.” Xander rubbed his temple under the strap of his eye patch.

“Sometimes I really hate being human. Everything seems to have uncomfortable consequences attached to it, like guilt and remorse. Life is easier when you can ignore all of that.” She caught Spike’s eye. “But then, I guess you don’t have to be human to be saddled with guilt.”

Spike put down his mug and left the kitchen without a word. Buffy watched him, fighting an urge to follow him to the basement. She turned to Willow, whose cheeks were red with shame again, as they were every time Anya repeated her lament. The guilt and anguish that surrounded them all was ever-present. This was one of the days it seemed to be on full display. Buffy bit her lip. “I guess now's as good a time as any.” She took a deep breath. “Wils, what if you didn’t do this?”


Buffy came down the stairs slowly. She stopped on the bottom step and sat down. “Plan B is a go,” she said. “With one adjustment.”

“What's that?”

“Earlier. Is that ok with you?”


“I hate this. I hate being here. I hate that you have to be here. I hate that there's evil, and that I was chosen to fight it. I wish, a whole lot of the time, that I hadn't been. I know a lot of you wish I hadn't been. But this isn't about wishes. This is about broken things. This is about fixing them. I believe we can beat this evil. Not when it comes, not when its army is ready, now… Well, two years ago, actually. Tomorrow morning I'm going to go undo the damage. I'm going to take away the opportunity for The First to rise. I'm finishing this once and for all… by making sure it never starts.”

Silence covered the living room like a fine coating of dust. Buffy looked around at the still young faces, their expressions etched with disbelief. She hoped she could pull it off, could save their lives before they were ever in danger, could save the lives of all the other potentials and watchers who never made it to her door, could save everyone around her the misery of the last few years… including herself.

Kennedy was the first to speak. “Two years ago? Making sure it never starts? You’re talking about time travel. Is that even possible?”

Willow stepped close to Buffy’s side. “It is. It’s big time magic, and kind of risky, but it’s possible. If we can stop me from resurrecting Buffy, The First never gets a solid foothold on this plane, not enough power to start all of this.”

“So you’re going to let Buffy stay dead?” Amanda squeaked, her eyes wide.

Buffy smiled tightly. “The goal is for me not to die in the first place, which is part of why I'm actually going back three years. But we’ll also have a backup plan in place.” The smile turned to a grimace. “I’m taking someone with me to make sure I stay dead if we can’t change that part.”

Dawn abruptly stood up and stalked out of the room without a word. Apparently, their private chat earlier had not made the girl more amenable to hearing those words.

Kennedy looked to where Faith stood, leaning against the door frame. “You?”

Faith replied with a choked laugh. “I’m not gonna be any good to her. I’m in lock down in the time she’s going to. I’m just glad she’s not going back to undo her first death.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to,” Buffy whispered over her shoulder to her sister slayer. Turning back to the room, she explained. “My first death was very brief, and I was brought back with CPR.” She threw a smile at Xander.

“It was all very simple and human. I drowned. I was resuscitated in a normal, human way. It was natural, and the calling of another slayer was natural. From that moment forward, I was not a regular slayer. I still had the power, but the slayer line flowed through a girl named Kendra. Then Faith was called when Kendra died. It was normal slayer-calling for them. On my end it was a little odd. Odd, but still a natural shift in the flow of the power, one that was corrected the second time I died. But I was brought back, through magical means this time, and it made things… unbalanced. If I could have been brought back without my power, as a full human, it might have been ok. But I came back as I was, as a slayer. The use of dark magics to do that is what made things lopsided enough for The First to come out and play. The shift of power was no longer natural and balanced.”

Buffy paused for a moment, again surveying the faces around her. They looked like they were struggling to take it all in, but were slowly getting it. “So I’m going back, memories intact, to see if I can keep it from happening, keep any of you from ever having to go through all this.”

Rona shook the dumbstruck look from her face. “Ok, if –and that’s a big if- this crazy idea can even work, do we have time to try it?”

Willow piped up again. “If the spell works and Buffy is able to change what happened, we have all the time in the world. None of this will have ever happened. If either part fails, we’ll have only lost the time we’ve spent getting ready and performing the spell. They’ll be caught back up to our time almost immediately after the spell is complete from our perspective, but in the past, they’ll have lived through just under three years.”

“I don’t think I want to know how that works.” Kennedy shook her head. “So if it’s not Faith, who’s going to be your back up?” She lifted her chin defiantly, trying to look as strong and capable as she could, hoping to be chosen for this, at least.

“She can’t take any of us, Kennedy,” Vi said. “Faith said she can’t help because she was in prison. I think that means Buffy needs someone who was here at the time.”

Willow nodded at the other redhead, looking like a proud schoolteacher. “Exactly. None of you girls were with us back then, so you’re all off the hook. Buffy’s back-up person has to be someone who already knew us then, and can interact normally with past-me, and past-Dawn, and past-everyone. Otherwise, past-us will know something weird is going on. It might make an even bigger mess than the one we have. It has to be someone we already knew.”

“So it’s a Sunnydale local, a Scooby,” Kennedy sniffed, feeling left out of Willow’s inner circle yet again. “Your back-up person is one of the people who resurrected you in the first place? That’s who you’re trusting to not bring you back?”

“I’m taking someone who would have stopped the resurrection, had he known about it. And he can help me prevent even needing to make that jump.” Buffy watched the girls’ eyes swivel around the room when they caught on to her choice of pronouns, sizing up each man. She let them guess for a moment, smiling to herself as a couple of them even scrutinized Andrew.

“I’m taking Spike.”


Buffy threw her hands up in irritation. “Oh my god! Will you please stop pacing? I can’t think!”

Spike stopped mid-step to study her as she bent over her letter. “You not nervous? Magic is what got us into this mess.”

“And it’s going to get us out of it. Look at it this way: We're un-breaking something. The slayer line, the power balance on this plane, the Bringers killing all those watchers and potentials? That's all broken stuff. We can undo it. It's the best possible plan.”

“I suppose. Still don’t like it.”

She smirked at him. “Are you chickening out on me?”

“Buffy, we could change things we don’t even mean to.” Spike fell into a chair across the table from her. “Too much can go wrong. Could ruin something important, something that needs to happen.”

“Trust me, this feels right.” she shrugged. “Besides, it’s a hell of a lot better than Plan A.”

He eyed her warily. “Glad you didn’t let Red try that one. Fixing an unnatural slayer problem by making more unnatural slayers was about the most hare-brained scheme ever.”

Buffy shrugged again. “I was short on ideas. The First gave me one. It kept harping on how alone I was, how all slayers are alone. Then I realized it wanted me to think of making more slayers. That was the point of the conversation. After I picked up on that, I realized a better plan was right in front of me the whole time.”

Spike tilted his head at her, curious.

“You. You were sleeping across the room when it was talking to me. That’s when I put the pieces together.”

The curiosity on his face deepened into confusion, tinged with fear. “What do you mean?”

“I suddenly remembered you talking to me about the same thing, telling me I was alone, and all that kept me alive was having friends and family. You were right, about more than one thing. I'm still alive because I have people around to help. People who brought me back and caused this whole First Evil mess, yea, but the same people have helped me, countless times. If I tell them about Dawn sooner, let them help me sooner, all of this--” She waved a hand toward the ceiling and the sounds of teenagers chattering nervously in the rooms above. “--could go away.”

Spike stared at his hands in his lap. “Wasn’t them didn’t get the job done the first time ‘round.”


He lifted his head at her commanding tone.

“We all could have done better, all of us. Besides, we aren’t going to let it get to that point this time. We know more; we can make sure things turn out differently. Memory is a huge asset, if it's used right.”

“So you’re gonna tell them when we get there?”

She nodded. “As soon as Glory shows up, if I can. They’ll need to know.” She glanced toward Spike's cot, squinting at her alarm clock on the floor beside it. “We should finish these and get upstairs. Willow wants to talk out the details tonight. She's pretty excited.”

“Wish I had her optimism. You lot should be wise to the problems with magic by now.”

Buffy pushed her pen into his hand and gestured to the envelopes on the table. “Start helping or I’ll have to beat some optimism into you.”

He tensed, and slowly turned his gaze up to meet hers. When he saw the twinkle in her eye and the smile on her lips, he visibly relaxed. She was only teasing. He gave his head a quick shake. Since when was she playful with him? She was so confident in this plan -so comfortable with him- that she was teasing? He reached across the table to grab her wrist.

She pulled back in surprise. “Ow! What the hell?”

Spike returned his hand to the envelopes. “Sorry. Just checking.”

Buffy nodded in understanding. “Making sure I’m solid?”

“Yea.” He abruptly turned his attention to the envelopes. “What’s tomorrow’s date?”

“The twentieth. Also, I gave you the pen. The First can’t do that.”

“Should have noticed that.” Across the front of the envelope, in the elegant script of an older generation, he wrote ‘To be opened on twentieth May, 2003.’

“Do you want to hear it?” At his nod, she took a deep breath.

Dear Willow,

Today, in another timeline, you performed a spell that averted the granddaddy of all apocalypses. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, that’s good. It means Spike and I didn’t have to break the rules. Of course, if you're reading this, I’ve probably been dead for the last two years. But that’s ok, too. Whatever has happened, if my mother’s home hasn’t turned into the sorority house from hell, it means you saved us all. As of today, Spike can answer all your questions. Thank you for sending us back. I wish I were there to celebrate with you.

Love, Buffy.

“Sound ok?”

Spike held out his hand for the letter. He folded it neatly and slid it into the envelope. “Good enough.” He took up his pen. “Which one is next?”

She handed him two sheets of paper, already folded together. “Letters to me, um, mostly notes about Dawn and Glory, in case the monks manage to screw up our… um, future memories. Is that right?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Not gonna get into the Star Trek past and future tense conversation with you. Harris and the junior whelp spent the whole afternoon yammerin’ about it.” His annoyance was clear, so she kept her mouth shut. He wrote ‘To Buffy’ across the front of the second envelope.

“The date on the last one--”

“I know that date, Buffy,” Spike nearly growled.

She winced. “Just date it for the day after, ok?”

With a slightly shaky hand, he wrote, ‘To be opened on twenty-third May, 2001’ across the third envelope. Then he put down the pen. “Right, then. Read it off.”

Dear Willow,

If you’re reading this, I died last night. I guess I wasn’t able to stop the portal without jumping into it. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. I can’t explain everything, but Spike will fill you in in a couple of years. Until then, please don't ask. Meanwhile, there are a few things I need you to do for me, since I’m not going to be around to do them myself:

1. Do whatever it takes to keep Dawn with the Scoobies. Give her all the love and support you can. And don’t keep her out of research. She loves it, and she can handle it.

2. Don’t try to resurrect me. You will literally be putting the world in jeopardy if you do. Don’t worry; I’m not in a hell dimension. Kind of the opposite, actually. Please leave me there. If you try to bring me back, Spike will do anything he can to stop it, even kill you if he must, and he would be right to do so. Don’t put him in that position. Let me go.

3. Focus on getting comfortable with your power. That’s a lesson you and I both learned too late. Ask Giles to contact the coven in Devon, get them to take you under their wing for training. You’ll be better for it, I promise.

4. Break Faith out of jail. Get her a new identity and ask her to stay in Sunnydale. Help her. Trust her. She’s a good slayer, and she will be a good leader with a little practice. Try to let the past go and start fresh. You need each other.

“And then I go on with some other stuff.”

Spike’s eyebrows lifted. He snatched the letter from her hand. Silently, he read what she had not.

5. That needing each other thing applies to Spike, too. He has a promise to keep, to take care of Dawn for me, so get him sobered up and back on his feet as soon as you can. Help him help you. He’s still learning what it means to be one of the good guys. He’s going to stumble. Someone should be there to help him up for once. Give him a chance. There’s a good man under all that Big Bad attitude, I promise.

Take care of each other.

Love, Buffy

He carefully folded the letter and tucked it into the last envelope. He took his time sealing all three of them, not daring to look into her eyes. He stood and crossed the basement with the envelopes still in his hand, headed toward the stairs. Finally, he stopped to look back at her. “Red’s waiting on us.”

Buffy stood to follow him. “I meant it.”

Spike rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “Yea, well, thanks for sayin’ it.”


Giles ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “How can I make this more clear? Your current selves will be integrated into your past selves. The former versions of you will house your-- your essence... um, essentially. There will only be one active pair in the timeline.”

Buffy held up a hand in surrender. “Ok, ok, I get it. Wils, you wanted to talk about the when?”

“Right!” Willow perked up, having withdrawn from the merry-go-round of ‘Who’s on first’ time travel conversation between Watcher and Slayer about five minutes prior. “We don’t want to put you in at the wrong time and interfere with the spell to make Dawn, so I’m working you in around the monks.”

Spike shrugged. “So we go just before the Nibblet arrives. You already told us that. Going back almost three years, right?”

Willow hesitated. “Well, see, that’s what I wanted to talk about. We don’t know when Dawn was created. We have a good estimate, but not an exact date. Also… um, I’m going to have to overshoot the mark a little.”

“How far?” Buffy frowned. “A week? A month?”

“Um, I don’t actually know. This isn’t an exact science, Buffy. I know you need to go to late summer of 2000 to be sure we don’t screw up your Dawn memories or make you immune to the Key spell. So I aim for then, putting my margin of error further back. You’re going to… bounce a little.”

Buffy glanced at Spike. Her concern was reflected on his features. “Bounce?”

Giles spoke up. “She’s saying you might go further back than intended, but not stay long before you move forward again.”


“Well, like I said, I’m aiming to overshoot the mark. Once I’ve moved you back, I can do the fine-tuning. It’s like when you're wrapping a gift, sorta? You unroll more paper than you need, to be sure you have enough to cover the box, then you roll the excess back up. I’m going to get you as close as I can without stepping on Dawn’s toes.”

“So how long is a bounce, Red?”

“A few hours, maybe up to a day? For you, anyway. It will only be a few seconds for me. I’ve got help teleporting in from Devon, to make sure I don’t go boom with the magic, but they’ll also help me make it a smoother and faster ride. The quicker, the better. You don’t want to risk changing anything before we’ve completed the spell… or you might change something that prevents us from doing it.”

“Try to act as normally as possible,” Giles threw in. “Make only the changes you feel are necessary. Don’t tell anyone about where…erm… when you came from unless you must. Time is delicate and deceptive. It doesn’t tell you what small actions will affect other, later events. Please be careful.” He cleared his throat. “Buffy, I must request again you take me in Spike's stead.”

“No.” Her response was quick and stern.

“We don't know for certain his soul will survive the traveling, or if he will be trying to find a way to kill you, despite the chip.”

“Hey! Sitting right here!” Spike interjected.

Giles continued. “I know I could stop the resurrection, without selfish motives getting in my way. I could even rein Willow in magically, if necessary.”

“Hey!” Willow looked offended. “I'm sitting right here, too!”

Giles kept his eyes locked on Buffy's, trying to convey to her that he was the better choice. “You need someone stable to back you up, who understands the nuances of this venture. Someone who--”

Buffy's expression was as cold as her words. “Someone who might insist on killing my sister if Glory snatches her again? Or go behind my back to do it?” To his silence, she replied, “Spike won't do that to me. I can trust him to fight to keep her alive. I can also trust him not to leave her. He goes. You're not qualified.”

A tense silence filled the dining room until Spike drew his eyes away from the glaring slayer and watcher to catch those of the witch. He held up the envelopes. “We need to take these.”

Buffy rested back in her chair, pointedly ignoring Giles as she explained to Willow, “Those are our insurance. Letters to you. One tells you not to bring me back if I die again, and one is dated to be opened tomorrow. The other envelope holds letters I've written to myself, in case the monks wipe our--” She looked at Spike, who rolled his eyes in anticipation of her next words. “Future memories.”

Giles nodded with reluctant approval, impressed by her attention to detail, despite his reservations about the plan itself. She ignored the gesture.

Willow scrunched up her face for a moment, lost in thought. Her face lit up with an idea. “I can enchant an item to move with you. You know, something that can hold stuff, a container of some kind… There’s only one hitch. It would have to be something you have now that already exists in the past, something you’ll have access to through the entire timeline. We'll just do a different version of what we’re doing with your essences. We move them through time, putting them in that time’s version of the same container or person.”

Buffy scrunched up her face in thought, too, mentally going through her collection of handbags to try to remember their ages.

Spike stood up and walked out of the dining room. He returned a moment later with his duster over one arm. He handed it to Willow.

She held the leather loosely in her hand for a moment, squinting at him in confusion. Then understanding dawned on her face. “Of course! You’ve had this forever!” She inspected the exterior pockets. “Plenty of room for a few letters, and any other little things you’ll need.”

Spike took the coat back for a moment, and dug Angel’s amulet out of an interior pocket. He gave the timeworn leather back to Willow, and handed the amulet to Giles. “This don’t work, might need that thing in a fight. It needs to stay here.”

Giles gripped the crystal, nodding. “I must say,” he addressed both Buffy and Spike. “I’m surprised at this willingness to take such a great risk with such small odds of success.”

“This is our best chance, Giles. I’m willing to try anything to make this madness stop.”

“Desperate times, Watcher,” Spike grumbled.

“There’s no coming back, you know. This is a one-way trip. The only way back to this time is to live through the intervening years.”

Buffy sighed in exasperation. “We know that, Giles. We know it’s going to suck at times. But if it works, it will be worth every day of it. We have thought this through, you know.”

Sensing another round of the ‘Buffy and Giles Almost-Silent Power Struggle’ beginning, Willow stood up and clapped her hands once to draw attention. “We need to finish getting ready. Spike, I’m going to get your coat prepared. You two figure out if there’s anything else you need to put in it. Then get some sleep. You could get dropped into the middle of a battle in the morning, for all we know. We don't need either of you getting knocked into coma-land on the first bounce.”

Nods and quiet ‘good-nights’ were exchanged. Willow went up to her room, and the time travelers returned to the basement. Giles, still in the dining room with his books, heard the tell-tale hisses of a whispered argument from below a few minutes later. He barely resisted the urge to slip down the stairs to eavesdrop.


She rarely came back after she left for her morning shower. He had learned not to expect her. She had to go be General Buffy. There weren't enough daylight hours to waste them with the vamp downstairs. This morning was different. She came down the stairs slowly, took only one step onto the floor of the basement and then stopped. “They're ready,” she said quietly.

Spike, sitting on his cot, his back against the wall, turned to look at her. They studied each other for a long moment before he broke eye contact. He hopped to his feet. “Right. Curtains closed?”

Buffy nodded. But instead of turning to lead him upstairs, she stepped forward. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have argued with you last night.” She pretended not to notice his surprised expression. She felt uncomfortable at being reminded how unaccustomed he was to receiving apologies.

He stepped toward her, closing the gap. “Love, fighting is what we do. Wouldn't be us if we didn’t.”

“Taking photos with us was a stupid idea.” She moved to meet him, and rested her forehead on his chest. “I should have just let it go. I'm just scared. ...Of forgetting. of not having a connection to this life.” She shook her head as she lifted it to meet his gaze. “I'll miss...”

“Having a passel of baby slayers taking over your house?”

“Maybe a little. And I'll miss my friends, these grown up versions. I'll miss almost-grown up Dawnie. I'll miss... us, being close like this.”

Spike took her chin in his hand. “I'll still be around, love. You won't forget. As for the Nibblet, fair to say she'll remind you a lot, if you let her.”

Buffy smiled, turning her cheek into his palm. They stood that way for a moment, and may have stayed that way for a long time, had a loud whisper not drifted down the stairs. “Hey! If you two aren't busy boinking, can you get up here already? Willow is starting to nag. It's very unbecoming.”

She blushed. He shook his head. “Be right there, Anya. Hold your horses!”

Buffy took his hand from her face and held it for a moment. “Ready?”

At his nod, they broke apart and headed upstairs, their focus shifting away from each other and to the mission at hand.


Spike slipped into his duster and reached into the right hand pocket to make sure the envelopes were present, suddenly glad she'd made him address them. He could claim them as his personal property if they fell out of his pocket. Her handwriting was hidden within, only his showed on the exterior. Photos were all she had wanted to bring along, and he didn’t know of anything else worth taking, so the letters would be all they had, their only connection to a truth they’d be unable to share with anyone else for years to come.

He stepped into a small circle of green sand and waited in silence, pointedly ignoring the bustle around him. After her last-minute detour to the powder room, Buffy waded through the chaos to get to the circle. She calmly surveyed the room from her place beside Spike.

Willow and Giles were checking their watches and chattering anxiously about the position of the sun and its significance to the spell. Xander was pushing the last of the furniture against the wall, making room for the arrival of teleporting witches. Dawn was ordering Andrew to the backyard with the potentials. He reluctantly trudged out of the room, and was soon heard whining in the kitchen, over the voices of Faith and Anya, who were trying to drag the last stragglers away from their breakfast. Wood stood in the doorway, as far away from the activity as he could be without losing sight of it. His unease blended well with the anxiety of everyone else, but he eventually excused himself with a murmur to Dawn, opting to join Andrew and the girls outside.

Buffy took the sudden arrival of three unfamiliar faces in her living room in stride. These days, she didn’t know most of the people in her house. Strangers within its walls had become so common, they were barely noticed. She watched in silence as the elderly woman Giles and Willow greeted as Althenea flopped down on the sofa. Buffy waved Willow over to her. “Wils, she looks exhausted. Are you sure she’ll be able to help you?”

Willow gestured to the other two new arrivals. “That’s my help, Buffy. Althenea just came along to do the teleporting, so Bryn and Elsa wouldn't be drained when they got here.”

“Oh.” Buffy withdrew, comforted that the witches seemed to had thought of everything. She looked at Spike, who stood beside her in the circle of green sand, staring at the fireplace. His face was stony, giving nothing away. Buffy opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again. What was left to say? Well, there was one thing. “Thank you, Spike.”

“Not doing it just for you,” he mumbled, his gaze still fixed on the cold hearth.

“I know. There are a lot of people this will help. And I’m sure you’d like to do a few things over. I know I would… But you don’t have to go with me. I just realized I hadn't thanked you.”

Spike finally turned to face her, about to form another response, when movement in their direction caught his eye. “Time to say good-bye, love.” He nodded over her shoulder.

Buffy turned to see Dawn approaching the circle. “Dawnie, I’m going to miss you,” she whispered. “It might be weeks –to me, anyway- before I see you again.”

“Hug Mom for me?” Jealousy shimmered in Dawn’s damp eyes.

“I’m going to try to save her, too, you know.” Buffy stepped out of the circle to pull her sister into her arms. “I’m going to make things better for you, as good as I can get it.”

Dawn buried her face in Buffy’s shoulder; her lanky body bent low to get closer. The distance that had been building between them for so long melted away. “Just don’t die,” she sniffed.

Spike stepped outside of the circle to join them. “I'm not gonna let her jump, Bit. I promise.”

Dawn released her sister and whirled to face him. “You take good care of her, or I’ll make what that Turok Han did to you look like a moonlight stroll.”



Both Spike and Buffy were silenced by Willow’s loud clap. “Get in the circle now, you two. We're burning daylight. Dawn, back away,” she commanded.

All the tense conversation and thoughts of personal issues were brushed aside. The room grew quiet. Dawn retreated to the sofa to sit between Xander and Althenea. Giles stepped away from the witches, backing up to the doorway.

Buffy and Spike returned to the circle, this time facing each other. Each searched for second thoughts in the other’s eyes, ready to call a stop to it. But there was no hesitation to be seen, just two warriors with a job to do and no thoughts of failure. Each projected an air of complete confidence for the other to see. Whether it was real or not, it was enough.

As the chanting began, Buffy whispered, “If this works, I’ll owe you the world.”

Spike whispered back, “If this works, you’ll have time to explain what that means.”

Chapter #2 - Bounce Factors

Before anyone asks, the full reasoning (outside of the obvious) for the seemingly 'out of the blue' nickname that begins showing up in this chapter -as well as when/where it started- will be explained. Later. There are a lot of long threads in this story that don't appear to be woven in at first glance. But they all are, eventually. This is just the beginning.


Chapter 2: Bounce Factors

November, 1999 – September, 2000

Buffy’s world was a blur of flashing light. Moments of her recent life reeled past her in rapid reverse, vague, colorful images between sharp, white flashes. The effect was dizzying, slightly nauseating, and she struggled to stay on her feet... until she realized she was no longer standing.

Spike was suddenly glad he'd skipped breakfast. That mug of pig's blood he’d been wanting would certainly have been threatening to return, and he was feeling a little lightheaded. The flashing light and picture show had gone on just a bit too long, and he was beginning to worry something was wrong, when he suddenly had a new concern. He was lying flat on his back and had no idea how he had gotten there.

When the flashing stopped, Buffy was straddling Spike’s body on a cold crypt floor, kissing him. Her thoughts were panicked. Oh shit! Did Willow screw up and only send us one year back? That’s not far enough! Wait. Willow screwing up a spell. This is familiar… Ooooh! I know when this is. This is early enough. Too early, actually. But did my time's Spike land in this moment with me? Going to have to test that... carefully, just in case he didn't.

She pulled away from his lips just far enough to whisper, “Were we really engaged?”

Spike’s reply came with a near-silent chuckle. “Once upon a time, yea,” he whispered back.

She sighed in relief. “Good. It's you.”

“Guess we still are. Never officially broke it off.”

“It was implied!” She hissed, her face still positioned just above his.

“Well, it looks like it's back on... But we're gonna have to 'imply' it off again.”

“Play it from memory,” Buffy murmured, ending the awkwardly positioned conversation.

They were perfectly still for a few seconds, lips millimeters apart, listening to the fight taking place a few feet away. When the scuffle suddenly stopped, Buffy took the cue. She pulled herself up into a sitting position. She was still trying not to focus on the familiarity of the kiss, instead putting all her concentration into her performance. “Eeeww!” She spat to the side and wiped a hand across her mouth, trying her best to look completely disgusted. “Spike lips! Lips of Spike!”

Spike followed her lead with an equally disgusted look and some spitting of his own. “Oh, bloody hell!” They rolled away from each other, climbing to their feet separately.

Across the room, Anya and Xander stumbled into standing positions and turned breathlessly toward the door. Buffy stole a glance to marvel at the sight of these younger versions of her friends, then followed their gaze to Willow... a younger Willow, but still Willow. Buffy made no attempt to 'act.' She glared openly at the witch, projecting on her all the irritation and emotional confusion the older version of Willow had triggered by dropping them into that particular moment.


The five of them headed back towards Giles’ apartment to check on him. Anya and Xander marched down the street with Willow between them, both still fuming over the incident. Spike opted to hang back a few yards with a cigarette. Buffy walked with him, keeping a firm hand around his right bicep, giving a passable impression of dragging Spike back as a prisoner.

“I’m going to kill her. She timed this bounce on purpose,” Buffy hissed so low only he could hear. “This hint-dropping, Willow style.”

“You don’t know that,” Spike murmured against the filter of his cigarette. He took a long drag and turned his head away from her on the exhale, the smoke drifting off to his left. “Could be she didn't know when she was dropping us, just guessed at it. Not like she's usually spot on with her spells, is it?”

He raised an eyebrow, daring her to attempt to counter the point and knowing she couldn't, this day of all days. She let the matter drop without another word.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, neither willing to discuss the kiss, let alone risk being overheard. Their thoughts were drifting into memories that had not yet happened and emotions neither was prepared to deal with. They were almost glad they didn't have the option of doing so.

Willow, Xander, and Anya were already entering Giles’ apartment when the two stragglers stepped into the courtyard. Spike brought them to a stop just out of sight of the watcher's door. “What did you do with the ring?”

She removed her hand from his arm and pulled the silver skull off her finger. “I think it’s supposed to be in my pocket by now. I know it eventually ended up hidden at the bottom of my weapons chest.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t chuck it, then? … But not in the jewelry box?”

Buffy shrugged. “Can’t explain it. Can’t explain this, either.” And she shoved the ring into his coat pocket with the letters.

He gave her a look of surprise. “Getting sentimental, are we?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I'm just returning it to its owner.”

Spike reached into the pocket and retrieved the ring. “No need to change this if we can find it later, love. Weapons chest will do fine.”

“You don't want it back?”

“Hasn't been mine for a few years. Gotten used to it being gone. Glad it didn't end up in a rubbish heap, though.” He studied the ring, watching the silver catch the glare of a nearby streetlight as he turned it in his hand.

Buffy squinted at him, still unsure how to interpret some of Spike's quieter moods. I'm not the only one getting sentimental about that ring, she thought. Seeing that Spike had wandered off into his own thoughts, she cleared her throat to get his attention. “You're right. It hasn't been yours for a long time.” She snatched the ring from his grip and thrust it into her own pocket. “There. Happy?”

Spike raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

“I can return it to you later if you want it.” She took his arm again and gestured toward the apartment. “We really should--”

A blinding flash of light cut off her words.


The stench of sweat and latex filled the closed room. He seemed oblivious to it. She knew immediately where and when she was, but her body was out of her control. As her brain angrily rejected the entire situation, her hand left a fresh set of scratch marks down his back.


When the flashing stopped, Spike found himself on a street corner, just south of the UC Sunnydale campus. Alone. “Bugger,” he muttered. He had hoped they’d land together on each bounce, so they could at least keep tabs on each other. He kicked open a nearby newspaper box and stole a paper. The date under the banner failed to trigger anything specific in his memory. He had moved forward about five months, but that was all he knew.

A group of young coeds brushed by him, holding a crying girl in the middle of the pack, making whispered conversation as they passed. Spike took off in a run as soon as he heard the words “party” and “Lowell House,” suddenly very aware of where Buffy had landed.


By the time he’d been thrown back on to the sidewalk by the invisible force field for the seventh time, his rage was visible on his face.

“What are YOU doing here?” Xander asked from behind him.

Spike kipped to his feet and tried to come up with something to say while his face morphed back into its human mask. “Um… Didn’t you ask me to help?”

Anya tapped the tip of her sword impatiently on the sidewalk. “He did. And you left, anyway.” She glanced at Xander’s red, angry face. “My guess is, Xander thinks you should have stayed gone. But then, Xander is occasionally difficult to understand…”

“Ahn, please,” Xander cut in. He narrowed his gaze on Spike. “You serious about helping?”

Spike nodded.

“Fine. We need the help. We won’t have much time in there. But we get to them and then you get gone.” He waved his machete at the vampire. “Understood?”

Spike held up his hands in surrender. “No problem, Superman. Won’t be your sidekick longer than I have to be.”

“Just so we’re clear on who the sidekick is.” Xander smiled in satisfaction.


Buffy could hear muffled movement outside the door. She hadn’t heard it the first time she’d lived through this night. Of course, she hadn’t been listening for it then. At least now she had the comfort of knowing Xander was coming for her, would soon release her from this very strange prison with her ex-lover, and set her free to locate… well, her other ex-lover, but that was beside the point. While her body ran on its forced auto-pilot, she listened. Xander would open the door any moment, any moment now.

The doorknob clicked as it turned. The spell was broken. Before the door was fully open she pushed Riley aside and brought the sheet with her as she came up to a sitting position. “Xander!”

The door opened the rest of the way to reveal it wasn’t Xander behind it. Buffy gasped at the sight of Spike in the doorway. He stood with his eyes lowered, having known what he would find when he opened the door. The flood of emotions pouring off him crashed into her in a wave. She shuddered, surprised at the feeling. Her voice was a faint whisper, “Spike... No...”

“Come on, Buffy,” Spike murmured dejectedly. “You should get out of here.” He turned and walked out of the building without another word.


By the time Buffy returned from her extremely long shower, everyone had left her dorm room save Willow, who was sleeping soundly. She sighed in relief. No more conversation. No more lying. No one to keep her from sneaking out. She dressed as quickly and quietly as she could.

Spike’s crypt was trashed. She’d forgotten that. The rifle butt sized hole in his TV spoke pretty clearly to what had happened. She glanced around, sensing Spike was close, but not seeing him. Automatically, she moved toward the hatch in the floor, but a voice startled her before she reached it.

“Nothing down there yet, love.”

Buffy whirled around to see Spike emerging from the darkness in the far corner of the crypt.

He took a swig from the bottle in his hand. “Figured you’d be too tired to go visiting tonight. Thought we’d see each other on the next bounce.”

She sank into a sitting position on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chin. “You weren’t supposed to be there. You changed that,” she said quietly.

Spike wandered over to where she sat and dropped down beside her. “Yea, well, seemed like the thing to do.”

“Why? I mean you knew you couldn’t get me out any sooner than Xander did. You didn’t have to go in there and see... You didn’t have to come for me.”

“You know why.” Spike took another swig. He held the bottle out in offer to her, but she waved it away. They sat in silence for a few minutes, each in their own thoughts.

Buffy let loose a snicker, catching his attention. “You know, he’s not nearly as satisfying as I remember. I guess my standards have changed.”

He made a vain attempt to mask his surprise with a smirk. “Need a little monster in your man, do you?”

Buffy glared at him, but her eyes lacked the menace she was trying to convey. “Shut up, Spike,” she said reflexively, though her tone was light. She grabbed the bottle from his hand and took in a large gulp of whiskey. “Blech!”

“Not like you to say things like that,” he observed.

“And it’s not like I can go have a girl chat with Willow... especially now. No one knows who we are anymore. No one knows what we’ve been through, what our lives have been like. No one can. It hasn’t happened yet.” She took another swig from the bottle, punctuated with another disgusted expression. “Kinda sucks.”

He took the bottle back. “Guess we're hiding more than ever.”

“Yea... It’s too late for a Plan C, isn’t it?”

He saw about to reply when he caught sight of her playful grin. She was teasing him again.

She gazed into the darkness as her mirth faded. “I think we can make this work, Sparky,” she whispered. “But we need to trust each other... a lot more than we have tonight.”

Spike absorbed the mild reprimand. “Guess I should have let Harris take care of it.”

Buffy nodded and pulled her knees closer to her chest. “I wish you had… But thanks anyway.”

Spike held up the bottle in a mock toast. “You’re welcome,” He replied bitterly. He swallowed a mouthful and stared into the darkness with her for a minute. “Captain Cardboard is around for another year, right?”

“Only until December, so about 8 months.”

“Bloody hell. That’s long enough.”

“Agreed. When we stop bouncing, we need to figure out what we can get away with changing.”

Spike smirked at the implication of her statement. She was talking about unloading her tin soldier early. Maybe he wouldn’t get stabbed with a plastic stake this time around. And maybe...

His silent contemplation gave her thoughts time to wander. “We need a place, somewhere to talk where no one will look for either of us. We can't risk people walking in on our conversations.”

“Or catching us talking at all, you mean.”

“Yea, that too. Any ideas?”

Before he could reply, they were both overwhelmed with bright flashes of light.


Spike found himself outside Giles’ apartment, lighting a cigarette while wearing a suspiciously military-looking outfit. He instantly recognized the situation, and glanced in the window to be sure. Willow was hunched over her laptop at the watcher’s desk, a stack of discs beside her and Tara at her shoulder. This was during his last real attempt to betray her, just before they stormed the Initiative.

He searched his memory for something he could change small enough to go unnoticed, but big enough to make it less of a close call for her. He couldn’t think of anything off the top of his head. But he realized she probably could, so he stomped out his cigarette and took off toward the university.

He tracked her scent to her dorm room far too easily for comfort. There was slayer blood in the air. He gave the door a quick sniff to assure himself she was alone before he knocked. “Buffy? You hurt?”

A tired voice replied. “Come in, Spike.”

He entered the room to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing her jacket. He knelt before her to survey the injury to her forehead. “Bandages?”

Buffy smiled gratefully and directed him to a cabinet across the room. “I came to halfway across campus. I know I was walking here. I’m still trying to remember all the details, but I think--”

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting her. Their eyes met in panic, both mouthing ‘Angel’ as her memory and his senses caught up with the situation.

“Closet? Window?” Buffy whispered, as low as she could manage.

“He’ll already know I’m here.” Spike tapped his nose significantly.

“Shit. We wing it, then.” She lifted her face to the ceiling. “Sorry, Wils. I hope this isn’t too much of a change.” She opened the door.

“Buffy, are you alright? I sensed--”

Buffy sighed to interrupt him, ready to have it over with. “Angel, you can come in, but--”

He charged through the door before she could finish, spinning around behind her to see Spike still standing by the cabinet, the first aid kit in his hand.

Buffy rushed to close the door and get between them before Angel had time to react to the visual confirmation of what his nose had told him. “Angel, don’t go crazy. Spike is…” She furrowed her brow for a microsecond, trying to come up with something to say. “...just here to help with my injuries.”

Fortunately, Spike caught on to the idea quickly and took over. “Saw her stumbling across the campus, walked her back so she didn’t embarrass herself by tripping on her own feet.”

Angel threw a confused glance at Buffy, noting her bruised and bloody forehead for the first time. When he returned his gaze to Spike, there was nothing in his eyes but suspicion. “So out of the kindness of your heart, you helped an injured slayer home. Why am I not buying that?”

Spike shoved the first aid kit into his grandsire’s hands. “Fine. You take care of her. Was just looking to help things go a bit easier on the girl.” He started for the door, sneaking brief eye contact with Buffy, hoping she got the message.

She met him at the door. “Spike, I doubt there’s much anyone can do to make this day easier. I’ll just see you at Giles’.”

“Not right off, lo- Slayer. Somewhere else I gotta be just now.” He tried to look casual, as if what he was saying was not the least bit significant.

But it was enough for her to remember. “We’ll just see how it goes, ok? I’ll, um, see you later.”

Spike nodded, understanding. She either didn’t know what to change, or their witness was keeping her quiet. They would just have to play their roles until the next bounce, and hope this wasn’t the last one.

Buffy opened the door to usher him out just as Riley was reaching for the doorknob.

“What the hell?” Riley raised his pistol with a shaky hand and pointed it alternately at Spike and Angel. “Both of you, get the hell away from her, right now! Buffy, why is your room full of soulless demons?”

Both vampires opened their mouths to object. Buffy quickly pivoted around to face Angel. “Not now, Angel,” she commanded as she completed the turn and brought her heel down hard on Spike’s toes.

The steel toe caps of his boots protected him from the impact, but Spike got the message. He snapped his jaw closed just as quickly as Angel did, and hoped his grandsire didn't notice.

“Spike, I think you should go. I have my hands full here. Riley, put the gun down and we can talk.”

Riley pushed his way into the room, slamming an angry shoulder into Spike's as he passed. Spike sneered at the man, but said nothing. He only gave Buffy a worried glance as he exited the room.

Her response was a quick nod that she hoped was reassuring as she closed the door behind him.

He lingered in the hall, shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation through the door.

Angel muttered, “He seems different.”

Buffy was just slightly too slow in responding. “Oh, it’s because he can’t hurt humans anymore. He has a microchip in his head, care of the U.S. Government.”

“Ok... that’s weird enough, but not what I meant. There’s something else.”

“Not really worried about Spike right now, not with the two of you all bloody and beaten and giving off strong vibes of having done that to each other.”

Spike shook his head as he walked away, glad Buffy would be the one to deal with those two, but dreading returning to his grisly business with Adam. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. He had just exited the dormitory when his vision was overcome with flashing white light.


Buffy was running through Restfield Cemetery, hot on the heels of her prey, when Spike intercepted her.


She slid to a stop just before slamming into him. “Damn! Spike, what do you want this time?”

Her response caught him off guard. He gripped her shoulders and peered into her eyes, worry etched across his features. “Buffy!”

She pulled away, her face curled into a mask of disgust. “Yes, I’m Buffy. And again I ask, what the hell do you want?”

He took a step back, realization dawning. “Oh. Um, nothing. Just saying hello.” He inched away from her, backing out of her path as she delivered an irritated eye roll.

“And now I’ve lost him. Spike, I swear, I think you exist just to ruin things.” She took off at a jog, hoping to catch up with the vampire she’d been pursuing.

Spike remained where he was, fear sinking into his bones. Buffy hadn’t made it through this bounce. Something had gone wrong. He watched her weaving around the headstones, still searching for her lost target.

She was near the top of the hill when she came to a jerky, stumbling stop. She stilled, gauging her surroundings. Then she began turning in a circle, peering into the darkness for the owner of the familiar signature on the edge of her senses. “Spike?”

Relief washed over him as he moved toward her, smiling broadly when she caught sight of him and strode to meet him. “Buffy?” He asked again when they were face to face.

“Yea.” She squinted at him, taking in the worried look in his eyes and the smile that clashed with it so obviously. “What’s wrong? I do have the right vampire, don’t I?”

“Yea, love, you do. But a minute ago, I didn’t have the right slayer. Think you were a little slow getting here this time.”

“Oh. I hope I didn’t slug you in the nose.”

“No, just insulted me and went on your merry. Gotta say, I don’t fancy that Buffy as much as I used to.” Spike gave her a wry grin. “Worried Red had screwed it up there for a minute.”

Buffy scoffed. “Willow mess up a spell? Never!” She held up a hand. “Oh wait, I’m having a flashback to the first bounce… Yea, we’re lucky we’re still in one piece.”

He chuckled with her, feeling himself relaxing as they talked. But his expression sobered quickly. “Not showing up at the same time's not good. Think we changed too much already?”

She dwelt on that for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. What little we’ve changed so far should have no bearing on whether or not she does the spell to send us back. Besides, we haven’t been together at arrival since the first bounce. We may not have gotten in at the same time since.”

Spike nodded, accepting that. “So, time to figure out when we are, then?” He studied the sky. “Stars and temperature say it’s summer, but that’s all I know.”

Buffy surveyed the graveyard. “And this looks like any random night in my life. We aren’t going to get any information here. Home?” At his nod they started off in that direction at a casual walk. Then a thought occurred to Buffy: “Mom is there!” She took off running, Spike on her heels.


He grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop at the end of the driveway. “Love, it’s late. Your mum is probably asleep. And you need to be calm and normal when you see her, right?”

Buffy nodded reluctantly. “But don’t you want to just sneak in and see her? We wouldn’t have to wake her. And we have to check on Dawn’s room. I remember from that trance thingy I did that it was a storage room before she arrived. And we need to find a calendar, or a newspaper, or something.”

She was pulling him toward the house as she spoke, but Spike dug in his heels. “You don’t want me to go in there with you, love.”

“Why not?”

“Cause you smell like solider boy. I'm guessing you were with him right before you went out.”

“You think he’s here?”

“Or somewhere else, wondering why you disappeared in the middle of the night.”

Her forehead creased for a moment before she went into motion again, this time headed for the tree below her bedroom window.

Understanding, Spike followed her lead. They looked up to find Buffy’s bedroom window wide open. Spike climbed up the tree, to just below the window, listened for a moment, then jumped back to the ground. “He’s up there. But I don’t hear any other heartbeats. No Nibblet, no Joyce. Possible your mum’s out of town?”

Buffy strained to remember her last summer with her mom, through the fog of merged memories the monks had created. Giving up, she shrugged. “Buying trip for the gallery, probably. I really don't remember, but she was gone a few days a month, usually.”

They were interrupted by a quick succession of white flashes. When it stopped, they were standing exactly where they'd been a moment before.

Buffy glanced at their surroundings and then at her clothes. “We didn't bounce. I'm in the same outfit I was in a minute ago. And we're still standing here. Is he still upstairs?”

“Yea, the wanker's still--” Spike stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly overcome with laughter.

Buffy began giggling at almost the same time. “Oh my god. What were we thinking?”

“We weren't. But the way you sputtered and swore at finding yourself drinking with me in the dark... Just priceless!”

They covered their mouths to muffle their laughter, enjoying the new memory they'd created as they bounced through time. Catching her breath, Buffy whispered, “Were we really like that?”

“And worse, love. And worse.” Spike shrugged. “Guess Red's done with her part?”

“Probably. If we were going to get that memory before we finished bouncing, it should have been in the bounce right after it happened... Right?”

He nodded toward the open window above them. “Think we got a li'l loud, love. He’s stirring. You'd best get up there.”

“We still need a place,” she whispered as she reached for the first branch on her familiar trek up to the window.

“I’ll work on it. Find you tomorrow night if we don't bounce again.” He gave her foot a boost. “Get some rest.”

“Yea, you too. It’s been years since we’ve slept.”

Spike shook his head at the bad joke as he watched her disappear inside the house and walked away, trying very hard to not focus on the fact that she wasn’t alone in her bed.

Chapter #3 - Safe House

Author's Notes: So immediately after I dump 'Sparky' on you with no explanation, here's another set of nicknames. The source is... Well, I warned you I'd be strolling just a smidge outside of canon, didn't I? There's some explanation offered later, but I'm pretty sure you already get it.


Chapter 3: Safe House

September, 2000

It was so much like the previous night, Spike had another moment of questioning Willow’s magical abilities. He was returning from the butcher’s shop, walking toward his crypt with a brown bag in one hand and a cigarette in the other, when Buffy ran across his line of vision, hot in the pursuit of a fledgling vampire.

His first instinct was to follow, so he could enjoy the show and talk with her while she worked. But before he could change course, Riley came running up behind her. Spike glared after him and continued on toward his crypt. The sounds of an argument soon reached his ears.

“It was one vamp! One! I don’t even consider myself warmed up until I’ve had three times the fight that guy had to offer.”

“There’s gratitude for you! I was trying to help!”

“Riley, I didn’t need help. That was not a life or death situation. That wasn’t even a challenge. Why can’t you back off and let me do my job?”

“Fine! I’ll just go. You have fun; get yourself killed. But you’re a fool for not using backup when you have it.”

Spike stepped behind a crypt as Riley stormed back toward the cemetery gate. Buffy followed his path at a more leisurely pace, coming to a stop a few yards from where Spike hid. She watched her boyfriend march out of sight with a cool expression. “I have backup, Finn. Don’t worry about me,” she mumbled. “Spike, do you want to come out now, or should I stand here talking to myself all night?”

He sauntered out from behind the crypt. “Walk with me? Gotta get some things to the fridge.”

She nodded and fell into step beside him. They walked in silence all the way to his crypt. Once inside, Buffy perched on the arm of his battered chair while he tended to his groceries. “You’re being remarkably restrained.”

Spike closed the refrigerator door and turned to face her. “Nothing I can do about it. This is where-- when we are. You’re his and I can’t even hit him without a splitting migraine.”

“I’m not his, Sparky. I thought you knew that.”

“You were. And as far as anyone who isn’t in this room knows, you still are.”

“Well, I need to figure out how soon I can change that. I know there’s going to be a lot of lying over the next couple of years, but I… well, I’d rather do my lying with my words, not my body.”

Spike was silent for a long moment, absorbing her meaning. She's really going to do it. She's gonna dump that wanker earlier this time, admit to herself she didn’t love him. He stood there, awe in his eyes, trying to find something to say. All he could come up with was, “’Preciate it, love… Know it’s not for me, but still… Thanks.”

Buffy gave him a soft smile, and then stood abruptly, ready to change the subject. She straightened her shoulders. “So, have you found a hideout for us yet, Lieutenant?”

He shook himself out of his emotional state and matched her stance. “Got a couple of ideas, General. Figure you’ll hate ‘em, but they’re all I got so far.”

“Show me.”


“Left up here.” Spike waved toward the next corner as they walked down the dimly lit street. His muttered directions had been the only conversation since they had reached downtown. Both had been focused on their surroundings, making certain they weren’t seen together by anyone they might know.

Buffy visibly relaxed as they turned onto a narrow residential street. The houses here were old, maybe half of them occupied. They were more likely to run into a vamp nest than a friend of a friend in one of these houses. “You said this was your second idea. What was the first?”

“Old mansion on Crawford Street.”

“Oh, hell no.”

“Thought so. See what you think of this, then.” He ushered her into a darkened house.

Buffy squinted into the darkness until Spike shone his flashlight into the room. As her eyes adjusted, her expression changed slowly. First there was mild disgust. The living room of the abandoned house was filthy, covered in cobwebs and dust. Then there was worry, as the ancient floorboards creaked under her feet. Then came the dawning of recognition.

“Uh, Spike?” She frowned at the ceiling.


“Doesn’t that chandelier eventually end up in the basement?”


She stared at the light fixture for a long moment, and then broke into laughter. “All the empty buildings in this town, and you pick this one?”

He shifted his weight uncomfortably, not sure if her mirth was going to last. “Well, um, I figured it was a place no one but us knew about, and we know it’s going to be available for a while…”

“And we also know it was condemned with good reason!” She leaned against the wobbly staircase railing, still giggling.

“Seem to recall the cellar floor was sound. Could stay down there.”

Catching her breath, Buffy shrugged. “Alright, we’ll look at the basement.”

“Not like you haven’t seen it before.”

“I never took the stairs down, though.”

Spike smirked in a way she hadn't seen in a long time, a smirk she knew to be his way of saying he was biting his tongue against a hundred innuendo-laden comments. The residual smile from her fit of laughter renewed itself on her face. She'd missed that particular smirk more than she'd realized. It felt good to see a little of the old Spike coming back. She shook herself out of her thoughts and straightened her countenance.

“You've got the light, and better eyes. Lead the way.”

A dim glow from the main room of the basement became visible as they came down the staircase. She threw Spike a questioning glance, but his face only reflected her concern.

“We’re not alone, love,” he whispered as he sniffed the air and turned off his flashlight. “Smells not-quite-human. Demon, maybe?”

Buffy frowned. “I’m not sure this house can take a brawl,” she whispered back.

Spike gave her another dose of that long lost smirk and led them cautiously toward the lighted room. They stepped into the main area of the basement to see over a dozen dusty white pillar candles burning atop a large wooden table. Across the room was a man in a garish rust-colored suit, rummaging around in a dusty corner cabinet.

He addressed them without turning around. “Hey, kids. Got any hooch in this termite pit?”

Buffy’s eyes grew wide with recognition. The voice was familiar. As if to confirm her guess, the man chose just then to turn and face them.

His very human face earned a sneer from Spike. “Oh, so it’s a half-breed, is it?”

The man chuckled as he rubbed the dust from his hands. “Look who’s talking. Been held prisoner by any distant ancestors lately, Pratt?”

Spike threw a shocked glance at Buffy, unable to guess how this half-demon knew details about their recent troubles. ...And knew his surname. Buffy, however, didn’t look surprised at all, just angry. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want, Whistler?”

“You know this bloke?”

“Yea,” she replied, keeping her gaze on the intruder. “We met once, right before I had to run a sword through Angel. He is not a bearer of good news.”

“And you found a way to save the other one. Well played, Summers.” Whistler extended a hand to Spike. “Whistler, case agent for the Powers That Be, at your service. And you’re the missing guest at a dinner party with the bosses.”

Spike eyed him suspiciously, ignoring the offered hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it means you're supposed to be dead. Whistler, do you remember what I said about your rib cage the first time we met? I'm older now. I tolerate cryptic a lot less. What do you want?”

Whistler took a cautious step back. “Did you know the bosses expected you to go with the idea of making an army of slayers to fight the army of Turoks? Long term, it would have been a disaster, but it was a viable short-term solution. They just figured on fixing it later. But you had to go and change the game again, didn’t ya?”

“Let me get this straight: You waited until after Willow’s spell to tell me this was a mistake?”

Whistler paced the room with his hands in his pockets, studying the flickering shadows on the walls. “Truth be told, catching you as you traveled wasn't worth the effort. Your other witch really knows her stuff. She sent you through pretty fast. But no, I wasn’t trying to stop you. Thing is, if you pull this off, it should turn out better in the long run. The Powers were a little surprised, is all. Did anyone bring a broom? This place is filthy.”

He was evading, and Buffy had no patience for it. She stepped closer to him. “Last chance before Spike and I play football with your head. Why. Are. You. Here.”

“To help. Really.” Whistler put his hands up in surrender. “Man, you grew up scary. I liked you better when you were younger.” He addressed Spike. “How have you put up with her all these years? …Never mind. Forget I asked.” He dropped his hands. “Ok, kids. I’ll get to the point. You got a good idea here, and it’s got some definite potential for cleaning up the mess you left behind. But the odds aren’t great.”

Buffy gave an unladylike snort as she stepped back. “What else is new?”

“The bosses have plans for this little expedition, so they don't want it screwed up. They sent me to offer a little help. Come here, you two. I have a gift for ya.”

Spike and Buffy glanced at each other, communicating mutual apprehension and resigned agreement with little more than eye contact. They stepped toward Whistler in unison.

“Amazing,” the demon murmured. He reached out to touch their foreheads. “Remember!” he intoned, triggering a quick flash of blue light where his fingertips made contact with them.

“What the bleedin’ hell was that?” Spike shook his head, slightly disoriented.

“Just a little memory boost. Human memory is too fallible for time travel work. Neither of you may be fully human, but you both have that crappy human memory. This will help.” He turned to Buffy. “Pick any event from the coming years. Can you remember exact dates, times and details?”

Buffy frowned, and then her face lit up. “Wow. Yea. Hey! You’re not completely useless!”

“Don’t sound so surprised there, kiddo. I’m not just another pretty face.”

Spike scoffed. “So you’ve added more magic to the mix. Bloody thrilling. Got anything else of use?”

“First, that’s no ordinary magic. Second, don’t check out the teeth on the gift horse, will ya? But in answer to your question, yea. I have a little advice.” He turned to Buffy. “It’s not going to be easy, you know. Might not be a hell of a lot easier than last time.”

“Again with the what-else-is-new.”

“Play it as close to the way you remember it as possible. That’s why I gave you the boost. If any of you start acting differently, you could change more than you expect. Be subtle. You'll have a chance to get that hardware out of Pratt's head again soon. You gonna take it?”

Buffy glanced at Spike. “I hadn't thought about it, but we probably should.”

“He's thought about it, hasn't he?” Whistler eyed Spike, who gave a brief nod in response. “Do it if you want. But it won't change the big picture. And it won't help you get rid of Benny Boy, either. Too soon to tell, but I'm betting that job will go to the same person it went to before."

“Me?” Buffy asked. “Was it me? I wasn’t exactly around for the finale of that mess. I was busy getting myself dead.”

“He means your watcher, pet. Glory turned back into Ben after you knocked the snot out of her. Rupert finished him off.” At her confused look, he explained. “Got hammered with me a couple of nights while you were... gone. Got to talking.”

Buffy’s mouth hung open for a moment as she tried to absorb this information. When she finally spoke, her voice was low. “From confidante to conspirator,” she muttered, recalling Spike’s recent escape from Robin Wood’s garage. “How...?”

Spike shrugged. “Simple. You came back. He didn’t need me anymore. Didn’t need to drink himself into a stupor and didn’t need the hired muscle.”

“How can you be so casual about it?”

“’Cause that’s how it always was,” Whistler interjected. “You can't afford to forget that.”

Spike ignored Buffy's apologetic glance. He'd been expecting this. “So why can't I bleed the boy dry? If he dies, it's problem solved, far as I see it.”

“Glorificus gets weaker as Ben fights for control, making her more vulnerable. If he dies before he softens her up, she might be strong enough to break free, or at least jump into the nearest body.”

“Which would be Ben's killer.” Spike's plans were suddenly dashed away.

“You can't skip ahead to the end of this, kids. You have to go through it. Let go of the idea that you can just erase everything. It won't work. Life isn't that simple.”

“We have to let Glory take Dawn. Is that what you're telling me?” Buffy gave Whistler a dangerous look, ready to kill the messenger.

“You know another sure way of getting to her around that time? I didn't think so. I'm not saying you have to jump again, only that if you try offing Ben early, it could bite you in the ass. Stick with small, careful changes. After this thing with Glorificus is over, you'll be in a totally new situation with no obligations to the past you knew.”

“Get through Glory's key hunt, and then we're alright to do as we please?” Spike clarified.

“That's about the size of it. Listen you two, I gotta book. I’ll touch base later. Just one more thing: Summers, I know what else you want to change.” He shook his head sadly. “Take the opportunity to say a proper good-bye. That’s all you can have. Sorry, kiddo.”

There was another, larger blue flash as tears formed in Buffy’s eyes. Spike stepped up behind her to put a gentle hand on her shoulder. They stood that way in silence for a long time after Whistler disappeared.


She moved cautiously down the basement stairs, convinced the house would come down on her with one misstep. The glow of candlelight guided her toward the main room of the basement once again, but a very different scene greeted her.

The large wooden table, which had previously dominated the center of the room, was now pushed to one side, near the cabinets. Two leather club chairs had been procured from a source Buffy promised herself she wouldn't question and placed on either side of the table. On the other side of the room, against the wall, a mattress rested on the concrete floor, dressed in mismatched blankets. The large pillar candles that had nearly covered the table were now spread around the room, some still on the table, some on the cracked counter that ran across the tops of the cabinets, a few on top of the old wood burning stove in the corner, and one on the floor beside the makeshift bed.

Except for the last, all the candles were lit, giving Buffy a clear view of the new arrangement, and also allowing her to see that the new-looking broom in the corner had been put to good use. As she marveled at the change in the place and shook her head at the mental image of Spike cleaning away cobwebs, a door creaked behind her. She turned and followed the sound back towards the staircase, turning away from it when she realized the noise had come from the little room beside the landing. Stepping into the dark room, she ran straight into Spike, who immediately turned around. “Follow me.”

She obeyed, stopping just behind him as he flicked on his flashlight. “Perfect!” she exclaimed when she saw what the light had revealed. A metal ladder mounted to the cinder block wall led to a double door over their heads, that could be nothing other than a side entrance to the basement. “At least I can avoid those stairs now.”

Spike replied as he led them back toward the main room, “Figured it'd be good to use an entrance that's not in plain sight.”

“Thinking like a vampire.”

“Yea, well.” He shrugged.

They sat at the table in awkward silence for a few minutes. “So here we are. It's been almost a week.”


Buffy shifted in her chair, taking another look at the room. “It looks like you're moving in.”

“Eh, not quite. Gotta keep the crypt. People expect to see me there.”

“But this is a place you can hide out?”

We, love.” Spike pointed at the bed. “I don't need that many blankets. You need a place to get away, too. That Whistler bloke was right. It's not gonna be easy, doing this all over again.”

“Yea, I know. I guess it's time for us to get comfortable and make some plans.”

Spike went over the the cabinets and opened the largest one, revealing a bright red cooler. From the ice within, he dug out a can of Coke and a styrofoam container of pig's blood. He placed both on the table and retrieved a yellow legal pad and a black pen from another cabinet before sitting down again.

Buffy wiped the top of the can with her sleeve, preparing to open it. “Thanks. I guess you're going to let yours warm up for a while?”


Silence fell over them once again, punctuated with occasional tapping of Spike's pen against his notepad. The tension of the room finally popped when Buffy felt her nerves could take no more of it. “Ok, I give. What is wrong with you tonight? I haven't seen you in days, and when I finally get a chance to come by, you barely speak to me. What the hell? Were you expecting to see me every night?”

Spike scowled, but kept his tone low and calm. “Kinda used to every night. Used to having a home to go to, voices that aren't in my bloody head to listen to and talk to, and going out on patrol most nights. Gave all that up. Now I got two places to live alone, 'cept when Harm's about, which is worse. Gotta keep my distance from damn near every demon I don't plan to kill, in case they can sense the difference. Mostly been alone since the night I brought you here. So, yea, it'd be nice to talk to you once in a while.”

Buffy bit her lower lip and brought her tone down to match his. “I'm sorry, Spike. I wasn't thinking. I was caught up in my own stuff and I forgot I was leaving you with no one... What about Clem?”

“Avoiding him as much as I am Harm. She's too bloody dense to notice, just annoying. Clem will know I'm different the second he gets close. Couple years down the line, he'll get it. But now?” Spike scoffed and fixed his gaze on the paper before him. “Doubt he'll understand getting a soul for any reason.”

“Oh.” Buffy couldn't think of anything else to say. In this time, Spike still lived mostly in the demon world, a world that could sense the change in him and would shun or kill him over it. Later, when he was living mostly in her world, getting his soul was viewed as a good thing, and he was somewhat accepted. She'd dragged him away from that and back into a life amongst demons, but they couldn't leave his soul behind in 2003, and now Spike was a man without a country... more than ever before.

He broke into her thoughts. “Least I'm not living like Angel did after Darla tossed him out.”

Buffy tossed a mild glare in his direction, but opted to change the subject. “So I guess you're wondering what I've been up to?”

“Can smell some of it, love. And how is your tin soldier today?”

“Don't get snippy, Spike.” She sighed. “You know, sabotaging a relationship on purpose is hard work! I can do it on accident easily--”

“Preachin' to the choir,” Spike mumbled.

“But trying to make it look gradual and authentic sucks. I've been picking fights with Riley all week. Little stuff, not enough to make us break up too fast, but enough to keep him at bay… most days.”

“You mean out of your knickers.”

“Other than that--” Buffy pointedly ignored his interjections. “I've been enjoying a lot of quality Mom-time. You should go see her, too. She asked about you.”

“Eh, probably shouldn't. Your mates might come by.”

“That didn't stop you before. According to Mom, you stopped by more often than I did during the school year. Why did you never tell me that?”

“You never asked. Besides, you never revoked my invite... up 'til a few months from now.”

“We'll change that. We can, right? You're not going to chain me up again, are you?”

Spike stifled a smirk, trying hard to appear nonchalant. “Wasn't planning on it, but wouldn't call it a necessary change. Maybe I should.”

“You're kidding, right? You don't actually plan to—” Buffy caught the glint of humor in his eye and relaxed back into her chair. “You aren't going to make me put on the big 'Spike is icky' show for Mom and Willow. You just said that to make me squirm.”

He shrugged. “Yea, a bit. There's catches to skipping it, though. We gotta deal with Dru, for one. Also, that little admission of mine is the only reason your mates know for me to be about. We gotta give them something that makes sense. Else, you'll have to keep inviting me to hang around, and they'll think you're wrong in the head for it.”

“What about protecting Dawn? She'll be here soon. I can say I talked you into helping me keep an eye on her.”

“And why would I do that for you?” Spike leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers across the candlelit table and pulling away his human mask. “Look at the exterior, love. That's what they see. Just a killer with a chip in his head.” His amber eyes flickered blue for an instant. “Nothing else. That's what you saw. You'd better start thinking that way again, unless you want to tell your mates and your watcher every detail about our real history.” He fell back in his chair. “Don't fancy that, myself.”

“We're going to have to plan this all very carefully, aren't we?”

“Every day of it. Gotten a bit of a start on you.” Spike shoved the legal pad across the table for her inspection. He had filled four pages with notes of upcoming events, possible changes they could make, and what events needed to be left untouched to preserve known chain reactions. After she'd looked over what he had written, he handed her the pen and reached for his container of blood. “Your turn.”

Buffy wrinkled up her nose as she began to write her own notes in the spaces he'd left between his. “I would have left us in our own time if I'd known there'd be homework. This is definitely going to suck.”


“Don't feel bad about it. I've been speaking the language about a century longer than you. Your vocabulary will catch up… eventually.”

Joyce swept the letter tiles back into the bag. “Don't get cocky. You only beat me by 30 points. That's not what I'd call a decisive victory.”

Spike grinned, glad she was taking the bait. “Sounds like someone wants a rematch. Tomorrow night?”

“You’re on.”

He stood up. “Shall I put the kettle on?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t, Spike. Buffy will be home soon, if she doesn't go to Riley's tonight.”

Spike turned away from her as he filled the kettle, hiding the flare of anger showing on his features. “She won't. Fact is, she's expecting me. Got business to talk. She'll be here soon.”

“Oh.” Joyce looked surprised, and a little worried. “This isn't world-ending stuff is it? Like the first time you two had a meeting here?”

“Nah. Just a li'l vampire problem we've got. Easily fixed.”

Joyce returned the game box to its place in the hall closet. When she returned to her stool, she watched him move around her kitchen. He was more relaxed than she’d ever seen him, and seemed very at home. He also didn’t appear to be dreading his meeting with her daughter. “Spike, if I ask you something, will you be honest with me?”

“If I can.”

“Don’t beat around the bush because I'm her mother, but is Buffy being any nicer to you?”

Spike nodded, recalling a similar conversation they'd had the first time around. “Yea, a bit. Doesn't seem to object to me being around so much.”

“Good. I haven't been happy with the way she treats you.” Joyce put her hands up in mock surrender. “I know it's a slayer-vampire thing, and I can't expect to understand it, but I don't think it's fair. I shouldn't have to worry about having to sweep you off my kitchen floor if she comes home unexpectedly.”

“Buffy's not gonna stake me, Joyce. She'll yell and beat on me if it takes her fancy, but you needn't worry. She's never revoked my invite, remember? Girl's got a couple of witches at her beck and call. If she wanted me to stop calling here, she'd change the locks on me in a bloody heartbeat. Trust me.”

“Thanks.” Joyce accepted her cup of tea with a smile. She frowned a moment later, as Spike's attention turned toward the front of the house. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” He set out another cup, just as a key turned in the front door.

“Mom?” Buffy called as she closed the door behind her.

“In the kitchen! Are you armed?”

Buffy laughed as she came into the kitchen. “It's ok. I knew he'd be here.” She turned to Spike as she took the stool beside her mother. “You haven't been driving her crazy, have you?”

Spike pushed the third teacup toward her. “Shut up and drink your tea.” He casually sniffed the air around her. “So our mutual friend's in town, then? Any trouble?”

Buffy nodded. “Nothing unexpected. Probably talking to his new... buddy as we speak.”

Joyce looked from one to the other and stood up to leave. “I think I'll take my tea upstairs so you two will stop speaking in code.”

Her daughter blushed. “Sorry Mom. I didn't mean to be rude.”

Joyce patted her shoulder. “It's ok, honey. You two talk shop. I'll see you both tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight” calls from slayer and vampire followed her out of the room.

“She likes your visits. You should be here more.”

“Likes you liking my visits more.”

“How's that?” Buffy wrinkled her nose at the taste of her tea.

“Worries you're not being nice to me.” Spike passed her the sugar bowl.

“What did you tell her?”

“That you won't dust me and you're improving... a little.”

“Oh for god's sake, Spike. You downplayed how well we're getting along? You're such an ass.”

“What should I say, then? ‘Getting on just grand, Joyce! In fact, it’s me she sneaks out of here most nights to crawl into bed with, not her cardboard boyfriend.’ That’d go over well.” Spike leaned on the counter. “Next, I can tell her why I know my way around her kitchen so bloody well.”

“She noticed.”

“Didn’t say anything, but had a funny look on her face when I skipped the mugs and went straight to the teacups on the top shelf.”

Buffy looked at her cup. “Yea, we don’t use these very often.”

“Bloody Americans.”

Her glare turned to a yawn. “I wish I could do some of that sneaking out tonight.”

“Gotta get used to it, love. Even after you drive that ponce out of town, you need to be spending nights in your own house, so people won’t be looking for you. Leave the cellar-dwelling to me.”

“I don’t sleep well alone anymore.”

“Noticed that. Not looking your sprightliest.”

“Then let me come home with you tonight. I really need the rest.”

“Not while Drac’s about.” Spike took in his surroundings. “And the safe house isn’t home.”

Chapter #4 - Time's Colors

Author's Notes: Thanks for taking the time to review. I appreciate it. Some chapters, like Safe House (Chapter 3), take place over the course of weeks. Others take place over the course of only a few hours. Most are somewhere in between, covering a stretch of days, with the larger gaps of time falling between the chapters. Like the rest of this journey, the time between scenes varies wildly. It's just another part of the roller coaster Spike and Buffy have dragged us onto behind them. Enjoy.


Chapter 4: Time's Colors

September, 2000

Giles admitted the young woman into his apartment with apologies. “I'm afraid Willow has just left. I believe she plans to spend the evening with Xander.”

Tara smiled shyly as she stepped inside. “I know. She told me. I wanted to see you, actually.”

Giles stifled his surprise. He didn't know Tara well, but he had been forced to acknowledge that his paternal role in Buffy's life had at some point extended to her friends. He made the motions of a proper host while he waited for Tara to explain her errand.

He studied her as they sipped their tea. For the first time in his experience, Tara seemed confident and collected. She spoke with unexpected clarity. “Willow told me you're planning on leaving. I came to ask you to talk to Buffy first.”

“I intend to. I won’t disappear into the night without a word.”

“No, I mean you should talk to her about ...her. You know, make sure she's ok, and not having demon trouble or something.”

Giles was confused. “What exactly are you getting at, Tara?”

“Do you remember when Faith switched bodies with Buffy? And that I knew something was wrong because her aura was so mixed up?” At his nod, she continued, “We all went to the beach this past weekend, the first time we have all been together in a couple of weeks. And I saw something...” Tara took a deep breath. “Buffy's aura is wrong again.”

“In what way? Do you believe she is possessed by something?”

“Oh, no! Her aura is entirely hers, but... different. She still has mostly the same colors, but some are brighter, some more faded. And there's something in her eyes... She's Buffy, but not exactly her normal self. Something isn't right.”

Giles mentally tore up his plane ticket as he returned his teacup to its saucer.


Buffy crept into the basement of the old house via the basement door. She felt around for Spike's flashlight in the darkness, and then used it to guide her to the main room, where she lit a few candles on the table. She dropped into one of the club chairs and took up the legal pad that held their notes about coming events. She caught herself dozing in the chair soon after, and relocated to the bed. The next time she awakened, it was to the sound of an irritated roar.

“Dammit, Buffy! What the bloody hell are you playing at!?”

She jerked awake, taking a moment to get her bearings. “Spike. Hi.”

“Hi? Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Spike knelt beside the makeshift bed, eye level with her as she sat up. He gripped her shoulders and inspected her neck carefully, turning her toward the candlelight as she eyed him questioningly. “Good. You didn't just waste two nights of my life.” He released her and shook his head. “Stupid bint.”

“Do you mind telling me why you're freaking out?” Buffy ran a hand through her slightly tousled hair and scooted to the side as an invitation for him to sit on the edge of the mattress beside her.

“You know why.” He dropped into the offered space with a sigh. “You let your guard down in a place that needs no invitation. And this after I spent the last two evenings playing Scrabble with your Mum to keep that poncy bugger from setting up a coffee date with her. Thought we agreed you wouldn't sleep here while he was in town?”

“I was tired. I told you I haven't been sleeping well. And Scrabble?”

He growled softly. “Not the point, Slayer.”

“You haven't called me that much lately, not for a while.”

“Trying to get back into old habits, love.” He scooted back on the bed to lean against the wall. “Just had an unpleasant chat with your farm boy at the crypt. Let it play out like the first time. Didn't bother changing anything. You sure you'll be alright with ol' Drac?”

“Yea. You blocked his chance to get into the house for a bite of enthralled slayer, but he's still got Xander at his beck and call. I can get Xan to lead me to him when everyone is still in research mode, and shoo him out of town before anyone else finds his castle. Should be pretty painless.”

“Hope so.”

Buffy grinned as she joined him against the wall. “You know what this means, right?”

“That you'll collect the eleven pounds he owes me? With interest?”

“Hmm. I guess I could do that. It might throw him for a loop. What's the going rate for debts nearly a century old?”

“Whatever's in his wallet.”

She snickered. “Anyway, Count Doofus being in town means Dawn's nearly here. I did some hard thinking about her after that zap Whistler gave us, and my first truly clear memory of her is right around this time. I think Willow only missed the monks by a couple of weeks.”

“Been missing the Nibblet, love?”

“Way more than I expected. I'm really enjoying the Mom-time, of course, but it doesn't feel right without Dawnie around, even knowing she'll be here soon. Haven't you been missing her, too?”

“A lot longer than you have.”

Buffy's exuberance faded. She drifted into thoughts about the last real year of their lives, and the distance that had developed in various factions of her makeshift family.

Spike drew them both back to the moment by jumping to his feet. “Come on, then. I'll risk walking you home so that bugger doesn't try to waylay you.”


Despite her fatigue, Buffy was in no rush to get home. She was trying to find the words to say something she'd been putting off, and hoping the walk would be long enough for her to speak.

Spike didn't know why she'd led them three blocks out of their way, but wasn't going to complain about extra time with her. However, the silence had grown uncomfortable. “Time to spit it out.”

Buffy jumped, surprised at the sudden break in silence. “What do you mean?”

“Been watching the wheels turning in your head for the last half mile. Talk.”

“OK… You know what you said about how I have to hate you in this time? I vote no.”

Spike kept his facial expressions still and his tone casual, completely belying his emotions. “Yea? How's that gonna work?”

“Well, everyone knows by now you like killing things, including demony things. What if I convince them you're my new patrol buddy? Will that explain you being around a lot?”

“Your mates won't like it. Your Watcher even less. Thinking your boyfriend's gonna stake me and solve their problem, though.”

“Oh, don't worry about him. I've got things figured out there.” She pointed over her shoulder, vaguely referencing the safe house. “I just added that plan to our notes before my nap.”

He tried to hide the hope in his eyes. “Not smart to patrol together 'til that happens, I think.”

“What if we let it get out that you and Mom are friends? And you and Dawnie? Then they'll understand you staying close as protection.”

“Don't think Harris believes vampires can have friends. Likely stake me for just being near the house. They aren’t all like your mum, love. And not much like what they themselves will be in a few years, where I’m concerned.”

Buffy fought back the instinct to pout. This wasn't going as she had hoped. “Can we try it, Spike? I need... to have your help, and this is the best I can think of for making that happen without...”

“Telling them all about being chained up?” he supplied, hoping he was catching her meaning.

She nodded. “What you said then... It's really none of their business.”

Spike fell silent. On the one hand, he was shocked that she was respecting his feelings and his privacy, something she'd never done before. On the other hand, he wasn't sure if this was her way of telling him she meant to rewrite their personal history in a 'just friends' sort of way. Still, he nodded his assent. “Alright. We'll try it.”

Buffy's next surprising action did nothing to settle the question. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him around to face her, and into a warm hug. “Good. I've missed having you around.”


Buffy thought it had worked out perfectly. She'd driven Dracula from town without him gaining access to her neck or her house. She’d been able to expedite the matter, so now she was going to Giles' apartment in the evening, rather than the next morning, as she had done originally.

Everything had fallen into place just the way she wanted it. She'd go in, have a heart-to-heart with Giles to ask him to be her active Watcher again, and Spike would conveniently pop by to collect the money she'd taken from Dracula, just when she was about to leave. It would look totally natural if he left with her to patrol together... right in front of Giles. She could start sowing the seeds for justifying Spike's presence tonight, no need to wait until Drusilla came back to town, no need for her to crassly announce his feelings for her to everyone they knew. Perfect.

She knew something was off as soon as she saw Tara was there... and without Willow. But she stayed the course, babbling on about wanting to be trained and taught again and glibly asking what Giles had wanted to discuss, expecting a dismissal of the unknown topic. It didn't work out that way. Within minutes, she was getting an education on aura reading from Tara, a barrage of questions about recent slaying events from her watcher, and was silently begging Spike to be late. He wasn't.

Giles answered the door with a frown. He had dearly hoped this conversation with Buffy would go uninterrupted. His frown deepened with irritation at the sight of the vampire at his threshold.

“Watcher.” Spike nodded in greeting. “Nibblet said I could find the slayer here.” He brushed by without waiting for a response, entering the room as Buffy rose from her place on the sofa.

“Nibblet?” Buffy whispered. She sighed with relief at his subtle nod, glad to know her sister had finally arrived and their memories seemed to have survived the transition. She quickly recovered herself, changing her expression to something far more stern. “Oh yea, what you came for...” She grabbed her bag and fished out a plump little leather pouch, which she tossed to him. “Just call me the Vampire Debt Collection Agent. You owe me one, Spike.”

Spike flipped through the wad of bills with a satisfied smirk. “Yea, I'd say that covers the interest the ponce owes me. Nice haul, Slayer. You should have been a pick-pocket.”

“Dracula left it in plain sight like a moron.” She shrugged. “It wasn't exactly difficult. “

He stepped back toward the open door, where Giles still stood, frowning at the exchange. “I’m up for a bit of rough and tumble. Mind if I go with you tonight?”

Buffy eagerly grabbed the opportunity to escape. “Fine. Just don't get in my way.”

Giles closed the door before they reached it. “Putting aside the petty theft, which I'll not pretend to understand, are you saying,” he narrowed his eyes on them. “You intend to patrol... together?”

Tara finally spoke, her normally quiet voice capturing their attention with unaccustomed forcefulness. “You both need to stay. There's something much bigger here than patrol, Mr. Giles. They're connected.”

“Damn!” Buffy threw her bag into Giles' desk chair. They were stuck now. She couldn't see a way out of it. “Spike, can I see you outside for a minute?” To Giles she said, “We'll be right back. I promise.”

Giles reluctantly stepped clear of the door, allowing them to exit. He lingered by the window to listen, ignoring the disapproval on Tara's face.

“We were so close to getting this off on the right foot. But no, we missed one important thing in our little plan, something at least Willow should have thought of. Stupid! And why the hell didn't Whistler mention it? He had to have known! Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“Buffy, take a breath. You don't calm down, people are gonna think we had the wrong one of us chained up in the basement, yea?”

Giles heard Buffy release her tension in a breathy chuckle. “Point taken.”

“There now, there's my slayer. Alright, General, read me in.”

“We forgot about Tara. She reads auras as easily as most people read street signs. She noticed mine the first time she saw me. She told Giles, and you walked in on them grilling me about my aura being wrong. So now she knows about both of us. We've barely started and the game is up.”

“What a bloody balls up!”

“Yea, that's putting it mildly. But what now? We'll have to tell them something.”

“Can't see any good in lying to them, love. Rupert can handle it, even if he doesn't like it much.”

“And we can trust Tara not to say anything, even to Wils, if she sees it's the right thing to do.”

“Shouldn't say too much just now. Don't know...”

“Yea, I know ...I still feel really stupid.”

“Me too. But we'll be alright, yea?”

They reentered the apartment and took places on the sofa. Giles followed and sat on the armchair beside the one in which Tara was perched. Silence settled over the room. All were poised for a heavy conversation, but no one seemed willing to be the first to speak.

Spike broke the ice. “How much do you know from listening in, Rupert? And don't insult me by denying it.”

Giles at least had the grace to blush at having been caught eavesdropping. “Well, I, um, gather there is something between you, some sort of … relationship.” He tried not to sound judgmental, but they heard it. Pained looks were exchanged between the pair on his sofa. His judgment clearly represented something terrible to them. “That, in addition to the variances in your auras Tara has seen... I hesitate to ask, for the answer may not be to my liking, but... Who are you?

Spike leaned back against the sofa cushions, settling in for a long conversation. Buffy took a deep breath before speaking. “We're time travelers. We're still us, just older versions. So that should explain the funny aura thingy. Ok?”

She tried to stand, but Spike's hand on her shoulder pushed her down again. “Not good enough, love, and you bloody well know it.”

She grabbed his hand and used it to pull him upright. “Then help. You aren't here to relax!”

Ignoring Buffy's baiting, he abruptly turned to Tara. “So, Glinda, what does my aura tell you?”

Tara had been observing them with interest. The Buffy and Spike she knew shared some sexual tension, and respect for each other as fighters, but were never comfortable together. The mixture of noisy restlessness and cool bitterness she knew as Spike seemed somewhat understated, muted by... Was that resignation? There was also a very distinct glow to his aura she couldn’t ignore.

Buffy's notorious flippancy had been sharpened into a weapon of retreat, her playfulness faded into cynicism and wry humor. To Tara, their eyes gave them away as easily as their auras, for she had finally identified what she had seen in Buffy's eyes at the beach: a deep, weary, sadness. She now saw that same sad look reflected in Spike's eyes.

Tara blushed under Spike's gaze, realizing she'd been lost in thought. “Um, you aren't the same, but not completely different, either. If you’re time travelers, I guess the changes fit. You both would have changed over the years --”

Buffy's derisive snort overlapped with Spike's muttered “Understatement of the century.”

“--so having auras that are different from the ones I know makes sense. It's just that... there are threads between you. I can see them now, with you close together. The big one is your bond to each other. It's strong and bright.” She blushed again, sensing innately she was treading on sensitive ground. “The others are small threads that seem to have been wrapped around your auras and your bond, and stretch between you. They're not a part of either of you. But the magic is... familiar.” Tara's brow furrowed. “Is that Willow's magic? Did she send you back in time?”

“Yea, this trip is a Willow magic special: one way ticket, misery guaranteed.” Buffy patted Spike's knee with a wry smile. “At least I'm not the only sucker on the train this time.”

“Maybe this is the last train, eh?” At her raised eyebrow, Spike could only shrug.

Giles was skeptical. “That's not possible. A novice witch couldn't manage time travel. A decade’s training wouldn't get her even close to that ability. Exactly how far in the future is your home?”

Buffy stifled a laugh at Giles' underestimation of Willow. Spike's expression was more serious. “This isn't even the heaviest job she's done, Rupert. People, magic, everything -including things that shouldn't- can change fast. That's why we're here. It's gonna get ugly, and if we can make some adjustments, it can turn out better. If it doesn't work, well... end of the world. Again.”

Silence settled over the room once more. Giles took the opportunity to redirect the conversation. “So exactly how long have you been masquerading as our time's Buffy and Spike?”

“Not masquerading. Red shoved us into our own bodies, just in a different time. Same us, just more memories and experience. Got here a couple of weeks ago.”

“So the Buffy I know is gone? When will we get her back?”

“Sorry, Giles. You're stuck with this version of me. Like I said, one way trip.”

“What are you trying to change, exactly?”

“Lots of stuff. More than I can even get into right now. But the main thing is about protecting the slayer line from being damaged or destroyed.”

What the watcher heard in those words chilled him to the bone. “Buffy, did you die ag--?”

Spike’s growl interrupted him. “Yes. And it's not happening this time around.”

Giles was startled and intimidated by the vampire's severe tone... and the dangerous flash of amber in his eyes. The way Spike had spoken to Buffy outside and the protective attitude he displayed now bothered the watcher deeply, though perhaps not so deeply as Buffy's calm acceptance of such behavior. He cleaned his glasses, giving into an urge he'd been restraining since Spike's arrival at his door. “It seems quite a lot has changed in the intervening years. I must ask again, when do you come from?”

Buffy bit her lip, and glanced at Spike for encouragement. “May of 2003.”

Giles and Tara fell into stunned silence, both trying to wrap their minds around the idea that every change in the two of them -and everything they'd alluded to- had taken place over only a few short years.


Buffy closed Giles’ front door behind them and fell against it. “Well, that sucked.”

“Eh, I think we handled it alright.”

I think we’re lucky to have even gotten out. Giles looked like he wanted to perform a time traveler exorcism.”

“Couldn’t keep us there if he wanted to. Doesn’t know how you can fight now, does he?”

“He also doesn’t know—Oof!” Buffy fought to regain her balance as the door was opened behind her.

“Oh! Sorry!” Tara stepped outside. “I was wondering if you two would walk me back to the dorm. Since you’re here, you know?”

Buffy and Spike exchanged assenting nods and fell into step with her as they exited the courtyard. “You don’t seem as freaked out as Giles does,” Buffy observed.

“I also don’t seem to be as freaked out by Giles as you do.” Tara smiled to soften the harshness of her comment. “Can I ask what happens to change things between you?”

“It’s more than one thing. It’s a hundred little things and a handful of really big things. The short version is that it’s been a long time since I’ve really trusted him. I don’t like him knowing about this. It worries me.”

Tara blushed. “I’m sorry. I guess I could have come straight to you, but I didn’t know what was going on, and he’s your watcher, so…”

“You couldn’t have known, Glinda.”

“I just might have to find those chains again if it gets dicey,” Buffy grumbled.

“Don’t blame him for what he hasn’t done yet, Slayer. Still hope for the old man.”

Tara frowned at this apparent role reversal. She looked at Spike. “I didn’t tell him about the other thing I saw, but can I ask about it? How long ago were you cursed?”

“Wasn’t.” Spike turned his focus to the movements of his feet.

“He chose to get it back,” Buffy explained. “He fought for it.”

“Whoa. That’s… That’s… Whoa.”

Buffy stole a glance at Spike. “And it should stay quiet, like everything else, ok?”

“Of course.” Tara shook off her stupor with a nod. “But can I ask one more question, Spike?”

Buffy’s gaze flicked again to Spike’s dark expression. “Something I can answer?”

“Um, maybe… Why isn’t he proud of it?”

“Because…” Buffy thought back to the last time she saw Spike before he went to Africa, to the incident she was sure had been a big part of his decision to go. “Because people sometimes do amazing things for the wrong reasons,” she whispered.

“There’s a story there.”

“There are a few.”

Tara didn’t push the issue, though she was gripped with curiosity about her companions. The bickering sworn enemies she had known had been replaced by an emotionally close pair who obviously relied heavily on each other. From what well had sprung such changes? Was it Buffy’s unexplained death and resurrection? Something even bigger? Tara shuddered, unsure she wanted to know, but fearing she would learn.


Buffy shocked Giles by requesting a slayer training and shopping day. She had chosen to retain this bit of their history, the rebuilding of the watcher-slayer relationship that had been a part of her strength for so many years. Spike had strongly encouraged her to give Giles another chance, and she’d been unable to argue that there would ever be a better opportunity. But she didn’t want to be alone with the watcher quite yet, not trusting what he’d do or say in her time travel partner’s absence. So she shocked her sister, too, by inviting her to tag along.

But even Dawn’s distracting, bouncing exuberance had moments of pause, particularly after chugging three glasses of Coke with lunch and walking across downtown to the Magic Box. She handed a package of incense to Buffy with a frown. “I don’t know what Nag Champa is, but it smells funny. Also, I have to pee.”

Buffy waved a hand toward the back of the shop. “Second door on the right.”

“Wow, you spend way too much time shopping with Willow.” Dawn shook her head and made her way through the crowd of shoppers to the door her sister had indicated.

Buffy watched her go with wide eyes. “Oops,” she whispered.

“Will you be spending more time here in the coming years?” came a murmur from her left.

“Enough to know where the restrooms are.” She turned her attention back to the incense display. “Shopping with Willow and Tara, of course.”

“Of course.” Giles was not convinced. “Will you at least answer one question for me?”

Her mind raced with the possibilities. “That depends on the question.”

“What need could you possibly have for training I’ve already given you?”

“I could use a refresher course. I’m an old slayer, Giles. I need to stay on top of my game.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Buffy. You’ll have trouble with this… mission if you don’t have help.”

“I have help. You know the guy. Bleach blond, leather coat, bad attitude? Ring any bells?”

“I’m referring to help that can be relied upon. Whatever sort of connection you have to him, it cannot change his nature. I fear your trust in him is gravely misplaced. Saving slayers is not exactly what he is known for, if you recall.”

She looked up at her watcher, seeing the same expression on his face she had seen on her last night in 2003. He was determined to have some element of control over the situation, and bore a deep mistrust of Spike. Nothing was different, save that he wore glasses instead of contact lenses, and had a bit less grey around his temples. “You never change,” she whispered.

“Which is something you need. Stability. I can help you avert this apocalypse. Only tell me--”

“No, what I need is someone who trusts my judgment and always has my back. That's not you.”

“And that’s Spike?”

“It has been for a long time. You can be my watcher. I’m willing to give you another shot at that, but you can’t replace him on this mission. No one can.”

The quiet conversation came to an abrupt halt as Dawn approached them. Buffy looked relieved. Giles looked frustrated. Dawn frowned at the package still in her sister’s hand. “You were arguing about buying that stinky Nag Champa stuff, weren’t you?”

Chapter #5 - Fair Trades

Author's Notes: Thanks for continuing to read and review. It has been brought to my attention that I was unclear about a certain point of my 'just a smidge outside of canon Season 7.' I've edited this chapter in an attempt to clarify. Also, nearly every review of Time's Colors focused on the conflict with Giles. This is just the beginning. At its heart, Echoes is about family: having complicated, imperfect relationships with people you love, and figuring out what to do about it. And there's a whole 'time travelers try to outmaneuver a Hellgod while they deal with a bunch of other stuff' story in there, too. :P


Chapter 5: Fair Trades

October, 2000

The next time Buffy entered the Magic Box, she had to feign surprise at the sight of Mr. Bogarty’s body, but not too much surprise. The only shopkeeper who would ever have any longevity there would be the one with a slayer in the back room, and he was only beginning to think of buying the place.

She was kind and patient with Riley when they went out that night, having realized she was already on the point of driving him away. She had a plan to execute where he was concerned, and timing was critical. She couldn’t afford to blow it by being careless.

She sat on the kitchen counter and giggled when she was told Harmony was trying her hand at being a Big Bad, for once finding it easy to do what was expected of her. She turned abruptly and appropriately serious when told Harmony had been invited into the house, and hopped off the counter, instinctively responding to that bit of old news.

But Buffy's instincts had changed over the years. She knew she had ranted to Xander and Riley about Dawn while gathering weapons the first time around, but this Buffy couldn't understand why she had done that. Instead, she tapped on Dawn's bedroom door frame as she stepped into the room.

“Dawnie, I just heard what happened tonight. Are you ok?”

Dawn, seated by her window, writing in her journal, looked up in shock. She had fully expected her sister to come in yelling. “Um, yea. I'm fine.”

“You really should be more careful with your words. You know better than that.”

“I know.” Dawn was still wide-eyed at Buffy’s low volume. “I won't do it again.”

“See that you don't,” Buffy replied sternly, but still quietly. “Xander is calling Willow to ask her to come over and fix your mistake. Don't you think you should have something for her to say 'thank you?' Maybe something that Xander and Anya would like, too?”

“Like what?”

Buffy smiled. “Dawnie, you know my friends. They love sugar. It's not too late for a batch of cookies.”

Dawn's face lit up. “You're going to let me bake? Really?” she squealed the last word, her voice high enough to elicit a wince from her sister.

“Yes, but you will follow a recipe. None of your weird variations. All the dishes you dirty need to be washed before Mom gets home. And you will accept supervision if Xander or Anya think you need it.” Buffy stood up to leave. “I have to go take care of some baddies. Do we have a deal?”

Dawn gave her sister an impulsive hug. “Thanks!” She ran out of the room, bound for the kitchen.

Buffy let loose a satisfied grin as she headed to her own room to dig through her weapons chest for a good stake. “I guess that's one minor crisis averted.”

She met Xander on the stairs a minute later. “I'm going to see if I can get rid of Harmony's little friends. Are you ok with staying here for a while?”

“Yea, we'll be fine. Willow is on her way over to undo the invitation. That's what I was coming up to tell you. Dawn said you okayed her making cookies. Are you sure that's safe?”

Buffy chuckled. “Not entirely, but I'm sure you'll survive it. I'm teaching her the Willow method of guilt management.”

Xander nodded in understanding. “Ah, the school of 'if I bake for you, you'll forget I'm a screw up.' Yea, I like those kinds of lessons. Chocolate chip?”

“That's up to the baker. Don't let her burn the house down. I'll be back soon.”

She headed toward the back door, expecting at least one of her targets to be waiting in the yard. “Remember, Dawnie, those cookies are a gift and an apology, they're not for you to pig out on,” she said as she passed through the kitchen.

She opened the back door, ready to fight, but was met with silence. No one jumped out at her, nothing stirred. She walked out into the middle of the backyard and turned slowly, reaching out her senses. At first, there was nothing to be felt. Then, just as she was about to give up and start walking, a familiar signature came into range. She relaxed her stance, put her stake into the back of her waistband, and went to wait on her mother's garden bench at the far end of the yard.

Spike sauntered into the yard a minute later. “No worries, love, I got 'em all.” He sat down beside her.

“Even Harmony?”

“Nah, didn't have the heart for it. She's too dumb to be scary, anyway. Told her she only had one chance at making something of herself, and that would be to go to her old friend Cordelia for guidance. She'll be in LA by tomorrow night, I'd wager.” He snickered. “Peaches is gonna have a fun week.”

For the second time that night, Buffy fell into uncontrolled giggling. “If I ever said you weren't evil anymore, I totally take it back.” She gasped for air. “Angel is going to have a fit!”

They laughed together in the still night air, theories about Angel and Cordelia's responses to having Harmony under foot fueling their glee. It was a silly, stupid thing to be doing, Spike knew, which is why he later realized he shouldn't have been surprised when they got caught.

Riley Finn stepped out on to the back porch looking for his girlfriend, wondering why he'd not been invited to join her on this mission. He hadn't even been told she was leaving the house. He felt utterly forgotten. When he heard laughter coming from the other end of the darkened yard, he followed the sound until he was close enough to view the pair on the bench.

Spike noticed Riley's approach before Buffy did. His demeanor turned suddenly tense. “Well, Slayer, looks like I'm off. Give Joyce and the Bit my best.” He stood to leave.

Buffy wiped her eyes, calming herself. “What? … Oh. Hey Riley. Spike was just telling me what happened with Harmony's little gang.” She stifled a lingering giggle. “We don't have anything to worry about now, do we?” She turned to Spike for confirmation.

“All taken care of.” He took a step back, thinking it would be best to disappear before Finn had time to come up with a response to the scene he'd stumbled upon. Hopefully Buffy would grab the boy and tow him off to the house before that happened.

But Buffy seemed to be going in the other direction. She stepped toward him, her hand extended. He shook it cautiously, not sure what her goal was. “Thank you, Spike. I owe you one.”

He pulled his hand back and shoved it into his pocket. “We're even, if this covers the debt collecting.”

“Consider it covered. Thanks. Goodnight.” Only then did she take the hand of the dumbstruck Riley and lead him back toward the house.

Spike could hear Riley finally finding his voice as he slipped into the shadows. “Buffy, I'm really confused. Are you trading favors with that thing now? What did he mean about debt collecting? And what was so freaking funny?”

Buffy's voice still carried the echo of a smile. “Spike has his own issues with Harmony. He took care of dusting her little gang and came by to let me know. And, well, laughing at Harmony never gets old.”

“And the debt?”

“He owed me a favor because I stole Dracula's wallet-thingy for him. Drac owed him money. I had a chance to collect it for him, so I did it. And now we're even. All's good.”

“Uh-huh.” The skepticism in Riley's voice was evident. He brought them to a stop at the base of the porch stairs. “So you didn't go out to kill the vampires, but to meet up with one for a chat?”

“It wasn't like that.” Buffy became defensive. “I was heading out to find them when Spike found me.” She shrugged. “We had a laugh about it, that's all. I don't know what you're so bothered about.”

“Well, let's see. You sneak out on a mission without me, when I'm right there in your living room. Instead of actually out looking for the vampires, I find you whooping it up with the evil undead who claims to have done the job for you. No, that's nothing to be bothered about.” He pulled away from her in disgust. “What is wrong with you? Why are you even taking his word for it?”

“Riley, I'm going to make this very clear to you, so I only need to say it once. My home and my family were threatened. If you think I take that lightly, even from a joke like Harmony, you don't know me. If I had one shred of doubt Spike hadn't done exactly what he said he did to stop that threat, I'd still be out there, hunting. Spike said he took care of it and I believe him.”

A voice came from the porch above them. “And Spike doesn't take chances with this family. He's my friend and Mom's, and he knows Buffy would kick his ass if he got us hurt.” Buffy and Riley looked up at Dawn, who only smiled back at them, the unrepentant eavesdropper as always. “I could hear you guys from inside. You're kinda loud. Also, cookies are almost ready!” She bounced back inside.

“Don't forget the dishes!” Buffy called after her as the door closed.

“Friend?” Riley asked incredulously.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Yea, he stops by and hangs out with them occasionally. It's a little weird.”

“A little weird! It's stupidly dangerous! Buffy, that chip is a prototype. If it fails...” Riley shuddered. “I can't believe you've let him be invited into your house.”

Buffy waved off his concern. “Oh, I invited him in long before he got the chip. He won't hurt them.”

Riley shook his head. “I don't believe what I'm hearing. How could you be so reckless? Let's go inside. Willow can de-invite him while she takes care of Harmony.”

“Whoa, hold up there, Take Charge Guy. I said it's ok. No need to change the locks on Spike. See me? Slayer? Actual resident of the house in question? If I say it's fine, it's fine.”

“I don't understand this, Buffy. It's bad enough Giles puts up with him traipsing through his apartment, but at least he's aware of the danger and doesn't have any kids to worry about. This,” Riley waved a hand toward the house. “This I don't get at all.”

“What's to get? Spike cares about my family. He won't let any harm come to them. It's not difficult.”

“He's a soulless monster. He doesn't care about your family. He's just waiting on his chance to --”

“Riley, I think you need to go home instead of finishing that sentence. I don't think I can stand to hear you questioning my judgment or how much I value the safety of my family anymore tonight.”

He hesitated.

“I mean it. Please go home before we have a conversation we regret. Goodnight.”

She sighed as he walked out of the backyard, his shoulders tensed and his steps those of a man trying to stomp out his anger. Once she was sure he was gone, she walked back out to the bench, far away from the porch light's glare. “Can you do me a favor?” she asked the darkness.

“Anything, you know that.”

“Go to the safe house tonight. I don't think you want to be at your crypt for a day or two.”

“Already planning to. Bloke might find his plastic stake sooner this time, mood he's in. See you there?”

“Mm, I doubt it. I'm kinda beat. I think I’ve got a good chance at getting some real sleep here tonight, for once. I’ll definitely see you tomorrow night, though.”

“Alright. G'night, Buffy.”

“Goodnight.” She turned and walked back toward the house, to see her friends off and get Dawn to bed before her mother came home.


Joyce came home to a kitchen that still smelled like chocolate chip cookies, care of Dawn, and a broken front window, care of Harmony. A few cookies and assurances that Xander would help Buffy replace the window pane had been all it took to get her to bed. Her evening had been an exhausting one, and she complained of a headache.

Buffy was restless. A hot shower hadn't been adequate to soothe her worried mind, and she was growing irritated at her inability to sleep. It was nearing sunrise when she finally gave up. She threw on some clothes and climbed out her window.

The basement of the old house was dark and silent, but she could sense Spike's presence. She didn't reach for the flashlight, opting instead to creep slowly in the dark until she made her way to the table, where she lit a candle.

Spike, asleep on the low bed, stirred when the flickering light struck his face. His hand reached across the mattress, seeking something. “Buffy,” he mumbled, not opening his eyes.

“Yea, I'm here,” she replied.

“Not here.” He pulled the extended hand back, dragging it across the empty expanse of mattress. “Come sleep. Need your rest. Big fight coming. ”

Buffy squinted at him as realization dawned. “Spike, are you awake? Do you know where we are?”

“Basement,” he mumbled. “Quiet upstairs. Girls all asleep?”

She smothered a chuckle. He was definitely asleep. He had his basements mixed up, and his timelines, too. “Yea, everything's ok. I couldn't sleep at home... upstairs, though.”

“Come sleep,” he mumbled again. “Cold without you.”

Buffy looked from his face to the pile of blankets he'd kicked to the floor. “Cold, huh?” She wanted to laugh at him, but his invitation was what she had hoped for. She kicked off her shoes and curled up beside him, pulling a blanket over them both.

Spike's arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. “Better.”

“Better,” she agreed, and quickly fell asleep.


Around noon, Spike woke to find himself with an armful of sleeping slayer. At first, he was confused. He was sure she hadn't been there when he'd fallen asleep. But he took his time enjoying the moment, taking in her scent, the heat of her body against his, the pleasant surprise of her presence. Eventually, his conscience got the better of him, and he resigned himself to the inevitable withdrawal. He kissed her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “Love, I don't think you wanna sleep the day away.”


“Buffy,” He kissed her shoulder again. “It's midday, love. Time you were up and moving.”

“Kennedy will keep the girls busy with drills,” she mumbled. “I can stay another hour.”

“Wish you could, General, but you're supposed to be Year 2000 Buffy, remember? Finn's girl?”

“Finn? Oh...” She opened her eyes and took a moment to gauge her surroundings. “Wrong basement.”

“Don't remember you showing up last night. Not a complaint, mind you.”

She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “I couldn't sleep without you, after all. I guess I needed...”

“You’re not the only one got spoiled to it those last couple weeks, love.”

She gave him a wry smile. “I didn’t even know what a habit it was until I tried to break it.”

“There are worse habits. What kept you awake?”

“Mom. The headaches are coming more often. And there's the Riley stuff. And Glory is going to be in town really soon. And...” She took a shaky breath. “You'd think I'd be used to all this by now, especially since we've been through it once already. I'm just… not ready to lose her all over again.”

He held out an arm, and she took the invitation, sliding down to rest her head on his shoulder. He let her cry quietly for a few minutes, gently rubbing her back, but saying little.

When she sat up again, it was with an apology on her lips. “Sorry. I'm a mess.” She wiped her tears off his bare chest with her shirt sleeve. “And I'm really cutting into your sleep time.”

“It's fine, love. You know I don't mind.”

“No, it's not fine. I came here so you could help me sleep, and now I'm unloading my baggage on you, and it just seems... like I brought another habit with me. You know?”

“Not hearing any complaints, are you?”

Buffy smiled in spite of herself. “With you, with us, that's not much of a guidepost. I don't want to just take from you.”

“Fine, then. You give me a few hours to sleep, and we'll call it a fair trade, yea? Now go, keep up appearances. Scurry off to your watcher and your mates like a good slayer.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Will do for now. You'll come back later?” At her nod, he closed his eyes. “Good enough, then.”

Buffy stared at him for a moment, then stood up, put her shoes on, and was about to leave when she impulsively returned to the bed. She knelt down to give him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Sleep well, Sparky,” she whispered. “I'll see you tonight.”


Buffy had just exited Shady Hill cemetery when she became aware of someone behind her. She continued on, her stride unchanged, listening carefully to the quiet footfalls, reaching out her senses to assure herself the stalker was not a vampire. Once confident on this point, she stopped suddenly and whirled around. “Xander! What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be at your new apartment, putting up curtains or something with Anya?”

Xander answered with a shrug. “Hey Buff. Nice night for a stroll... downtown?”


“You're going toward downtown. Home is that way.” He pointed over his shoulder.

“Oh. I was just... Well I thought I'd enjoy a little off-duty walk, since patrol was easy tonight.”

Xander looked skeptical, but let it pass. “Uh-huh. Anyway, would you mind a little company?”

Buffy began plotting to casually change course from her destination before she even nodded her assent.

They walked in silence for about a block, until Xander mustered the courage to say why he sought her out. “Why are you still dating Riley?”

“What? What kind of question is that?”

He sucked in a breath, resolving to finish what he'd started. “You're pretending with him. I know you guys have been fighting a lot lately, but I don't know why. What I do know is that you're lying to him every time you're with him. I can see it. You're faking it.”

Buffy was caught completely off-guard by this conversation. This didn't happen before, she thought. What's different this time? Oh. Me. I'm different. And Xander noticed. Oops. Aloud she said, “I really think you're crossing a line here, Xan. Any problems Riley and I have are between us.”

“The last time I checked, you and I were friends. Also, I'm kinda buds with Riley. I'd say your relationship matters to me. But let's keep it simple: You're my friend. I care about you. Why are you in a relationship you don't want to be in, friend-I-care-about?”

“What makes you so sure you're right?” Buffy deflected.

“Hmm, it could be that you don't even smile at him like you mean it. That’s a pretty good giveaway that you aren't happy with him. It could be that you come up with some excuse almost every time he suggests you two spend some time alone together. It's starting to look intentional. That solo date the night Harmony stopped by was one of the few you've had lately. Not that Ahn and I mind the double date movie nights, but being the audience for the nit-picky fights is a little awkward.”

“Um, ok. Sorry? I'll try not to argue with Riley around you anymore. We good?”

“That's not what I'm asking for, Buff. I want the truth. What's up? Is there another guy or something? Someone downtown, maybe?”

“Xan, I love you, but you're way out of line.”

“It's amazing how much that sounded like a 'yes.' So that's it, huh? You're just going to shut me out like you've shut out Riley? Funny, I thought we were friends. But that's fine.” Xander threw up his hands and stopped walking. “Go on, break the guy's heart, a little piece at time. Lie to your friends. Let's see how well that works out for you.” He took a step backward, turning away.

Buffy was thinking fast. She couldn't tell Xander the truth, but she couldn't afford to alienate any of her friends right now, not with Glory's arrival so close, and her mother's illness besides. “Xan, wait.”

He pivoted back to face her, but said nothing.

“I don't mean to shut you out. I just...”

“I only want to know why, Buff. Why don't you just end it with him and stop pretending?”

She sighed. “Soon, Xan. I'm going to break up with him very soon. Happy?”

His expression softened. “I'm sorry. I'm not trying to break you guys up. I was actually kinda hoping you'd tell me I was wrong and everything is ok... but I guess it's not.”

“No,” she answered quietly. “We're not ok.”

“Is there someone else?” Her expression darkened, so he quickly backpedaled. “Wait! Don't answer. Let me change the question: Is there anything I can do?”

“Just be there for him. He might need a friend.”

“What about you? Don't you need to -want to- talk about this?”

Buffy smiled sadly. “I'm ok with it. From Riley's perspective, I guess that's the problem... I think I'm going to finish my walk alone. Are you alright to get home?'

“Yea, I'll be fine. Goodnight, Buff.”



“Sleeping in someone else's bed again, Goldilocks?” Spike whispered in her ear.

Buffy stretched and sat up, pushing the mismatched blankets to the floor. “Good, you're home. I was wondering if you would be here tonight.”

Spike stepped across the room to restock his cooler, checking the lids on styrofoam containers as they went into the fresh ice. “I don’t call this home, but yea. Did some shopping, saw the banker, just running some errands. Had Clem over to the crypt for drinks earlier. Turns out he might be alright with the soul stuff. Good demon, that one.”

She shook her head, wondering for a moment if she were still asleep. “Wait. Back up for a second. Banker? At night? You have money? Do I need to go back to sleep and try to wake up again?”

“There's a lot you don't know about demons, love.”

“Enlighten me,” she demanded.

“Well, first off, demon banks are open at night. You can guess why. And yea, I have money. Been investing in land and houses for over a century, leasing them out, mostly.”

“How have I known you all these years and not known that? And why am I finding out now?”

“'Cause we're gonna need to crack open the piggy bank soon. Unless you have some other plan for paying the mortgage and putting the Nibblet through university?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer he knew she didn’t have. “Not gonna turn down the help this time, are you?”

She shook her head absently. Her mind was busy dealing with the reality he was thrusting in front of her: She was about to lose her mom... again.

Spike studied her for a moment, taking in the slouched pose and distant expression. He moved to sit beside her on the mattress. “Sorry, love. Shouldn't be talking 'bout that.”

Buffy shook her head again. “No, no. You're right. We need to think about that stuff, and plan for the future. We can't waste the advantage of knowing what it is we're planning for.” She let loose a hollow laugh. “Mom's going to love the idea of you taking care of us. I remember how worried she was right before her surgery. She was afraid Dad would take Dawn away and I'd be living on Giles' couch. She'll be thrilled to know you're able to help... and she'll have a good laugh about it.”

He looked away. “Don't know if I should tell you this, but... never mind.”

“Oh, you can't just tease me like that, Spike. Spit it out.”

“The first time around... your mum knew... how I felt about you.”

“Well yea, after I pulled your invite.”

“No, before that. Maybe even 'fore I did. Not really sure when she figured it out.”

“She never said anything to me.”

“Which is why I counted -count- your mum a friend.”

Buffy sat on that thought for a minute. “Yea, good friends keep your secrets. Mine always interrogate me about them.”

“How's that?”

She briefly recounted her conversation with Xander from earlier that night. “I wasn't lying to him, not much, anyway. It's going to be soon, just before the symptoms of his heart problem become obvious. I don't want him to die, but I don't want him to think I'm dumping him for someone with superpowers, either. The best way to make that happen is to break up with him right before the Initiative surgeon gets to Sunnydale, so I can make sure he goes... and you can waylay the doctor on his way out of town.”

“Sure ‘bout the last bit, love? Last time the bugger cracked open my skull, I got nothing to show for it.”

“I'll be there for your surgery. The chip's coming out, if I have to threaten that doctor and the whole U.S. Army to make it happen. I won't wait two more years to watch you in constant agony and near brain-death because I didn't take care of you when I had the chance. Not again.”

The stern resolution in her voice surprised him, but he chose not to comment on it. Instead, he recalled something she'd said a few moments before. “Someone with superpowers?”

Buffy blushed. “Um, yea. I guess I never told you about that. When I was trying to get Riley to go to the doctor the first time around, he implied he didn't want to go because they might make him normal, and he wouldn't be strong enough to be with me anymore. And I said...” She paused, taking in a deep breath. “I said that if I'd wanted someone with superpowers, I'd be dating... you.”

Spike cringed on Riley's behalf. “And when he came back to town a year later...”

She nodded. “Yea.”

“Oh, bloody hell!” Spike fell back onto the bed, his expression alternating between glee and guilt. “And I told him he wasn't the long haul guy because he wasn't monster enough for you. Damn. I feel sorry for the poor bloke now. Why'd you tell me that?”

“Um, sorry?” Buffy gave him a playful smile. “Maybe if I have to suffer a bout of conscience, you get to suffer with me?”

Spike shook his head. “Never should have gone to Africa. If I hadn't, this would just be funny.”

She fell back onto the mattress with him, and flipped onto her side, so she could study his face at close range. “Do you ever regret it? Going to Africa, I mean?”

“Every bloody day. Between the nightmares and jumbled up emotions, it changed a bit more than I'd like.”

“So don't go this time. Make the nightmares stop.”

“What do you mean, ‘this time’?”

“I had a talk with Giles before we left our time. Not a conversation he wanted to have, I assure you. But I asked him what would happen to your soul if you came back in time with me. He said that if it made the trip at all, you might have to go back to the shaman who restored it by the time you originally got it, or you'd lose it, because you'll have never made any moves to get it in the new timeline.” She shrugged at the confusion on his face. “It didn't make much sense to me, either. I just know you have until the summer of '02 to decide if you want to keep it, because there's a chance it will leave you again if you do nothing.”

“Gotta keep it, love. You know that.”

“No, I don't. It isn't necessary. It's my fault you thought it was in the first place. You're still you, with or without it. I guess I didn't see that until I lived with it for a while.”

Spike studied her eyes for a moment, his expression unreadable. “We'll see.”

Chapter #6 - Freedman's Chains

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews! I'm dealing with a minor wrist injury tonight, so I'll be catching up on review replies tomorrow, when typing should be less painful.


Chapter 6: Freedman's Chains

October, 2000

Spike was lurking outside the hospital when Buffy emerged, shortly after sunset. She gestured to the building behind her as she neared him. “I saw you from the window. How did you know I'd be here?”

“Memory's a bit better than it used to be. Recalled the date.”

She stepped close to him, inviting him to wrap his arms around her as she finally broke down in tears, after hours of holding back. “I don't want to lose her again!”

He held her tightly. “I know, love. I know.

When she'd calmed down, he led her to a nearby bench. “Now tell me what you changed.

Buffy glared at him for the accusation. “Nothing. There's nothing to change. They're already scheduling tests to find out why Mom passed out, and why she's having so many headaches. I know she'll have the surgery in time. She did last time. It's after ...” She threw her hands into the air in frustration. “And there's nothing I can do about that, either.”

“I’m sorry, love. You know I'd stop it if I could.”

“I know,” she smiled softly. “But I don't know why that makes me feel better.”

“You know why.”

“Anyway, I do have some good news. The 'Ben is Glory' masking spell definitely doesn't work on me anymore. I was looking right at that man and I could remember there was a monster inside.”

Spike winced at her phrasing. It took her a moment to understand why. “His isn't a monster under his control, William. That makes a big difference.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You get me?”

Spike looked at her with an expression of awe, but his response was simple. “Yea.”

“I have to go. I have a busy night ahead of me. I need to explain to Mom why she didn’t recognize Dawnie before she passed out. I want to do it here, so Dawn doesn’t overhear us talking about it at home. You know, get Mom prepared before Dawn hears it. And after I get them home, I have to go make a weird, one-sided phone call for Riley before patrol.”

“I'll stop in and check on them while you're out.”

“Thanks.” She stood and walked back toward the hospital. She stopped and came back a moment later, to pull him into a hug. “That came out way more cold than I meant it, Sparky. Thank you.”

“I knew what you meant, love.”


“Tara is willing to help.”

“And you see no folly in involving her? What remains of the Initiative could make a target of her, too.”

“Oh, don’t worry about those guys.” Buffy waved away that objection. “Their official policy on Sunnydale is to leave it under my management. In my time, they only sent people in four times after the Adam fiasco: Once on the trail of a demon, once to help Riley with another demon and offer him a job, and twice because I called them in for medical help. The first time they come back is tomorrow, of course. Are you in?”

Giles cleaned his glasses, buying himself a moment to organize his thoughts. “I was given to believe you didn’t trust me to participate in any of your time-altering work.”

“I don’t trust you with much of anything, to be honest. Spike thinks I should, that the you of this time is still an ally. This is your chance to prove him right.”

“Proving Spike right is not a goal I have ever expected to set for myself.”

“And I have serious doubts about your ability to achieve it over the long haul. But he’s been nagging me to give you a second chance, a favor you really don’t deserve from him.” Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, trying to force back the memories. “Contrary to appearances, Giles, William the Bloody has a very forgiving nature. Trust me. I know it better than anyone.”

“What will I do to lose your faith in me, Buffy?”

“Lose your faith in me.”


They stood in silence for a long time, staring out into Buffy’s new training room behind the Magic Box, separated by their thoughts. Eventually she whispered, “When I look at you, I see a different man, someone who reminds me an awful lot of Quentin Travers. I can’t get past that. I have a lot of trouble seeing the man you are right now. Spike is older, better at putting things into perspective. He thinks a watcher who already knows who we are is an asset we should use, that trusting you with our secret can improve our odds. I disagree. I think we’re asking for trouble by getting you involved.”

“Then why are you asking for my help on this matter?”

“Because I trust Spike. I trust his judgment enough to take his advice on this.”

“I don’t trust him at all.”

“I know.”

“This mission in particular seems especially ill-advised.” Giles held up a hand before she could interrupt. “You can assure me again that it was done in your timeline, with no repercussions, but even you had no interest in doing so at this point in this time. You can’t begrudge me some hesitation.”

“I don’t. But you can’t begrudge me not wanting to make him wait again, make him suffer again. He doesn’t need it, Giles, and he doesn’t deserve it. Help me fix this for him. …Please? ”

Giles had more to say, but he kept his lips pressed tightly closed. He only nodded his assent.


Riley opened his eyes to the glare of florescent lighting above him and Buffy standing beside his hospital bed. “Hey. Am I gonna live?”

She smiled. “It sure looks like it. I just wanted to check on you. I can't stay.”

“Yea… I didn't expect you to …unless you calling for help and dragging me here means something?”

She took his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “It means I care about you. But what I said the other night still stands. You deserve someone who cares more.” She withdrew her hand and began to move toward the open door.

“If we're over, Buffy, I really don't have any reason to stay in Sunnydale. I'm going to check out Graham's new team as soon as I'm well enough to travel. He said they're recruiting.”

Buffy stopped, but didn't turn around. “I know.”

“That doesn't even bother you, does it?”

“It bothers me that you'll be in harm's way. But Sunnydale isn't your future. If it were, you'd have a reason to stay.” She turned around to face him. “It would be wrong for me to pretend to give you one. So I’ll just have to wish you luck.” She glanced at her watch. Instead of the quiet “Goodbye, Riley,” he'd expected to hear, she exclaimed, “Oh, shit! I’m going to be late!” and ran out of the hospital room.


The surgeon glanced around the medical classroom nervously as he worked. The older-looking vampire carried a sword as he paced the perimeter of the room, watching for any sign of activity outside the door and windows. The female vampires were stationed on either end of the operating table. The one with the baseball bat stood behind him, keeping an eye on his progress. The smaller female -who had been the last to arrive at the scene of his kidnapping- seemed to be the one in charge. She sat in one chair with her feet propped up on another. She had an axe in her lap and a dagger in her belt. Her focus flicked constantly between the surgeon's hands and the face of his patient.

After what seemed like hours, he dropped the little device into a metal tray. “It's done.”

The leader nodded to her compatriot, who took the tray and delivered it to the seated vampire. The leader picked up the tiny mass of plastic and metal and inspected it closely. Then she dropped it to the floor and raised one booted foot over it. She stopped herself suddenly, dropping her foot instead a few inches to the left of the offending object. “Ok, Doctor. Bandage him up. No stitches required. You'll be on your way soon.”

“I don't know why I should do any more. You're just going to kill me, whether I comply or not. Just like you killed my driver,” he grumbled.

She gestured to the vampire standing watch. “Will you show our friend here what we did to his government-issue chauffeur?”

The older-looking vampire leaned his sword against the wall by a closet door. He pulled the door open with one hand while the other reached inside. He yanked out the driver, a young man whose wrists and ankles were bound with duct tape, another strip covering his mouth. He was alive, apparently unharmed. The vampire shoved the driver into a sitting position on the floor in plain view of the surgeon. He took up his sword and resumed his patrol of the room without a word.

The doctor also kept his mouth shut. The room was again quiet as he worked to wrap tightly the wound he'd opened on his patient. When he was finished, he took off his gloves and stood. “Now what? You'll kill us both at once?”

The leader smiled menacingly around her fangs. She moved in slow motion, every move deliberately drawn out: standing, placing her axe on her vacant chair, pulling her knife from her belt as she approached the driver. She crouched down and pulled the tape from his mouth.

“No! Please, no!” were the first words the young man spoke, terrified they'd be his last.

The vampire only smiled again. She used her knife to quickly cut the tape binding his wrists and ankles, then pulled him to his feet. She turned to the surgeon. “Thanks for your services, Doctor. We appreciate it. Now you two should leave. And I do mean now.”

Exchanging incredulous glances, the doctor and his driver scrambled out of the classroom with no thoughts to their dignity. No one spoke until their car could be heard pulling away outside. Then the room was filled with laughter.

Giles put down his sword and took a deep breath between chuckles. “Oh, that was fun!”

Buffy looked at him in shock. “I had so much trouble talking you into this, and now you think it was fun? Who are you and what have you done with Giles?”

He cleared his throat. “I'm still rather uncomfortable with the purpose of this mission, but scaring those two was terribly entertaining. I do think I'm ready to have my own face back, however. Tara?”

Tara wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Sorry. That bug-eyed look on the driver's face really got to me. I should be ashamed of myself for laughing at them, the poor guys. Here you go.”

With a muttered word from her, the glamour was lifted, and Spike was suddenly surrounded by three familiar, human faces. He applauded them as he struggled clumsily to his feet. “That was brilliant!” He gazed admiringly at Buffy as she loaded the weapons into her bag. “How'd you know he'd actually do it and not give me a penny for my thoughts again?”

Buffy put down her bag and rushed over to steady him before he fell. “Simple. I'm a hell of a lot scarier than Harmony Kendall. And better motivated, besides. How do you feel?”

“Got a raging headache, but glad to know it'll be the last.”

“That reminds me...” She guided him toward the chair she'd occupied during the surgery and pointed to the floor. “I thought I'd let you have the honors.”

Spike grinned broadly as he brought the heel of his boot down hard on the chip, crushing it into an unrecognizable mess. “Owe you a debt for this, Glinda, Rupert. Anything you need, just ask.”

Tara looked thoughtful at this offer, but said nothing about it. She smiled shyly. “I'm glad I could help.”

Giles retrieved his glasses from his jacket pocket and inspected them for cleanliness. “Yes, well, I ask two things from you, Spike.”

“Let me guess,” Buffy interjected. “Don't kill anyone?”

Giles threw her a glare. “Actually, yes. I ask that you prove Buffy's faith in you well-founded and not make fools of us for helping to rid you of that device.”

Those words did nothing to fade Spike's good humor. “Been working on giving her reason to have faith in me for years, Rupes. Also, this isn't the first time she's helped get that chip out. She told you that.”

“Yes, well, I'm sure that’s true. …Which brings me to my second request: I need answers.”

Spike and Buffy exchanged glances. Gaining her assent, Spike nodded. “Best be over a bottle of the good stuff, Watcher. I’m thinking you'll need it.”

“Fine. Tomorrow evening, you're both invited to my flat for a talk. Nine o' clock?”

Buffy's expression turned suddenly grim. “Sorry, Giles. I have ...plans. Spike can tell you what you need to know.”

Spike was more cheerful. “Sure thing, Rupes. You bring the bottle, and I'll tell you stories 'til it's gone.”

Buffy slung her weapons bag over her shoulder. “I need to get the patient home, guys. He's high as a kite and probably needs some blood. Thanks again for your help. I really couldn't have pulled it off without you.” Wrapping a steadying arm around Spike's waist, she guided him out of the classroom, grabbing up his duster from a chair near the door as she passed.

Tara and Giles followed them out, listening as Spike rattled on about the incident. “Love, you'd have made a magnificent vampire. That was a bloody brilliant performance! You sure I can't turn a little gang for you to command?”

“That's not even remotely funny.” Buffy shuddered. “You need to sleep off whatever it was that doctor doped you with. If you were in your right mind, you would not have said that.”

He slung an arm over her shoulder and leaned into her welcome support. “This feels familiar, eh?”

“Just like old times. And you're still heavy.”

“Didn't complain last time.”

“Do I usually complain about hauling your ass out of torture chambers?”

The pair behind them exchanged looks of alarm. “Maybe he'll tell me tomorrow,” Giles murmured.


Giles poured a round for each of them and leaned back in his chair, clearly exhausted.

“Long day at the shop, Watcher?”

“Heavens, yes. It's quickly become apparent I can't manage it on my own. I've hired Anya... but you knew I would, didn't you?”

“You won't regret it. That bird's like having an in-house accountant. More than just a clerk at the till.”

“Good to know.” Giles shifted his thoughts from those of a storekeeper to those of a Watcher. “You're planning on taking advantage of being without that microchip, aren't you?” His tone was not judgmental or accusatory, but his casual attitude could not mask his skepticism.

“Thought I might do a bit of sparring with Buffy, but that's it for now. Haven't been able to fight her at all since we got back into this time. Been missing it.”

“You sparred? After the chip was removed the first time?”

Spike took a sip of his scotch. “Wasn't much time for it then. But before, we had some knock-down drag-outs.” He smirked at the memory of his favorite fight with her.

“I don't understand. It stopped working?”

“On her, yea.” At the look on Giles' face, Spike nearly choked on his drink, fighting back a laugh. “No, she didn't get turned. Don't look so bloody horrified. You know we lost her. Well, when she came back, she was a bit different, not quite as human as when she... left. At least, that's how the chip read her. She'd been back well over a year by the time the li'l brain zapper fried.”

They drank in silence for a few minutes, Giles studying Spike, who held his gaze in return. Finally, the watcher spoke. “You're the one who is different. Not at all who you were a month ago, from my perspective. Barely the same vampire. Does the time you spent carrying that chip have the credit?”

Spike nodded. “Some. Buffy for most. That woman's got a way of making a bloke wanna help her out. For me, that meant a bloody lot of change. The enemy isn't generally considered a source of help. But I helped, anyway. Took a while to not be the enemy anymore -and still sometimes was- chip or no chip.”

Giles switched gears. “So what exactly is your mission in this time? You’ve both been quite vague.”

“Simple. She stays alive. If I can't do that for her,” Spike took a long drink, composing himself. “I make sure she doesn't come back.”

Giles was momentarily speechless.

“Yea, Watcher. That's the big master plan. Lovely, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “Part of why I needed the chip gone. It'll make it easier to take on the worst case scenario, if I have to.”

“You'd have to kill a human.” Giles absorbed this for a moment. “Who?”

Spike stared at the floor. “Willow,” he whispered. “If I can't stop Red from trying to bring the slayer back any other way, I'll have to kill her. Buffy's written a warning out for her in a letter, so she'll know we both mean it to go that way.”

Giles was flabbergasted. “Willow performed a resurrection? And that's worth killing her over?”

The vampire looked up, his eyes locking with the watcher's to show how serious he meant his words to be. “It is. It's about saving the world, Rupert. For me, if it comes to that, it's Dawn. Sod the rest of the world, but Red's not gonna ruin my Nibblet's life.”

“A life without her sister?”

“Some prices are too high, is how Buffy puts it. If we lose her again, the world -including Dawn- is literally better off without her, bloody lousy as it is. And the Bit won't be alone. She'll always have me, watching her back.”

“And Joyce, of course.”


“Oh dear lord. You said you'd had a difficult few years, but I had no idea it was as bad as... These headaches she's suffering--”

Spike cut him off with a stiff nod. “Soon.”

Giles sucked in a long breath. “Oh my dear girl,” he muttered to himself. “To have to lose her mother, and then go through it again. However is she managing?”

Spike gave Giles a hard look. “Slayer's tough as nails. She'll make it. Do have some concerns about her losing her father, too.”

“Is Hank not going to come back for his daughters?” Giles asked innocently.

“Not talking about that worthless sperm donor Joyce divorced, Watcher. I mean her real father.”

As Spike's meaning sank in, Giles looked offended. “You're questioning my loyalty to Buffy.”

“I'm questioning if you're gonna be the man she thought you were back then... now, I suppose. I pushed her to keep you close, but we may both come to regret it.”

The recently canceled plan to return to England came immediately to Giles' mind. “I left her, didn't I?”

“Among other crimes.”

“I do care about her, you know.” Giles saw the challenge in Spike's eyes, and that it would not be easily escaped. “You have my word, then. I'll be where she needs me to be.”

“Spoken like a bloody politician. Just promise you'll let her have a say in where that is.”

“So be it, then.” Giles nodded his agreement to the terms and poured another round for them both. He leaned back in his chair once again, studying this unusual vampire for what seemed like a long time. “I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm glad you're here. She needs someone who knows what she's been through, and is--” He emptied his glass in a single gulp. “And is... a friend.”

“Pour yourself another, Watcher. You're still too sober for this li'l chat.”

“This is no light matter, Spike.”

“No, it's bloody serious, every bit of it. But I know what you're asking. Just waiting on you to say it.”

“Are you the reason she ended her relationship with Riley?”

“Part of the reason. Ready to ask the rest of the question?” Spike smirked, already knowing the answer.

“I'm not going to ask that question, Spike. I'll wait to be told the answer.”

“'Cause you don't wanna believe I care for her.”

Giles glared, but continued as if having not been interrupted. “I'll give you this, at least. You are being a friend to her, one she clearly needs.”

“It's mutual, Rupert. Need her, too. Fact is, sometimes I think--” Spike stopped suddenly. He sat up and lifted his nose to the air as he placed his glass on the table. “Get your first aid box, Watcher.” When Giles hesitated, Spike's eyes glinted with amber. “Now, dammit!”

Spike rushed to the front door and out into the courtyard. By the time Giles returned to the living room with his first aid kit, Spike was carrying an injured Buffy into the apartment. Horrified, Giles ran toward them, nearly tripping over his desk chair.

Buffy handed Giles a glowing orb as Spike carried her by him. “Hi, Giles.” She smiled tiredly. “Keep that safe, will you? It's important.”

Spike placed Buffy on the sofa and wrenched open the first aid kit. He began with the cut on her forehead, cleaning it while wearing a look of anger only a vampire could manage. “She's loose, then?”

“Yea. It's time to test out that theory of mine. Let's rally the troops. And Spike?” She winced as he inspected her swollen wrist. “Bumpies are showing.”

Spike shook his head, forcing his face back to its human look. “It's just that woman--”

“I know.” She turned to look at her watcher, who was taking in the scene in stunned silence, the orb still in his hand. “Don't worry, Giles. It's not as bad as it looks. I'll be fine tomorrow.” She pulled herself up into a sitting position with her good hand and winced again. “Mostly. Spike's overreacting. I'm a bit better at getting my ass kicked by Hellgods than I used to be. Practice makes perfect.”

“That's not funny,” Spike growled as he inspected the ankle he'd found her limping to protect when he'd scooped her up in the courtyard.

“Hellgod?” Giles repeated, suddenly stone-cold sober. “Is that-- Is that what killed you?”

“Technically, it was suicide.” Buffy's calm tone did nothing to bring Giles back to his senses.

“Suicide? What? Buffy? Why would you--?”

“It was not suicide!” Spike roared, slamming an open hand onto the coffee table, rattling the forgotten glasses and scotch bottle. He leaned Buffy forward and began to help her out of her jacket. His volume dropped to a near whisper. “It was sacrifice.”

Buffy opened her mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped her. “Ok… Letting that one pass. Giles, pencil in a Scooby meeting. You’re all going to get some answers.”


Chapter #7 - Precious Gifts

Author's Notes: Your (much appreciated and consistently kind) reviews have left me with the nagging worry that many of you may be expecting definitive relationship statuses between the travelers and the Scoobies to emerge quickly and cleanly. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Every Scooby relationship is actually two intertwined ones: personal and professional. While Buffy and Spike are juggling that with each other, don't forget they are doing the same thing (plus time travel hindsight complications) with the entire gang. Each of those relationships will evolve differently, and at a different pace.

The good news is that we're finally getting to the part where this story starts getting fun. Enjoy!


Chapter 7: Precious Gifts

October, 2000

When Tara arrived at the Summers' residence, she was greeted warmly by Buffy. “Tara, hey! I'm glad you could get here early. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Buffy led her through the living room, where Spike was playing cards with Dawn. “Spike!” Buffy admonished. “You are not teaching my sister to play poker!”

“Girl's gotta learn sometime. Best it be from someone who's not gonna cheat her... much.”

Tara’s giggle grabbed Dawn's attention. “Hi, Tara! Can we deal you in?”

“Sorry, Dawnie. Buffy needs me right now. You can teach me to play later, ok?”

Dawn nodded cheerfully and returned her focus to the game. She was in the best of moods. Buffy had not only invited her to this Scooby meeting, she had said she was an important part of it. Dawn had no idea what that meant, but she liked it. It was about time her sister realized she wasn't a baby anymore.

Buffy and Tara moved toward the kitchen, where Joyce was piling cookies onto a large tray. They waved to her from the hall and stepped into the basement stairwell, Buffy closing the door behind them. “Could you do a glamour-type thingy over the house that would last a couple of hours?”

“How do you mean?” Tara tilted her head in question. “Like, make the house look different?”

“Like make it look like we're having a fun little party, or something. So anyone looking in the windows or passing by hears and sees that, not a serious conversation.”

Tara shook her head. “I'm sorry, Buffy. I think that's a bit beyond me. I could do a sound-proofing spell, though, so no one overhears us.”

Buffy nodded. “Good enough. We'll close the curtains, too. That should be alright. What do you need?”

Tara smiled. “For that? Nothing, really. I learned that one young. My brother snored and his room was right next to mine. I just need a little help to make it strong enough cover the entire house. When Willow gets here, we'll do it.”

“Thanks. Really.” Buffy smiled.

“It’s no problem.” Tara reached for the door. “I'm going to go see if Dawn can teach me what a royal flush is. That will give you and Spike a few minutes to talk.”

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise. “Um, Tara, since when can you read minds?”

“I can't,” she laughed. “I can see it. You’re reaching out for him across your bond. You make it light up whenever you're thinking about him.”

The slayer blushed. “Oh.”

Tara laughed again. “Don’t worry, Buffy. It's not like everyone can see it.”


Spike found Buffy pacing the basement floor a few minutes later. “You drawn to dank, dark places, now? Thought I was the cellar-dweller.”

“I just needed a quiet place to think. Our basements have been my go-to for that for a while.”

“Worried about how the Bit will take it?”

Buffy stopped pacing. “I've thought of nothing else! If I don't say it right, she'll freak out. I already talked to Mom, so she won't go crazy in front of Dawnie. I don't know if that will help or not. All I know is that one wrong word from me could make this all blow up on our faces.”

Spike stepped toward her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he looked into her eyes. “It's gonna be fine, love. She's a smart li'l bird, and strong like her big sis. Don't worry.”

Buffy held his gaze for a minute, her expression fading from anxious insecurity to an unspoken question. Then suddenly, softly, she tilted her head up and kissed him.

It was the briefest of moments, but Spike reveled in that kiss, in the gentleness and surprise of it. When she pulled away from him, he could only whisper, “Buffy...”

“Thanks, Spike. I needed the pep talk.”

Her business-like tone and abrupt step away annoyed him. He responded bitterly. “Saying 'thanks' the same way you say 'hello,' now, General?”

“What? No! That's not what I meant.”

“Oh, so it's normal for you to kiss a bloke like you mean it and then blow it off like it's nothing? Oh wait! I almost forgot; that is normal.”

“And what the hell is your idea of normal? Every kiss leads to either loud, raunchy sex, or a declaration of some kind, or it's just not worth even starting? Why can't a kiss just be a kiss with you?”

“Hey! Play fair! Who's been your bloody cuddle buddy for months, asking nothing of you? Even after you shoved your tongue down Angel's throat? And just a bit ago, when you were shaggin' the soldier boy again? Whose bed did you crawl into when you needed something he couldn't give you?”

“Me play fair? Seriously? You're blowing this all out of proportion!”

“Then tell me I'm wrong!”

“It was just a kiss, for god's sake! Is this your way of telling me you didn't want it?”

“You bloody well know better than that, and have for years, you stubborn bint. But I'm not gonna go down this road with you again. Not gonna be your plaything, and sure as hell not gonna end up like Peaches, with a snog for a favor every year or two and ignored the rest of the time.”

“So that's it, huh? You're picking now, right fucking now, to give me an ultimatum. Who deserves to be handed an ultimatum, Spike? 'Cause I'm pretty sure it isn't me. There's nothing new here. You know exactly where we stand, so why the anger?”

“'Cause I don't know where you stand. I never do. I just sit and wait. You're the one who knows how things stand. All I know is, that felt an awful lot like your little 'hello' to Angel looked.”

“You weren't supposed to see that. And if you hadn't been following me, you wouldn't have!”

“No, I would have just gotten to smell it when you came home. Like that's so much bloody better. And I was following you in case you needed help!”

“Well thank you, Riley Finn! You sound just like him.”

“Finn couldn't have dealt with any of that mess, and you know it!”

“Finn wouldn't have gone on a mind-jacked murder spree, either!”

He punched her in the shoulder. She countered with a blow at his face. He ducked, and swung around to kick her in the side. In a matter of seconds, they were giving each other the kind of fight they hadn't had in a long time. Rage, frustration, and the tension of their present situation fueled every strike. Some blows made contact, but most missed. They knew each other's moves too well not to avoid them.

Finally, Buffy managed to sweep Spike's feet out from under him and he landed on his back with a thud. She rested a boot on his chest and stood there for a moment, catching her breath. “I meant that kiss, you moron. I think you should know that.”

He grabbed her foot and pulled her off balance, knocking her to the floor as he rolled out of the way. He stopped beside her in a crouch, pulling her up into a loose throat hold, facing her toward the wall where his cot would later be. “And I meant everything that happened there.” He pointed with his free hand. “You should know that, too.”

He released his grip and she pushed him away. They were sitting a few feet apart on the floor, glaring at each other, when a cough on the stairs grabbed their attention. They looked up to see Giles sitting on a step, having come down just far enough to see what was going on and staying to observe.

“Fine friends you are, certainly.” He gave Spike a pointed look. “All of this is quite interesting, but don't you have more important matters to attend to just now?”

Buffy's eyes went wide. “Um, how loud was that?”

“Loud enough to draw attention, though the words themselves were mercifully muffled. The remainder of our party should be here any moment. You two had best make yourselves presentable.” Giles stood and climbed the stairs, slamming the door behind him.

At first, Buffy and Spike remained perfectly still. Then they made the mistake of making eye contact, and broke into laughter. “I feel like I just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar and sent to my room!” Buffy giggled. “He's really got that 'angry parent of a five year old' look down pat.”

“The man's a watcher, love. That's what they do: manage children.”

Proving his point, she stuck her tongue out at him. Then her smile faded as something occurred to her. “See where you're sitting right now? That's the spot.”

“Eh? What spot?”

“That's where I was standing when I had that last conversation with the First, right before you woke up.” She jumped to her feet and stepped over to pull him to his. Standing beside him, she continued, her voice soft and low.

“This is where I was standing when I saw that you -and everything you had said to me- held the answers I was looking for. I watched you as you slept and the First talked in my ear. It called you my lover -present tense- and I didn't argue the point, even to myself. But it didn't know what you really are. You're the entire inspiration for this trip. You were my strength that night, and have been quite a few times over the years. I appreciate that, but I don't usually say so. Hence, thanks for the pep talk.”

Spike turned her toward him and returned the kiss she'd given him earlier, making every effort to match the sweet, gentle brevity of the previous kiss. Then he pulled away, and looked her over critically. “You're a mess, love. You go upstairs like that, people are gonna talk.”

Buffy ran her hands through her hair and brushed the dust from her clothes. “You're the soul of romance, Spike. You might want to fix yourself up a little, too.”

He took off his coat and shook the dust from it. “You know I followed you with good reason.”

“Yea, I know. But you do remember that I came home to you, right?”

“I noticed. Still smelled like him, though.”

“It won't happen again. I promise.” She crossed her heart for emphasis.

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

As they climbed the stairs, Buffy returned her focus to the mission. “You understand your role in this, right?”

“Keep my bloody mouth shut and don't let Nibblet run off into the night?”

“Pretty much, yea.”

Buffy stepped into living room to find it full of Scoobies and family. “Hi, guys. Thanks for coming by tonight. Tara, can you take care of that little sound problem for us before we get started?”

Tara nodded, taking Willow with her to the front door, where they could soon be heard chanting softly.

Meanwhile, Anya was looking Buffy over, her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Did you just come back from an early patrol? You look terrible.”

“What?” Buffy ran her hands over her hair again and glanced at her clothes. “Oh. Um, it was nothing. Just a vampire.”

“Like that one?” Anya asked, pointing over her shoulder, where Spike had just stepped into view.

Buffy tried to look irritated rather than amused. “Yea, that one.”

Xander jumped to his feet in alarm. “The chip isn't working!”

“Whoa, Xan! Don't freak...” Buffy thought fast. “Slayers aren't as human as they look, you know. The chip doesn't work on me... consistently.”

“What? How do you know this? Are you sure that's normal?”

“Uh, yea, Xander. I’m sure. Slayers are made from the essence of demons. Or did you think my power came from fairy dust?”

Spike hid a snicker as he slid by her and into the room. He grabbed a cookie from the tray on the coffee table and stepped toward the far doorway, hoping to be viewed by the assembly as out of the way and unimportant.

Tara and Willow brushed past him as they returned to the living room. “All set, Buff. No one can hear anything from outside, even if they cut a hole in a window. So what's so important?” Willow asked.

Buffy took a deep breath and stepped closer to the group. “Dawnie, will you come stand with me, please?”

Dawn complied happily. She was glad to be needed, even if she had no idea how.

Buffy took her sister's hand. “What I'm about to say is going to sound crazy, but I promise it's true. It's been researched and … verified. I can't explain how I acquired all of this information, so please don't ask. I will tell you eventually. I just can't right now. Right now, all I can do is ask that you trust me and never let any of this information out to anyone else. Our lives depend on it.”

She paused to look at each person in the room in turn, watching for nods of assent. She finished with her mother and sister, who followed the lead of the Scoobies, and agreed. She took another breath.

“Ok. Here goes. All of us, and many other people, have had our memories altered. This is not something we are going to fix. We're not even going to try. What we gained in exchange is far too precious.” She held up the hand still interlinked with Dawn's. “This is far too precious to lose. And that's why I need your help.”

To a sea of confused faces she briefly explained what she knew of the Key, its purpose, its keepers, and the Hellgod that sought it. “Apparently Glorificus is too strong to be contained. She's able to escape her human prison for short periods. The monks had to find a way of protecting the Key when she came looking for it, so they sent it to us. The weight of the world falls on us, guys. We protect the Key.”

“You have it?” Willow asked.

“In my hand this very moment.” Buffy held open her empty right palm. All eyes drifted to her left hand, still gripping Dawn's.

“Wh-what?” Dawn sputtered. “I'm a key?”

Buffy gave Spike a surreptitious glance for support. This was the trickiest part. She turned to Dawn, holding her hand tightly in desperation. “Dawnie, I'm not completely human. Slayers were made by infusing some demon essence into a human girl. It's dark, scary stuff that I sometimes wish I didn't know about myself. But it's in there, in my blood, a little bit of demon I carry with me. In your blood, there is another kind of magic, the kind that makes portals to other dimensions. I don't know if it will be something you can tap into when you're older. We'll have to look into that later. But right now, it's something that needs to be protected. It's too powerful for us to let a crazy Hellgod have. And she would kill you to take it.

“The only difference between us -besides that we have different magic in our blood- is that I was already here, and already a slayer. But I was an only child, and they meant this plan for my sibling. So they made me one. They altered everyone's memories -so no one would know that I hadn't always had a sister- and they gave you to the world. And they gave us the task of protecting you from Glory.”

Dawn tried to pull away, but Buffy held her firmly. “They made me?” she cried. “No, No. I'm real. I'm a person! Mom! Tell her!”

Joyce looked at her elder daughter. “Buffy, are you absolutely certain?”

Buffy nodded. “I wish it wasn't. I always thought of Dawn as your normal daughter, your reward for getting stuck with raising a slayer.”

Joyce tilted her head. “You were sort of right, just not how you thought. Dawn is our gift.”

Buffy smiled and cupped the teary young face before her lovingly. “Yea, that's how I see it, too.”

Dawn stilled for a moment, looking from her mother to her sister, then broke free of Buffy's grip and fled upstairs. Every eye in the room followed her out of sight. When they looked back toward Buffy, Spike took the opportunity to slip quietly upstairs.

He tapped on Dawn's bedroom door as he opened it. “Nibblet?”

Dawn was at her bookshelf, pulling her journals from it and tossing them to the floor. “Go away!”

“No.” Spike came into the room and sat on the bed.

Dawn stood up, surrounded by the paper records of her life. “It's all fake.”

“Those monks wrote a blueprint. You get to do the building.”

“From what? Lies?”

“They gave you people that love you, brains, looks, health, and a mostly happy childhood. It's a better start in life than most people get, Bit.”

Dawn thought about that for a moment, then stepped over her mess to sit beside him. “What am I supposed to do now, Spike?”

He put an arm around her. “You just be Dawn and let Big Sis and me keep the monsters away.”

“Yeah, right. Like she's going to let you hang around to play bodyguard.”

“She'll surprise you, li'l one. Buffy will do anything to keep you safe. Anything.”

“Yea, ‘cause I’m her job.”

“’Cause you’re her blood, Bit. You’re family and she loves you.”

In the living room, Buffy was getting tired of saying “I can't answer that” to questions about her information sources.

Finally, Tara broke in. “Uh, guys? I think what Buffy needs is help, not bibliography requests.”

Xander, Anya, Willow, and even Joyce fell silent, feeling reproached.

Giles followed Tara's lead. “What can we do? Can we identify the man this Glory is hiding within?”

“No to the second one, Giles. She has a masking spell in place. Anyone who finds out immediately forgets. It doesn't work on demons... or slayers. I know. Spike knows. But I could tell all of you right now, sing it in a song, hang banners from the ceiling, and you'd still forget you were ever told. You can see the transition in person, and it still doesn't help.

“As for helping with other stuff, I'd love it. The first things we need to do are practical. I need to move out of the dorms and be home. I'm going to drop out for the year. Mom, don't look at me like that. I promise I'll get my degree eventually, but this is not a time when I can focus on school. I'll need some help with leaving UC Sunnydale. Then I need Willow to lead a research team on a defense idea I've got. Wils, Giles has your prototype at his place. Also, I'm going to need backup for keeping an eye on Dawn. We can't shadow her at school or her friends' houses, but we can make sure she's never without someone to watch her back when she's at home or out in town. To that end…” Buffy braced herself for shouting. “Mom, I'd like to ask Spike to move in with us for a while, for extra security. We can fix up the basement for him.”

What!?” Xander and Willow shrieked in unison.

Anya shrugged. “That makes sense. He's the only one of us as tough as Buffy. You couldn't fight off a Hellgod, Xander Harris. But Spike might have a chance.”

“Ahn, that's not the point. He's not to be trusted.”

“I think that's for Mrs. Summers to decide,” Tara said, just as footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs.

Spike and Dawn appeared in the living room doorway. Dawn -her eyes still red-rimmed- shrugged into her jacket. “Ask for me,” she whispered with an elbow jab to his side.

“Joyce, mind if I take the Bit out for ice cream?”

Joyce smiled and waved off the request casually. “So long as Dawn remembers it's a school night. And we'll have a little mother-daughter chat about all this tomorrow?”

Dawn nodded. “Ok. Thanks, Mom. I won't be late.”

“No Key talk in public, Dawnie. Glory's minions are everywhere.”

Dawn glanced at Spike, who nodded. “Slayer's not being paranoid. Gotta watch what we say.” he looked up at Buffy's worried expression. “Safer with me than you.”

Buffy sighed sadly. “I know.” She waved them off. “Just be careful.”

“Have fun!” Joyce called after them.

They left with a wave to the rest of the room. Xander and Willow seemed stunned.

Joyce laughed. “Close your mouths, kids. It's not as if they've never gone out for ice cream before.” She glanced at Buffy. “Well, I guess they haven't, but I remember them doing it a couple of times.”

Buffy tried to explain. “I invited Spike into this house long before the chip. And he kept coming to visit, mostly when I wasn't here. He's been a friend to my family even when he wasn't a friend to me. I've learned most of this... recently.”

Xander frowned. “And why exactly is Dawn safer with a vampire than with you?”

“Glory knows I have the Key. If she figures out that I'm being protective of one particular person, that person will be on her suspect list. She's not watching Spike. She's watching me.”

“So he's the perfect choice for live-in protection: Strong, already a family friend, and under the radar.”

“That’s true.” Joyce agreed with Tara. “Have you talked to him about this, Buffy?”

“No. I didn't want to spring it on him without asking you first. He's not going to see this coming.”

“Do you think you could keep the arguing to a minimum?”


When Spike and Dawn walked into the kitchen through the back door, they found Buffy sitting quietly on a stool, her elbows on the counter, and her chin cupped in her palms.

“Slayer? You alright?”

Buffy smiled a little. “Just thinking. Did you two have a good talk?”

“Yea,” Dawn sat down beside her. “I'm still a little freaked out.”

“You have every right to be. But I'm glad you didn't do something crazy.”

“Spike wouldn't let me.”

“Yea, he's good for that. He likes to save doing stupid and crazy things for himself.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Dawnie. But like I told everyone tonight, I may not be able to answer.”

“What did they make me out of?”

“Me. They used me as a … template, I guess? I don't know exactly how it worked. I just know they made you genetically my sister. You weren't whipped up out of thin air.”

“Hmm.” Dawn looked thoughtful, but then abruptly changed gears. “Did mom go to bed already?”

“Yea, as soon as everyone left. She had a headache. I’ll go get her prescription filled in the morning.”

“Is she gonna be alright?”

Buffy tried to look reassuring. “I hope so, Dawnie.” She glanced up at the wall clock. “You should get to bed. School tomorrow.”

“One more question: How old am I?”

“You are a fourteen year old human.”

“But how long have I actually been alive?”

“About a month. But the Key is thousands of years old. So I'd say fourteen is a better age, either way.”

Dawn nodded and slid off her stool. “OK. But I want to know more later.”

“Dawnie, when all this is over, you can spend the rest of your life studying the Key if you want. I'll even help. But right now, this is a protection detail.”

Dawn gave a mock salute. “Yes, Captain!”

“That’s General, thank you.”

Dawn saluted again. “Yes, General. Goodnight.” She gave her sister a hug and then turned to give one to Spike before heading upstairs.

Buffy jumped to her feet. “Ok, Smooth Talker. How exactly did you do that? No screaming, no fire-setting, no running away, no bleeding on the carpet. She's taking this better than if I had told her she couldn't watch TV for a week.”

Spike shrugged. “You did most of the work.”

“I just tried to tell her she was special and not a freak, at least not much freakier than a slayer.”

“And that helped. I told her she's got a life to live, no matter her past. And that you and me would do anything to protect her - which I happen to know is true.”

“Yea, I guess I can't argue that point.” She led him toward the basement door. “Let's talk downstairs.”

Once in the basement, Buffy turned and looked him in the eye. “We need to fix something.”

“What's that?”

“We've got a problem. We keep almost talking about it, but then we end up dancing around it… You've been living alone, with no one to talk to, after you'd gotten used to a house full of people. I call our crappy safe house home sometimes, and you don't really like that. You never call your crypt home, either. Well, it's high time you got to go home, Spike. There won't be as many people around this time, but there are still a few.”

He looked around the basement, remembering it as it was in years to come. “You asking me to move back in, love?”

“Yes.” Buffy suddenly looked shy. “If you want to, that is.”

“What's your mum say?”

“If she doesn't have to listen to us yelling at each other too much, it's ok with her.”

“And your mates?”

“Xander and Willow nearly had a shared heart attack at the idea, but I think their girlfriends will talk some sense into them. It's good for Dawn to have extra muscle around. There's really no arguing that.”

“And you? This just for protection, 'til Glory's done with?”

“Things could be different by then. With Mom... you know. I'm hoping you'll want to stay with us.”

“Not what I was asking.”

Buffy took a slow, deep breath, gathering her nerve. “I want you to come home, Sparky. For me.”

Spike grinned. “Then I guess I'd best pack up the old place.”

“Your crypt?”

“Nah, keeping that. Just started work down below. I think I can make it exactly what we need. Should clear out of the safe house, though... And why are you looking so surprised? You thought I'd say no?”

“Not really. It’s more relief than surprise. It's just that with Xander catching me walking toward downtown in the middle of the night, and all the sneaking around to avoid getting caught by anyone else, that place is getting to be exhausting. Also, that's a long way to walk for a little sleep.”

“In other words, you got spoiled to having me just downstairs.”

She gave him a meek smile. “Maybe a little?”

“It's alright, love.” His gaze wandered around the basement once more. “I'll be home soon.”


Chapter #8 - Heaven Sent

Author's Notes: Judging by the reviews, I'm guessing you guys didn't think the argument in Precious Gifts was as fun as I did. That's a shame. Hopefully, you'll be more entertained by some of the other stuff I have coming down the line. Thanks for continuing to give Echoes your time and attention.


Chapter 8: Heaven Sent

November, 2000

“That wall needs something,” Buffy muttered, studying the space above the bed.

Spike looked up from the CDs he was stacking on the bottom shelf of a nightstand. “Chains?”

“No, smart ass. I was thinking about a painting, or a mirror, or something.”

“A mirror? Great idea, that.”

“Ok, so a mirror is a dumb idea. But an art piece, something interesting and exotic...”

“Joyce got any possessed masks available at the gallery?”

Buffy's eyes widened. “How do you know about that? You weren't in Sunnydale when that happened!”

Spike smirked. “Rupert.” He pantomimed drinking. “Talked about you when he was grieving, love. Know a lot I shouldn't. Know about your cute li'l pom-pom dreams and your sparkly parasol, too. Only got one question: Do you love your pig more than your shoe collection?”

Her face was bright red as she scanned the basement for something to throw at him. His laughter only embarrassed her further. “I'm going to kill him, then you,” she grumbled.

“Relax, Slayer. It's not like he knew you were coming back. Found solace in telling stories, is all. Can't really blame the bloke.”

“But I can blame you for waiting years to tell me you knew all that stuff.”

“Never came up.” He smirked again. “And you didn't answer my question. Pig or shoes?”

A flash of blue light interrupted the conversation. “It's the pig, Pratt. You should know by now, she likes pigs. Mr. Gordo just happened to be the first.”

Buffy glared at the intruder. “What do you want now, Whistler? Did we ruin your bosses' plans again?”

Whistler sat down on the edge of the bed, clearly exasperated. “You two geniuses really don't understand the idea of subtlety, do you?”

“Nice to see you too, mate.”

Whistler ignored the interruption. “I thought I said a few things about making small changes, not straying too far from how you remember things. In fact, I'm pretty sure your watcher said the same thing to you before left your own time. So I'm trying to figure out if that memory boost I gave you didn't take, or if you two just like ignoring people who give you advice.”

“I like ignoring you,” Buffy replied frankly. “And Giles didn't exactly do much to make me want to follow his lead.”

“Yea, I guessed you'd say that. It was too much to hope you'd actually listen. But you're playing with fire here, kids. I'm struggling to figure out what you haven't changed. All your friends know something is different, and two of them know for certain you're not exactly who you claim to be. The kid already knows she's a walking inter-dimensional glow stick, and your mother knows, too. Everyone can tell you're keeping secrets. Hell, even carpentry boy suspects you've got something going with each other. What in the name of all that is Meant To Be are you two thinking?!”

Buffy, though angered at being called out in this way, kept her cool. “I think we're saving the world.” She sat down in one of the club chairs they'd brought from their safe house. “We may not be following your rules, but we're getting the job done. You're the one with a window on the future. You tell me if we've improved our chances of getting everyone out of this alive.”

“It's life, kiddo. No one makes it out alive. But I know what you mean. And I can't answer that.”

Spike dropped into the chair adjacent to Buffy's, putting himself physically in the conversation. “Then answer this: How were we gonna keep it quiet with an aura-reader in the mix? Your bosses forget that little snag? Or did you just forget to mention it?”

Whistler fidgeted with the buttons on his jacket and stole a glance at his wristwatch. “No one thought she'd run to the watcher. The odds said she'd go straight to you. She was supposed to be your help. That's why the bosses sent her back to join you.”

Buffy's jaw dropped. “Wait. What? She's the Tara from our timeline? Huh? How?”

“She doesn't know that. Not yet. And for the record, she was given a choice. She could stay safe and comfy where she was and we'd block this time's Tara from seeing the differences in your auras, or she could come back and take her chances, to help you and have another shot at her human existence.”

“Not much of a choice,” Spike muttered. “Girl she loves is here.”

Whistler nodded. “Yes, but so are pain, misery, danger, and the certainty of coming into this blind.”

“Like I said, not much of a choice.” Spike's words were meant for Whistler, but his eyes were on Buffy.

Buffy seemed oblivious to them for a moment, lost in thought. “She doesn't know it yet,” she murmured, paraphrasing Whistler's words back to him. “When does she get her memory back?”

“Hopefully, in about five minutes. That's why I'm here. This should be the day she accepts that she is a part of this mission and demands to be involved. While she was with us, she made it clear she thinks she was a weak person. She didn't fight the good fight like she thinks she should have. She didn't keep her girl in check like she thinks she should have. She thinks she could have done better. She's getting her chance now, but this time’s Tara has to want it, or it doesn't happen. She's the main reason I stopped by today, although you two really do need a good chewing out about how reckless you're being.”

Buffy shrugged off his irritation. “We haven't broken anything, or you'd be doing more than nagging us. And Tara wasn't weak.”

“She thinks she was. That's the point. And you haven't broken anything yet, Summers. You get that 'living dangerously' attitude from this one?” Whistler gestured to Spike with this thumb. “Not exactly the best lesson you could learn from a vampire, kid.”

She ignored that, focusing instead on what the demon had said about Tara. “Her birthday is tomorrow. You think she's going to choose to stay here out of courage instead of fear, don't you?”

“More like choosing to stay for the mission instead of for herself, but yea. She gets all her memories back as soon as she makes the decision to be an active asset to the cause. You gain an ally who really understands the stakes. She gets the second chance she wanted.” Whistler shrugged. “That's the idea, anyway. If she doesn't make that call, she remains ignorant of her real history until her death. That's the deal she made.”

Spike threw an amber-eyed glare at Whistler. “So Glinda was safe in her grave and her heaven, and you bring her back? Thought we were here so shit like that didn't happen?”

“Hey! I'm just the messenger!” Whistler put up his hands in surrender. “The bosses made this deal with her, not me. I was sent here to do the job, and give you a heads up.” He looked at his watch again. “And heads up time is over. Hopefully, I'll be right back.”

In another flash of blue, he was gone. Before the two left behind could speak, there was the sound of someone moving upstairs. Both Spike and Buffy stood up. Joyce was at work, Dawn was at school, and no visitors were expected.

Spike sniffed the air as the soft footsteps came closer to the kitchen above. “It's Tara.”

Buffy let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. “Well, I'll say this for him: he has good timing.”

“Buffy? Are you home? Spike?” Tara's soft voice was little more than a muffled murmur to Buffy, but Spike could hear her calls clearly.

He stepped to the base of the staircase. “Downstairs, Glinda!”

The footsteps paused at the top of the stairs. “Spike? I'm sorry. I didn't wake you, did I?”

Buffy stepped into her line of sight. “No. I wasn't going to let him sleep until he got off his lazy ass and finally unpacked his stuff. Come on down, Tara.”

Tara descended the stairs with a resolved expression on her face. She locked eyes with Spike. “You said you owed me a debt. I'm here to collect.”

He invited her to sit with a gesture. “I guessed as much.”

Tara settled into one of the recently vacated chairs. “You've been through all of this before. You know what happens. Do you know my family is in town? And why?”

They nodded.

“Tell me what happens.”

Spike shrugged. “They tried to take you away. Said you weren't human. I punched you. Chip went off. Proved your father was lying. Sent 'em packing. You stayed.”

She studied him for a moment. “It sounds like you're leaving something out, but ok. Thank you.” She rose to leave. “One more thing: Why did I stay?”

“You have school, Willow, and your friends to stay for, plus freedom from your family.” Buffy shrugged. “It could have been any or all of those reasons.”

“What about you guys? Do you guys need me?”

Buffy tried to keep her expression neutral. “Things are different this time around. We know what's coming. It’s an advantage.”

“Is it enough, Buffy? Would my magic be helpful? I can do things for you. I don’t know how much help I was the first time, but I know I can help now. I could--”

Tara's words were cut off by a blinding flash of blue light immediately in front of her. Whistler studied her eyes at close range for a moment. Satisfied with what he saw, he placed a fingertip to her forehead. “Restore!” Another blue flash disrupted her vision. The demon stepped back to watch his magic work.

Tara blinked, winced, and was suddenly unsteady on her feet. Spike rushed forward to push her back into her chair before she hit the concrete floor. She doubled over, her face in her hands. For what seemed like a long time, they watched her and listened to her breathe into her palms. When she finally looked up, her eyes were wide. “Whoa!” was all she could say.

Whistler studied her eyes again. “You remember everything?”

She nodded. “I’ve never met you, though. You're the agent they told me they'd send?”

Whistler smiled. “Yea, that's me.” He looked at Buffy and Spike. “You two can take it from here. And try to play by the rules once in a while, ok?” He was gone before anyone could respond.

Tara leaned back in her chair, and took a deep breath. Then she looked at the two people standing before her. “So you guys are the reason I now have two versions of the two months in my head?”

Buffy smiled. “That would be us. How much do you know about what happened after you... um...”

“Died? Just the basics. I know Willow went off the deep end with the magic. And the resurrection spell finally came back to bite everyone, upsetting the balance of power on this plane so badly that Willow set up a time-travel expedition with some other witches to try to undo the damage. They didn't tell me it would be you two that came back, but I should have known.”

She studied Buffy for a long moment before jumping to her feet and pulling her into a strong hug. “You should have beaten all of us to a pulp. I know what we took you away from now. I'm so sorry!”

Buffy returned the hug, albeit a little awkwardly. “It's ok, Tara. I've had time to get used to it. I'm just amazed you gave it up on purpose.”

Tara pulled away. “I think it will be worth it.” She turned to Spike. “And I really should have been a better friend to you.”

“It's alright, pet. You had other troubles to see to, like that bird of yours and her magic.”

“Yea... I'm going to have to find a way to fix that this time around.”

Buffy grinned at Spike. “Hey! She sounds like us now!”


Xander walked into the Magic Box just as a customer walked out. Anya was at her register, happily tidying the cash within. Giles was behind the counter with her, focused on the vendor order form he was filling out. Willow and Tara sat at the round table with a pile of books, the thing Buffy had called a Dagon's Sphere nearby, tipping him off as to what they were researching. Dawn sat with them, doing a poor job of pretending to do her homework while she read from one of the books Willow had pushed aside. Everyone appeared oblivious to the noise coming from the back room.

After a warm exchange of greetings with Anya, and casual waves to the group at the table, Xander turned to Giles. “So what's the Buffster pummeling back there, anyway?”

Giles didn't look up. “Just Spike. Anya, how much thistle root should we order?”

Xander couldn't mask his grin as he moved toward the training room. “It's about time she gave him a good beating!”

His grin faded quickly when he cracked open the training room door to peek inside. The sound beating he’d been hoping for was merely a sparring session. Buffy and Spike were dodging attacks from each other easily, almost gracefully. Each seemed to be trying to hurt their opponent, not pulling any punches, but they were still making very little contact. They anticipated each other so well, the effect was almost that of a choreographed dance. Xander stood open-mouthed as he listened and watched.

“Dropping your shoulder like a Potential, love. You know better than that.”

“I think you spent too much time with them. You've gotten slow. Or is that just old age?”

Spike growled as he aimed a kick at her middle, which she barely dodged. “You'll regret that!”

“Not if you keep proving my point!” She laughed. “Come on, Sparky! Relish the fight! I know you’ve still got it in you!” She danced out of his reach, swinging around behind him to land a kick at his backside. “Pick up the pace!”

He turned on her with a flash of amber eyes, followed by a lascivious smirk. “You think you can keep up this time?”

Buffy's grin widened. “There's the Spike I know.” She bounced on her toes. “Come on. I've been waiting for this for a long time.”

“Me, too.” Spike lunged toward her, but stopped himself just before making contact, when the slight opening of the door came into his line of sight.“Think we got company, Slayer.”

“What?” Buffy's eyes followed his to the door just as it was opened the rest of the way. “Oh. Hi, Xander.” She stepped away from her opponent and reached for a bottle of water.

“Uh, hi. Question: A potential what? Also, 'Sparky'?”

Buffy and Spike exchanged a look Xander didn't understand. “I'll explain it to you sometime, Xan. It's not important right now.”

“Guess that's it for the warm-up.” Spike nodded to the clock on the wall.

She made eye contact with him, but didn't reply. She walked to the open door, ushering Xander through it ahead of her. Spike followed, but stopped at the training room entrance. Buffy moved through the store and took a seat on the stairs near the front door, trying to look casual about it.

Taking her cue, Tara picked up the Dagon's Sphere and scooted her chair back from the table. Then she waited, her eyes darting between Buffy and the front door. When the door opened, she dropped the sphere under the table. “Oops! Dawn, will you get that for me, please?”

Dawn ducked under the table just as the first Lei-Ach demons came through the front door. Buffy met them head-on, fists at the ready. Spike slipped back into the training room, the sounds of fighting a few seconds later left the rest of the Scoobies certain they had no easy exit. They were between two battles, one at each door.

Fortunately, it didn't last long. Slayer and vampire were able to dispatch the marrow-sucking demons quite easily. Buffy was standing on the stairs, catching her breath, when Spike reentered the shop. He gave her a nod, which she returned.

Dawn emerged from under the table. Tara's father came in the door, followed by his son and niece.

Tara immediately stepped forward, her eyes locked on her father's. “You should go home,” she said, her voice unusually strong. “I'm not coming with you.”

“Yes, you are. The camper's waiting outside.”

Willow looked at Tara in alarm. “You're going away?”

Tara shook her head, but kept her gaze on her father. “No. I'm no good to him. I know it's all a myth. I'm not a demon. It would be hard to make me a good housekeeper if I know I can be free, wouldn't it... sir?” She loaded the last word with strength and sarcasm, which only angered her father.

“The evil in you is playing with your mind.”

“Sorry, no. I'm not evil, not a demon. Am I, Spike?” She called over her shoulder.

“Passes the human test according to my li'l brain buzzer. Smells human, too.”

The Scoobies all understood this explanation, but Tara's family didn't. Buffy grinned. “If Spike's chip and nose say 100% human, she's human. He's a handy vampire to have around.”

“Vampire! I should have gotten you out of here sooner.” The intruder addressed the room. “Tara is going home. She needs to be with her family.”

Willow grabbed her girlfriend's hand. Tara smiled at her, and looked at the group standing behind her. She kept the crooked grin on her face as she returned her eyes to her father. “You're right, Dad. I need to be with my family. It's a good thing they all live in Sunnydale.”

Buffy eyed the man carefully. “Before you even think about trying to take her against her will, you should know that there is enough power in this room to bring down this entire plane of existence, and none of those people are your allies. You should leave.”


Joyce leaned against the kitchen counter, giggling. “I wish I could have seen his face!”

Spike pulled the dishtowel from his shoulder to dry his hands “Was some bickering from her brother and cousin 'fore they finally cleared out, but the poor old bloke looked scared. Didn't say much after that.” He threw the towel at Buffy's head as he stepped away from the sink. She stuck her tongue out at him as she caught it, and threw it back.

Joyce frowned at the interaction, but kept her focus on the conversation at hand. “Buffy, you were exaggerating a bit, though?”

Buffy shrugged. “Not really. Even Xan could find a way, with the access to mystical stuff he has. For me, it would probably be a matter of doing nothing when I should be doing something. Spike isn't much of an end the world type,” she smiled at him, thinking of their first truce. “But he could find a way. Dawn's full of untapped power we don't even understand yet. Anya could go back to vengeance demon work in a heartbeat, and trigger a nuclear war or something. That leaves two witches and a young-warlock-turned-middle-aged-watcher, whom I think you know.” She quirked an eyebrow at her mother, who had the grace to blush. “It's a good thing we're the good guys. Otherwise, we'd be dangerous.”

Buffy went upstairs to dress for Tara's birthday party, and hurry Dawn along, who had already been doing so for half an hour. Spike stepped outside for a cigarette. After a moment's indecision, Joyce followed him. She pulled her cardigan tightly around her at she stepped out onto the back porch, where Spike was leaning against the railing, closing his eyes against the wind with a soft smile on his face. She closed the door behind her. “There's a storm blowing in.”

“A right good one, I'm guessing. Worst thing about California is the weather. Always preferred places where I'd either see plenty of snowy winters, or plenty of stormy summers. California's got neither, but once in a while, it'll surprise you.”

“I don't know. I see two particularly stormy Summers all the time.” Joyce joined him at the railing. “I actually wanted to talk to you about one of them.”

“I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you don't mean Dawn.”

“Good guess.” Another gust of wind whipped across the yard and into their faces. She waited until it had passed before she said, “I know this is going to sound like I'm prying, and maybe I am, but I've known you for a while now, and I'd like to think we're friends.”

“I think so, too. What's on your mind, Joyce?”

“Buffy went from fuming at the very mention of your name to having silly arguments with you about who's stuck with the dinner dishes in just a couple of months. She broke up with Riley -for no reason she could articulate- and had you moved into the house a week later. It was all very fast.”

“Your girl didn't stray on her soldier boy, if that's what you're asking.”

“I had hoped not,” Joyce murmured. “But she knows you're in love with her, doesn't she?”

“She does.”

“And that's what changed everything between you?”

“A bit more to it than that, but yea.” Spike shifted his weight. “Gotta earn some trust 'fore it goes any further, you know? And right now, worrying about the Nibblet is taking priority.”

“Whatever is holding her back isn't a problem of trust. If she didn't trust you, you wouldn't be living in this house, and she certainly wouldn't be sleeping beside you, even if that's all it is.” She chuckled at his raised eyebrow. “I can see what's going on in my own house, Spike. She comes upstairs in the mornings dressed in either the clothes she'd worn the previous night or pajamas, and they've clearly been slept in, not spent the night on the bedroom floor. Yesterday morning, I even went downstairs to wake her up. I wouldn't have done more than call from the top of the stairs if I thought...”

“What are you getting at?”

Joyce sighed, not sure she should say what she was thinking. “Willow called me a couple of days ago. She seems very concerned about the possibility of something called a 'thrall.' She explained it, but--”

“Thrall's not my style. Wouldn't do that to Buffy, even if it were.”

“I didn't think so. But Willow is right; there is something very strange about all of this.” They stood in silence for a few minutes, as Joyce waited for an explanation to be offered. When none came, she whispered, “Just promise me this won't turn out like... that you won't turn on her.”

Spike tightened his jaw. “I'm not him, Joyce. Not fond of the comparison, either.”

“I'm not saying you-- Where are you going?”

“Out.” Spike stomped down the porch steps.

Joyce watched him leave the backyard with a frown. “What did I just do?” she asked herself. She turned to go back into the house, opening the door just as another gust of wind struck her back. She looked down at the kitchen floor with a sigh. “Perfect.”

A minute later, Dawn came into the kitchen, with Buffy a step behind her.

Joyce looked up from her sweeping. “You look great, girls. Buffy, honey, sit down for a minute. We need to have a little talk about Spike before you leave.”

Buffy noticed the broom in her mother's hand and her face went white. “Tell me you didn't stake him,” she whispered. “Please tell me... I know he deserves it a lot of the time, but you wouldn't--”

Joyce dropped the broom and rushed across the room to her side. “No, honey. No. Some leaves and dirt blew in on the storm, that's all.” She guided Buffy to a stool. “But the look on your face answers a few questions.”

“Where is he?”

“He went out for a little while, probably to get away from me.” At the look on the slayer's face, Joyce backed away. “I was... expressing some concern.”

“About?” Buffy's eyes were hard in the wake of her moment of shock.

“You and him. And if this might turn out like your last... involvement with a vampire.”

“Not possible. They're nothing alike.”

“I'll say,” Dawn snorted. “Angel was a big stick in the mud.”

“Are you sure, Buffy?” Joyce tried to keep her tone gentle. “I don't want to see you hurt again, or anyone else, for that matter. I know Spike is a little different from most vampires, but things have changed so quickly between you--”

“It won't happen again, Mom. It's literally not possible.”

“Is this a soul thing?” Dawn asked.

“No,” Buffy was quick to answer. “This is an 'I know Spike' thing. Mom, do you know what Angel I never were? Friends. In fact, it was Spike who first pointed that out to me. That whole Angel thing was based on cryptic comments and Romeo and Juliet attraction. Spike and I... It's a lot more than that, and it's more -I can't believe I'm going to use this word- stable. But don't you dare tell him I said that.”

Joyce picked up her broom. “I won't, honey. But maybe you should.”

“Are we done with the serious stuff now? I want to go to the Bronze.”

Buffy smiled at her sister in relief. “Yea, we'd better get going.”

On their way out the front door, Buffy caught sight of the leather duster still hanging on its hook. She brushed her hand across it, her unease about Spike's sudden departure displacing the feeling of comfort the sight of that coat by the door usually offered.


Buffy struggled to find an opportunity to talk to Tara alone. When she finally did, it was in the crowded ladies' room. They held a whispered conference by the last sink while Buffy pretended to fix her wind-blown hair. “... So apparently, Mom made a comparison to... the other one, and he took off in a snit.”

“He'll be home by morning. He's your personal bad penny. You know he can't stay gone long.”

“Not really. He could be gone for days. I might have to go pull him out of a dark hole some place. He's been different since the... spark. I hate to say it, because it annoys him so much, but he gets kind of broody. Not day in and day out, like you-know-who, but he has these moods. He gets quiet and stuck in his own thoughts, and sometimes the guilt goes to his head.”

“The funny thing is, the one person who knows what he's going through is also the last person he'd want to talk to.”

“Trust me, Tara. The irony was lost on no one in our... place. But I'm not sure how much help he'd be, anyway. I've heard some stories over the years. Faith rolled into town with some real doozies on her last visit. The short version is, he didn't handle it well, and spent a cent- a very long time avoiding... normal food, because he had crappy self-control.” Buffy was watching her words carefully, keeping a close eye on the reflections in the mirror, making sure no one took an especial interest in their conversation. “William's path has been the total opposite.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Take Dawnie home and hunt his tantrum-throwing ass down. He knows these comparisons are going to come up, that they're unavoidable. He's just being pouty about it. Running out on Mom like that was odd, and unusually rude, even by his standards. They have such a good relationship. I'd hate to see him ruin it, especially right now, you know?”

“I know, but maybe dragging him home isn't the best option,” Tara said gently. “Maybe you should give him a little space to work out his thoughts.”

Buffy turned away from the mirror. “I guess I could, but if I don't hear from him by tomorrow night, I'll have to hunt him down, space or no space... just to make sure he's alright, of course.”

Tara's crooked smile took on a sly, indulgent quality. “Of course.”


When Dawn awoke the next morning, she peeked into Buffy's room on her way to the bathroom. The slayer was asleep in her own bed, but the rumpled state of the bedclothes spoke to a night of tossing and turning. After her shower, she went downstairs and discovered a bouquet of daisies and daffodils in a simple vase in the kitchen. She grinned and started down the stairs to the basement, planning to congratulate Spike on choosing her mother's favorite flowers. But he wasn't there.

Tara opened her dorm room door and nearly tripped over a small box. Inside were a variety of essential oils in tiny apothecary vials and a note written in near-perfect script.

Happy Birthday, Glinda. Sorry to have missed your party.

She called Buffy as soon as Willow left for class. “I don't know if Spike came home last night, but I can tell you he's not wallowing in some dark hole.”

“Yea, I gathered as much from the apology flowers he left for Mom. Also, he took his coat when he made the flower delivery, so I know he's ok.”

“That means something?”

“Um, yea. The coat was in storage for months. Guilt about its source, I think. Wallowing Spike doesn't wear his favorite trophy. How did you know he was alright?”

Tara described the gift and note. “There wasn't a signature, but only one person in the world calls me 'Glinda,' so the source is kind of obvious. I guess this means he's working out his tantrum on his own?”

Buffy smiled against the phone. “He's bought himself a few days of not being hunted by a stressed out slayer. I'm glad I talked to you. Giving him some space seems to be a good idea... so far.”


Two nights later, Spike emerged from his crypt, enroute to Willy's. There was a note wedged in the door, which dropped to his feet as he stepped outside.


Both your gifts were appreciated, but I think the recipients would have preferred to tell you in person. You're going to have to make your peace with it, Sparky. Comparisons are going to happen, even in this new timeline. We may be able to change a lot of stuff, but one thing we can't do is escape that big, broody shadow. All I can offer you is the promise that you aren't in his shadow to me. I moved past that long before I realized I did. Come home soon, and try not to get kidnapped in the meantime.


PS- I finally bought that lock box. I put our notes in it. Now I just need the letters from your coat pocket, and to give the second key to its owner.


Spike slipped into her bedroom early the following morning. He crouched beside her bed. “Buffy?” he whispered. “I'm home, love.”

Buffy rolled onto her side to face him. “You smell like a distillery,” she mumbled. She opened her eyes. “And you look like hell.”

“I'll be alright. Sun will be up soon. Gonna get some kip.”


“Downstairs.” He kissed her forehead as he stood to leave.

She smiled softly as she drifted back to sleep.


The tall, elderly woman rested her wrinkled hands on the ornate round table before her, her frustration visible on her face. “And there's to be no other support?”

“They have the guidance they need. They will follow the path set for them.”

She pointed to the short man standing across the table. “That isn't a guide.” She shook her head. “This is nothing but exploitation.”

“They are our weapons to wield.”

The woman looked around the white room, an idea coming to mind. “You should remember you aren't the only ones with weapons.” She turned to walk out of the room through the blue-framed doorway.

“This is above your position.”

“We'll see about that,” she replied without turning around.

Chapter #9 - True Stories
Author's Notes: Kick back and relax. True Stories is a simple, easy chapter. I think we could all use a breather. Thanks for hanging around!


Chapter 9: True Stories

November, 2000

Buffy went downstairs to sleep the next night, but found herself alone. Spike was asleep beside her when she got up to take Dawn to school.

When Spike woke up in the afternoon, an unfamiliar key was on the bedside table. He verified his suspicions by using it to open the small, fire-proof lock box under the bed. After adding the key to his keyring, he pulled all the 2003 letters from his coat pocket, along with the note Buffy had left on his door, and put them in the box. He helped Dawn with her homework, helped Joyce with dinner, and slipped out of the house as soon as Dawn was safely in bed.

Buffy came home from her Scooby meeting late. She made herself a snack, locked up the house, and crawled into Spike's bed. She rolled over sleepily when he joined her a few hours later. “She got it figured out,” she mumbled. “But they're tiny, like little glowy golf balls.”

“Red's version of the Dagon's Sphere? How many?”

“Two dozen. In a bag in the training room. She's going to make more. Tara's helping.”

“You want them all over the house and shop?”

“A few, but also all over town.” Buffy yawned and snuggled close to him. “Don't want to give Glory a lighted path, you know? And it might save Sunnydale a few crazies, if we're lucky.”

“I'll start on it tomorrow, General. Might stash a few at the hospital, too, just to keep Ben on his toes.”

“Sounds good. ...G'night, Lieutenant.” She didn't move again until morning.

Joyce shook her shoulder, whispering, “Honey? I need you to get up. I have an early appointment with the neurologist, remember?”

The next night, Buffy came home even later. She went up to her room to change clothes, and didn't emerge until morning. By that time, Spike had come home from what he felt was a very bizarre Easter egg hiding mission, and was fast asleep.

The following night, Buffy was covered in ashes and dust when she came home. She showered, and tried to wait up for Spike, but ended up dozing off in her own bed with a book in her hands.

Around four am, she woke to sounds from downstairs. A bag rustled. The refrigerator door opened and closed. The microwave beeped. She climbed out of bed and followed the noises to the kitchen.

Spike looked up from the microwave. “Sorry to wake you.”

She climbed on to a counter stool. “It's ok. I haven't seen you in a week. Not awake, anyway.”

“Didn't even see you asleep last night. You didn't come downstairs.” He tilted his head in question.

“Be glad I didn't. I was so tired, I fell into bed still dressed, with a stake in my jacket pocket. What have you been up to?”

Spike shrugged. “Moving some money around with the banker, playing phone tag with my estate agent, working on the downstairs of the crypt, hiding Red's miniature spheres around town, trying to help Nibblet study for her geography exam.” He poured a glass of milk and placed it in front of her.

“Thanks. I bet that was fun.”

He grabbed his mug from the microwave and took the stool beside her. “Thrilling. Pretty sure she still thinks Paraguay is in Asia. So what big nasty left you too tired to come visit last night?”

“Willow, actually. After patrol, I stopped by the dorm to talk to her about other Glory defense ideas. Tara was with her, and the three of us ended up researching stuff for hours. No joy. And this is was after I'd gotten up early to take Mom to the doctor. I was running on fumes before I even got there.”

“Ah, that explains it. Joyce came down and woke you up, yea?” She nodded. “Thought I smelled her near the bed again when I got up yesterday.”

“Sorry about that. I should have stayed in my room that night.” She sipped her milk. “At least we were dressed. It wasn't awkward or anything. Mom knows I've been going down there. She probably expected it to be more awkward than it was, to be honest.”

“Is it gonna be?”


“We going somewhere, Buffy, or just strolling along memory lane while the pressure's low?

She looked away. “Is that what you want?”

“You know what I want. I'm asking what you want.”

“I want... I want to do better this time around. That's why we're here, right? To do better? I want that. For everything.” It was an answer vague enough to push his buttons, but before he could demand clarity, she reached for his hand. Gently gripping his fingers, she asked again, “Is that what you want?”

Spike's irritation subsided with her touch. “How we gonna do that? We can erase it all from ever happening, but we still remember. No clean slate.”

She smiled. “Well, we have a date Tuesday night. How's that for a start?”

“We do?”

“Yes, and it's very romantic. First, we take out the nest of the vamp that staked me. Then we eat greasy bar food while you tell me horror stories about how you used to kill my kind. Our evening culminates in threats and insults in the alley where we first met, for a nostalgic touch.”

He nodded, remembering. “Joyce goes into hospital on Wednesday, and you've already heard those stories. What say we skip it and stay home with the family?”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I know for a fact that's a good night to skip patrol, that no demons are going to be starting trouble, and that you'll be here after I talk to Mom. I'm not giving that up.”

“How's patrol on Monday night?”

“Pretty light. The only trouble was the stupid stab wound.”

“Right, then. How about Monday, I take you out someplace nice and we talk about something else? We can stay home on Tuesday.”

“As good as that sounds -and don't think the offer of a real date is going unnoticed- there's still the little matter of the guy who put a hole in my gut needing to be dusted.” She looked at her glass, suddenly shy. “And I kind of had my heart set on hanging out at the Bronze with you,” she whispered.

Spike tilted his head, studying her. “You've been thinking about this.”

“It's in our notes: 'Stake the vamp who staked Buffy, then go Bronzing together.' Right next to Tuesday's date.”

“You did not write that,” he laughed.

“Go look.” She gestured toward the basement stairs. “Seriously, I wrote it down.”

“You didn't. I'm calling your bluff, Slayer.” He went downstairs, pulling his keys out of his pocket. When he returned a few minutes later, he approached her slowly. “So you do want a real date?”

“Foreign territory, I know.”

“For us, yea. ...At least Rona's not around to catch us sneaking out this time.”

“Every bite of drunken noodle was worth it,” she said decidedly.

Spike tilted his head, studying her. “That's not what you said at the time.”

“At the time, I was worried the girls would be gossiping about us instead of sleeping.”

“They were gossiping about us, anyway. Likely thought a lot more was going on than Thai food.”

“I know. Which is why I was willing to keep doing it.” Buffy shrugged. “The damage was done.”

“Monday night, then. Early patrol to clean that nest, then we'll go to the Bronze.”

She grinned. “Are you going to take me dancing?”

“All we've ever done is dance.”


Spike came down the basement stairs after his shower on Saturday afternoon and frowned at the state of his bedroom. There was a smell of sawdust in the air, and the sound of something being repeatedly rubbed against a rough surface. The lock box that held all the paper evidence of their time travel work sat on the bed. An array of debris sat directly below: sawdust, scraps of thin, papery white fabric, a ten inch chunk of lumber, a hacksaw, and two booted feet. “What the bleedin' hell?”

One of the feet kicked up and waved. “Hi!” came the muffled greeting from under the bed.

“Hi,” Spike answered slowly. “Are you taking my bed apart?”

“I already did that. Now I'm trying to avoid future splinters.”

Spike grabbed one of the boots and pulled, dragging Buffy out from under the bed. “If you want to break the box spring, love, I think we can manage it without cheating.”

“Well, obviously! We broke a house. This box spring was a lost cause from the moment you bought it.”

He frowned at the sandpaper in her hand. Then his eyes lit up at the realization that she had taken his joke seriously, that she viewed them breaking this bed together as a given, not a question. Then he looked at her face, and broke into laughter.

She was wearing a pair of over-sized sunglasses, coated with sawdust, which she now pushed down her nose to glare at him. “What?”

His laughter only increased. He gestured helplessly at his own eyes by way of explanation.

“I was sanding over my head and didn't want sawdust in my eyes.” Buffy looked at the items scattered on the floor around her and shrugged. “I don't see the funny.”

Spike managed to calm himself enough to speak. “Only because I don't keep mirrors about, love. Your face--” He fell back into one of the club chairs, still chuckling,

Buffy scrambled to her feet and made a mad dash upstairs. He followed her to the powder room, eager to see her reaction. He wasn't disappointed. “Oh my god! I think I came out of my coffin looking better than this!”

She dropped her sunglasses onto the counter and turned on the faucet, frantically washing away the fuzzy mask of pale yellow sawdust that covered her face, forming a perfect outline of the sunglasses around her eyes. Once her face had regained its natural color and texture, she began running wet fingers through her hair, in an effort to tame the bizarre, sawdust-y version of bed head she'd given herself by sliding around on the floor under the bed. When she was satisfied she looked human again, she looked in the mirror at the reflection of the wall over her shoulder. “Better?”

“Don't know. The blind woodchuck look sort of suited you.”

She screwed up her mouth, trying to think up a retort. When nothing came to mind, she began rapidly shaking her head. Her hair whipped around her, stinging Spike with the tips of damp tendrils, first from one direction, then the other.

“Hey!” He ducked and scrambled out of the powder room.

She followed him into the hall. “If I'm a woodchuck, you're a ...a mosquito!”

Spike turned to stare at her. “What? A bit early in the day to be smashed, isn't it?”

“I'm not drunk! And before you say it, I'm not crazy, either.”

“Then what's the mess all about?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Spike, don't you think keeping a locked box under the bed is a pretty clear sign we're keeping secrets, and presents an obvious place to start looking for answers?”

“So out of sight, out of mind, then?” He leaned against the hallway wall. “You that worried 'bout your mum and kid sis getting too curious?”

Buffy leaned against the wall with him. “A little more than I'd like to be. I don't like hiding from them, and we are hiding, even in plain sight. They're definitely curious about us, Mom especially. It's the little stuff we can't explain that's bothering her. You know, how you knew where the tea cups were, why you shower in her bathroom instead of mine and Dawnie's, why I don't know immediately if you're at home, and have to actually try to sense you...”

“'Cause you're so used to me being here.”

She nodded. “I expect your presence here. Your signature in the house stopped ringing warning bells in my head a long time ago.”

“Bigger things might be what's actually on her mind, love. Like why I'm here at all.”

“All the more reason to hide the box before anyone notices it. Also, if I know my friends...”

“They might break into the house to dig for answers one of these days.”

“Willow and Xan are still a little freaked that you're living here. They may get nosy. I've been playing Year 2000 Buffy with them, trying to be what they see as normal. But I'm not sure they're buying it.”

“Are we gonna be hiding again, love?”

“Just what's in the box, and the fact that there is a box. If they get too curious, they could find out the stuff we have to hide. It's the same reason I don't talk to Tara very much around other people. If we put the unusual stuff out on display too much, we're sunk.”

“But you don't intend to hide...” He put a hand to her cheek.

“No, I don't. But I warn you, the fallout could be pretty awful.”

“Can't be worse than anything we've already been through.”

“That's really not saying much.” They both turned toward the front door at the sound of Joyce's Jeep in the driveway. “Crap. I thought they'd be gone longer.” Buffy hurried back downstairs to finish her work.


Tara looked up from her book with a warm smile when Willow dropped into the chair beside her at the round table. “Hey, Sweetie.”

“Hi.” Willow gave her a peck on the cheek, then looked around the shop. “I feel like partying tonight. Who's in?”

“You're a little late for TGIF, Wils.” Xander laughed. “It's Monday.”

Willow shook her head. “Not for me. I spent the weekend finishing that huge paper Dr. Grandstone wanted turned in today and making that third batch of mini Dagon's Spheres Buffy asked for. With only one class tomorrow, and all that stuff done, this feels like a Friday... Speaking of Buffy, what's she up to? Maybe we can do a full Scooby Bronze night after her patrol.”

“We could join her on patrol, too. We haven't done that since the dark ma-- since Dracula was in town.”

“You aren't going to go out to a cemetery to try to get yourself killed tonight, Xander Harris,” Anya said from behind the counter. “Buffy said she was going to patrol early. She has a date tonight.”

Willow and Xander exchanged worried looks. “Ahn, did she tell you who her date was?”

“I didn't ask.” Anya shrugged. “But it must be someone really hot.”

The crease in Willow's brow deepened. “Why do you say that?”

Anya rolled her eyes at Willow's uncomprehending of the obvious. “Because she's living with Spike.”

Willow's nose wrinkled to match her brow. “You're not making any sense. But you're saying her date isn't Spike, right?”

“I'm saying,” Anya added a sigh to her eye roll. “That any sane straight woman with that living in her house must have a pretty yummy fish on her line if she's not staying home for sex.”

“Ew! Anya!” Xander waved his hands around his head. “Bad pictures! Bad pictures!”

Willow's face relaxed. “Despite the ooky Anya-logic, This is kind of a good thing. She hasn't been out with anyone since Riley.”

Xander dropped his hands. “Hey, maybe it's that Ben guy she met at the hospital when her mom passed out that one time. Dawnie said he seemed interested.”

“As long as she's looking somewhere other than home, I'll take it as good news.”

Tara bit her lip and buried her nose deeper in her book


Her face was flushed. Her heart was racing. And the scent... Spike had to keep reminding himself they were surrounded by people, that the thumping music he heard was more than the heartbeat that held his focus. When the song ended, he let her lead him back to their table. “You sure you still want food?”

Buffy threw him a sly smile that reflected his thoughts as she climbed onto her bar stool. “Someone still owes me some stories, with a side of blooming onion.”

“Stories you've heard.”

“I haven't heard all of them. Tell me the other stories.

“A century of mayhem and killing? The slayers I fought to a draw?”

She shook her head. “Stuff I don't know. Tell me... Tell me about William Pratt.”

“That man's long dead, love.”

“I know better than that, Spike. You're from a master line. I know the man survives inside the demon.”

“Yea? So what's your excuse for Peaches?”

Buffy screwed up her mouth. “I walked right into that, didn't I?”

“'Bout seven years ago, yea.”

“Ok, so once upon a time, Liam wasn't the world's nicest guy. I'll give you that.”

“Liam was a drunken lout with a weakness for short blondes. You know how well that worked out.”

She snorted. “Lost the breathing, kept the fixation? Yea, I caught that memo. And William?”

“Liked unattainable women.” He gestured across the table with his drink. “You know how that worked out, too.”

“Pretty well, from where I'm sitting.”

“Think so, do you?”

“Yea, I do.”

After a long, heavy silence, Spike nodded toward the dance floor. “You wanna head back out there?”

She tapped the table emphatically. “Stories.”

“Or we could be dancing elsewhere...”

Buffy broke eye contact. “I thought we were going to order food and talk? Maybe play some pool?”

“Don't much feel like talking just now, love.” He leaned across the table. “Neither do you.”


Spike was slow to tear his eyes away from her pouting lip. He leaned back. “Short version is that William lived up to his surname. Not a man worth your time.”

Buffy stirred her drink with her straw. “I don't know, I think I would have liked him. From the little I know, he was kind of nerdy, but very sweet.”

“Bit more nerdy than anything else. Wrote bleedin' awful poetry. Everyone said so.”

“To unattainable women?”

“Every syllable.”

“Give me a sampling.”

Spike slipped off his stool. “Too sober for that, love. Should I order food while I'm at the bar?”

“And another rum and Coke for me, please. Being under-aged again really sucks.”


During the band's break, a familiar laugh caught Xander's ear. He turned toward the sound. “Buffy?”

Willow, Anya, and Tara followed his gaze to the pool tables on the far side of the dance floor. Buffy and Spike were smiling as they talked, only half paying attention to their game.

“I was afraid of that,” Willow said. She dropped her forehead to the table. “Giles is going to have a fit.” She lifted her head. “But at least he'll set her straight. He's let Spike hang around too long already.”

Anya propped her chin on her hand as she studied the scene across the room. “I don't get it. She already has him at home. Why the wine and dine? And the symbolic handling of long sticks?”

“Bad pictures, Ahn,” Xander reminded her, his eyes still locked on the pair at the pool table. “Not that this one is a whole lot better.” He stood up. “I think I'm going to go say 'Hi.'”

Tara bit her lip. If only they could see what I see, she thought. She put a hand on Xander's shoulder to stop him. “Or you could respect their privacy. Do you want Buffy to intrude on your dates with Anya?”

Xander stepped out of her reach. “If Anya were a soulless, serial killing demon, I hope Buffy would intrude.” He walked resolutely toward the pool tables.

Anya stirred the ice in her soda with a frown. “Anya was,” she whispered.


“If it weren't for all the clouds and rain, I'd have never seen 1970. Was still too buggered up to seek shelter in the morning.”

Buffy laughed as she put down her drink on the table's edge. “I'm trying to picture you blending in with a bunch of hippies. It's just so... so not you. But then, I guess this was before your punk phase?”

“The sixties were a weird time for everyone, dead or alive.”

“You aren't going to tell me how you blended in?”

Spike focused on the table as he planned his shot. “Your turn, love. Tell me something I don't know.”

“Um... I used to ice skate.”

“And thought Dorothy Hamil was the best thing since stuffed pigs. Try again.”

Buffy was silent for a moment. “You know that time I came down to the basement and found you talking and smoking with Faith?”

“You thought she was making a play for your leftovers again and got royally brassed off. Try again.”

“Shows what you know.” She fidgeted with the chalk block. “I was jealous.”

He looked up. “Yea?”

“Green to the gills. Faith... well, you know the history. And really, you two are alike in a lot of ways...”


“Huh?” Buffy jumped when Xander tapped her shoulder.

“Hey, Buff. What's up?”

“Xan! Hi. I didn't know you were coming out tonight.”

“It was kind of spur of the moment.” Xander gestured across the room to the Scoobies' usual table. “Willow wanted to hang. We would have invited you, but Anya thought you had a date tonight. It's not too late to join us.”

Buffy's fingertips were turning blue from the turning of the chalk block in her hand. She put it down beside her drink and turned her focus to rubbing the remnants from her fingers. “I do,” she said quietly. “I mean, I'm on a date.”

Xander looked to the other end of the table, where Spike stood perfectly still with a pool cue in his hand, listening to the conversation with an unreadable expression. “I was hoping you wouldn't say that. ...But I kind of thought you would.” He waited for Buffy to offer some explanation or apology, but she stood there, as quiet as Spike. “Um, ok, then. I guess I'll get out of the way.”

As he shuffled back across the crowded room, Buffy let loose a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. “Ok. That could have gone worse.”

“How long you think 'til they go running to the watcher?”

“They might hold out until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Red told your mum she thinks I have you in a thrall.”

“Make that first thing in the morning.”

Spike came around the table to stand in front of her. “But that's still tomorrow. Would rather get back to tonight.” He ran a finger along her jawline, and gently pushed her chin upward, so she was looking him in the eye. “You were saying something about jealousy?”

She faltered under his gaze. “Um, yea. You and Faith.”

“You forget the part where I like unattainable women? Not much unattainable about that one.”

“Good point.” Buffy smiled. “I should have known better.”

“Damn right you should... She's not you.” Spike lowered his lips to hers, drawing her into a heated kiss. When he broke away to allow her to catch her breath, he whispered. “Two options, love. Plan A, you look across the dance floor, see if your mates are watching us, and go into a panic. Plan B, you finish your drink and let me take you home.”

She kept her eyes locked on his as she drained her glass.

Chapter #10 - Flash Forward
Author's Notes: Don't get too comfortable. Some significant changes and unexpected conversations are coming, almost all at once. In some parts of this story, a few chapters will cover an entire month, or nearly so. But from the middle of chapter 9 to the end of chapter 11 is only about 48 hours, and 12 and 13 come right on the heels of those two days, within roughly a week. The scenes you're probably expecting right now might be a chapter or three away. But they're coming.

Also, remember what I said about chapter date headings being important? This is a time travel story, if you recall...


Chapter 10: Flash Forward

May, 2003 / November, 2000

Willow and the witches who flanked her slowly lowered their hands, dropping the ring of white light surrounding Buffy and Spike back into the circle of sand on the floor.

Dawn jumped to her feet. “Buffy? Did you do it? Are you--? Willow, why aren't they moving?”

“They're still traveling, child.” Althenea put a gentle hand on Dawn's shoulder. “Give them time.”

Xander frowned at the perfectly still pair in the circle. “I thought you said they'd be caught up immediately, Wils.”

“I said 'almost immediately.'”

“And how many minutes of freaky statues staring at each other are in an 'almost,' exactly?”

The witch at Willow's right, Bryn, started to answer Xander's question, but was cut off by a flash of light. The earth shook beneath them. The walls began crumbling away with a roar. “Don't panic, everyone. Stay just where you are!” she called over the noise.

“It's only an image,” the other witch, Elsa, shouted from Willow's left. “It isn't real!”

There was another flash, and the earthquake was over. An image of Buffy appeared in the suddenly restored room. She was kneeling on the floor, clutching a familiar leather coat, sobbing.

“Oh dear lord,” Giles said from behind the witches. “Is this what I think it is?”

After another flash, Dawn saw herself walking in the front door with a book bag over her shoulder. She called toward the kitchen. “Hey! Guess who aced her algebra final?”

Faith's voice came from the kitchen. “Way to go, kid! But what are you doing home so early?”

“We're on half days for finals week. Where's Spike?”

Faith came down the hall, into the line of sight of their audience. “In his room with the door locked. Probably already smashed. The anniversary is coming up.”

“Oh.” Dawn dropped her bag. “Wait. This is the twentieth, right? This is a different anniversary. Call a Scooby meeting for tonight. Spike has to talk to everyone.”

“He doesn't feel like talking. And I'm not gonna ask him to, not in the mood he's in.”

“He has to hold a Scooby meeting tonight, Faith. Buffy told him to.”

“Dawn, Buffy's been gone for two years.”

“Trust me on this.”

There was another flash, and Dawn came in the front door again. This time she dropped her bag so that she could pick up the toddler who stood at the bottom of the stairs, trying to figure out the baby gate. “Hey, you! Are you trying to get into trouble again? You're just like your dad, you know that?” She called out to the house at large. “Anybody around here missing a kid?”

Spike came from the kitchen and took the child from her arms. “I turned away for ten seconds...”

“Never turn your back on toddlers or vampires. Nothing good can come of it.”

“You think you're cute, don't you?”

“How'd she rope you into babysitting again? After the last time...”

“Threatened to kick Andrew out and give him our house key. Crazy bint plays hard ball.”

“You know she wouldn't do that.” Dawn took the child's tiny hand in hers. “But I think you secretly like babysitting... I bet you would have been one of those super hands-on dads if you hadn't met Dru.”

“Nah.” Spike led her into the living room, and placed the toddler in a playpen. The child whimpered. “It's just for a minute, mate, 'til I get your lunch ready.” He turned back to Dawn. “Wasn't how things were done then. Might have been more involved than the average, but standards were different.”

Dawn leaned over the side of the playpen to tousle the child's hair as Spike headed back toward the kitchen. “You'd have made a great dad, either way.”

“Nice try, Bit, but you're still grounded!” Spike called over his shoulder.

She called back, “You can't blame me for trying!”

The real Dawn finally managed to close her jaw. “What is this? And whose kid is that?”

“They've started changing history, child,” Althenea whispered. “What we're watching is today, or what today might be, depending on the changes they make... or don't make.”

Willow was still watching the image of Dawn leaning over the side of the playpen, playing with the toddler. “I'd know those brown eyes anywhere, Xan.”

Xander stepped closer to the image of the playpen and peered inside. “Really?”

There was another white flash. The room was suddenly dark and musty. The windows were boarded over, dust covers shrouded the furniture, and the only sign of life was a mouse scampering across the floor to a gap in the baseboard beside the sofa.

Giles gulped. “I get the distinct impression only one of them will make it back to this day, at most. We have yet to see any scenario in which they are both present. So far, most have hinted it was Buffy...”

Willow held up crossed fingers, her eyes locked on the pair in the circle. “They aren't finished yet. I'm not giving up hope.”

There came another brilliant white flash, and an image of Dawn came in the front door once again. She dropped her backpack and hurried into the living room. “Sorry I'm late. Janice and I were talking. Where's the banner going to go?”

The woman draping streamers from the fireplace mantle turned around. “Right there on the coffee table if I can't find the step ladder,” she answered with a crooked smile.

“Tara,” Willow breathed.

“I think it's still on the back porch. The porch light burned out a couple of nights ago. They argued about who left it on all day, and I ended up changing the bulb myself. But it still begs the question...”

Tara laughed. “How many superheroes does it take to change a light bulb?”

“Yep. And the answer is 'None. Leave the human stuff to the humans.'” Dawn pulled her phone out of her pocket. “This little soiree needs grub. Pepperoni ok?”

“I don't know, Dawnie. I think we can do a little better than pizza.”

“The people at the Thai restaurant on State street know their order by heart. We could order from there, feed their addiction.”

“Hmm... Thai food isn't a bad idea. But you'd better order now. We're already behind schedule.”

Dawn looked for the restaurant's number on her contacts list. “There it is! I had it listed under 'Doghouse Escape.'”

Tara laughed. “Spike told me you try to bribe them with food when you're in trouble, but I didn't believe him. I should have known better.”

“Hey, you try living with those two and their 'if you want to get into a good college' nagging without a back up plan. ...I learned from the best.”

“Always have a Plan B?”

“It seems to be a good idea.” Dawn shrugged as her call was answered. “Delivery order for 1630 Revello Drive, please... No, this is Dawn. But I am placing an order for her. Yes, him, too. Their usual will be fine. And could you set us up with a variety of your less spicy dishes, besides? I need to feed a total of 12 people... His card will be fine. Ok. Thanks!”

“Did you just charge dinner to the guests of honor?”

“It's ok, I do it all the time. They know he's good for it.”

Tara smothered another laugh. “Do you think that might be why the food bribery doesn't work?”

Willow wiped her eyes as another flash came. When she looked up, the room was filled with images of many of the Potentials they'd sent to the backyard prior to the spell, all of them bruised and dirty, half of them tending to the more severe injuries of the other half.

Xander met Giles near the living room doorway. “Spike's still not talking,” he reported. “I'm not sure he can. He's in really bad shape, Giles. Burns, broken bones ...and I think he's in shock.”

“He should be in an urn!” Giles hissed. “I told her for years not to trust him, but she insisted. And what did he do? He left her down there.”

Xander rubbed his temple under the strap of his eye patch. “I'm not so sure that's what happened. Give him some time. He'll tell us how she died when he's ready.”

Giles frowned. “Since when do you offer the benefit of the doubt to Spike?”

“Since I brought him home, and saw the look on his face. He looks a lot like how I feel right now.” Xander headed for the front door.

“Where are you going?”

“To break into Willy's bar. I'm sure he left some stuff behind.”

The door slammed, and Giles was alone in the hall, watching his charges bind each other's wounds.

Xander looked around. “Wils, I don't think I like this version. Can we flash back to the last one? That seemed pretty happy.”

“I'm not driving, Xan.” Willow gestured to the stationary pair in the circle. “They are. They're building us a new timeline. But I don't understand why we're seeing so many variations.” She looked at Bryn. “Shouldn't they all be similar? Different versions of the path they're on?”

Bryn shook her head.“I can't be certain, but I suspect too much is in flux for there to be a defined path at this point. I'm sure a pattern will emerge soon.”

“They're changing too much, too fast,” Elsa murmured. “I hope they understand the repercussions of such recklessness.”

“I tried to stress the importance of maintaining most of their history, but I suspect they did not feel obligated to heed my advice.” Giles looked across the room at the image of himself. “Willow, this particular scene looks like ill results from...”

“Plan A. I know. It's as if they relived three years and the only thing they changed was not going back in time in the first place.”

“No-impact variations,” Althenea murmured. “Some of the variations we're seeing could easily be from unaltered or nearly unaltered timelines, versions wherein the time travel had little to no impact.”

Xander turned to her. “I think I speak for most of us when I say, 'Huh?'”

“Me,” Dawn whispered. “It could happen because of me. If they lost their memories when the monks created me... All of this was for nothing.”

Althenea's wrinkled hand squeezed her shoulder again. “Any number of events could occur to cost them their foreknowledge, child. And we don't know that has happened. We know only that it's a possibility, one we already knew could be.”

There was another flash. Xander looked around, taking in the changes. “Uh, guys? Should we be seeing this?” He gestured to the images of Buffy and Spike, standing almost exactly where their real counterparts stood, kissing. A knock on the front door drew their attention, and they broke apart.

“Come in, Red!” Spike called as he moved to the bar that stood in the place of Joyce's old desk.

An image of Willow walked in, waving an envelope. “Is it silly that I'm excited about this? I'm dying to know what's in here.”

Buffy laughed. “Are you telling me I gave you two years to cheat and you didn't do it? Really?”

Willow shook her head. “No way was I peeking at this. First, you made it sound super important. Second, I like having a surprise to look forward to... This is a good surprise, right? It doesn't say the world is going to end tomorrow, does it?”

Spike and Buffy exchanged a look, and both burst into laughter.

Willow looked back and forth between them. “What? What's so funny?”

Buffy wiped her eyes. “It says,” she gasped. “It says it almost did.”


Spike turned back to his drink mixing. “Just read the letter. Then we'll talk.”

Willow began to tear open the envelope just as another flash emptied the room. The furniture changed. Photos of strangers decorated the mantle.

“The letters,” Willow said. “If they lose their foreknowledge, they still have the letters.”

“If Spike still has his coat,” Giles said. “We've only seen it in one variation thus far. And in that one, I suspect...”

“Spike didn't make it.” Dawn looked across the room at the watcher. “You know that's why she was crying. And you know it's a real possibility. She could lose him along the way.”

“It would destroy her resolve, I fear,” Bryn whispered.

“I don't think it would be that bad,” Xander said. “Sure it would mess up her plans, and rock her back on her heels for a while, but she'd handle it ok.”

Dawn followed Bryn's gaze to Buffy' still face, to the eyes that looked into Spike's with such confidence. “No,” she whispered through another flash. “I don't think she would.”

Willow frowned. Everyone in the room had an image of themselves standing in nearly the same spots, staring at the pair in the circle of sand. The image of Dawn said, “Willow, why aren't they moving?”

Giles shook his head. “I should have known. There's a possibility they'll repeat the same mistakes and have to go back again. We're seeing the second attempt at the spell.”

“Whoa, that's some seriously bad Groundhog Day,” Xander said. “Can you imagine living the same three years over three times in a row? Or more?”

Willow crossed her fingers again. “Please don't let us stop on this one,” she whispered. “We could be stuck here watching two or more layers of time shift echoes for hours.”

“Hours!” Dawn squeaked. “That's not anywhere close to 'almost immediately,' Willow.”

Willow blushed. “It could only be another few minutes. Like I told Buffy, this isn't an exact science.”

“Given what we've seen so far, with the vast differences in possibilities, I daresay 'hours' is a more accurate guess.” Giles ran a hand through his hair. “At some point, the images must narrow down to fewer -or at least less wild- variations.”

“And soon after that, we won't remember any of this... I think.”

Dawn and Xander exchanged worried looks. “You think?”

There was another flash, and an image of Dawn was again leaning over a playpen, tousling the hair of a chubby, brown-eyed toddler, with Spike standing beside her.


Spike turned away from the playpen to stare at the fireplace, remembering something.“You know what today is, don't you, Bit?”

The day you can safely tell Willow what she did.”

Wasn't supposed to tell that story alone.”

You aren't alone. Tara is going to stand in.”

Glinda wasn't supposed to be the one that made it this long.”

The world isn't ending, Spike. That was the mission. And you got it done. That's what she wanted.” Dawn turned to their unseen audience and said again, “Tara is going to stand in. Let her.”

It's not supposed to be this way,” Spike whispered in the same direction.

Buffy woke from her dream with a gasp. She rolled away from Spike carefully, trying not to wake him.

She failed. He watched her dress through half-open eyes. “This is familiar,” he grumbled.

“Don't be an ass, Spike. If you're going to stay awake, come upstairs for breakfast.”

“That's new. Not the morning after pillow talk, that's as charming as ever. But breakfast with you after? Could get used to that.”

She shrugged. “I'm starving, and we need to talk.”

“Should've known it was too good to be true.” Spike watched her climb the stairs with a feeling of dread. “You've done it now, William,” he muttered to himself. “Got all poncy and sweet, and now she's over it. Bloody brilliant.”

When he finally forced himself to follow her to the kitchen, the coffeemaker was gurgling, and Buffy was presiding over the griddle. “Do you want some pancakes?” she asked without looking up.

“Yea, sure.” Spike pulled a container of pig's blood from the refrigerator and emptied it into a mug. While the mug was in the microwave, he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “This the part where you tell me you want me to pack up and bugger off at sunset?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Then what's with the Ice Queen Slayer flashback?”

“It's just... how I woke up. The first batch is almost ready. Grab a plate.”

Spike clenched his jaw as he handed her a plate. “Woke up and realized exactly how the general is rewriting her history, eh? Tangled up in the sheets with the cellar dweller again.”

“I took the stairs to the basement this time. I think that counts as progress.”

The words were flippant, but the tone was cool and distant. He placed a second plate on the counter and backed away from her. “If you've got something to say about last night, Buffy, spit it out and be done with it. No games. Not this time.”

“I don't... Maybe I do.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Last night was... different. New. It felt like... like starting over.”

“Yea, a bit like a first time for us. A second first time, but I'll take it.” He shrugged. “There not gonna be a second second time?”

“Don't get too attached, William. I could be dead in six months.”

“A bit late with the warning,” Spike scoffed. “Should've dropped me that memo a few years back.” He came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I'm not gonna let you jump. Last night sure as hell doesn't change that.”

“That's just it. Something has changed. And I'm sure it's something that just happened. I woke up this morning from a slayer dream- a time traveling slayer dream. Something has changed.”

“Doubt the wheel of time spins 'round our bed, love.”

“We changed two things last night, Sparky. The other was the Scoobies seeing us on a date.”


“You certain the rugrat belonged to Harris? I thought Anya was smarter than that.”

Buffy drained her coffee cup. “I can't promise Anya was the mother, but I would know those eyes anywhere.”

“Figures it would be the eyes. Poor bloke.”

They were silent for a few minutes, as Spike absorbed the details of the dream she had related to him. “If I told you it's not supposed to happen that way, I'd guess that means you're supposed to be there. So why would Nibblet tell you to let Glinda cover for you when I told them about the traveling?”

“That's what I don't get. Mixed messages, much?”

“Better question is why you had that dream when you did, love. This the first since we came back?”

She nodded. “And I'm seriously wigged about it. The timing makes me think we've just blown it, that we're about to lose our Scooby support -except Tara- and be on our own. You know it will take more than just the three of us to bring down Glory and her minions, even if I jump.”

“If I'm gonna cost you your mates, pet, why would the Bit and me expect Red to pop by for a chat? And Harris' kid in my care? And Dawn herself, besides?”

Buffy pushed aside her empty plate to drop her head on the counter. “I don't know!” she whined. “I'm all time loopy and confused. I hate slayer dreams. They only make sense in retrospect.”

“Retrospection, we have. In spades. Don't have a hell of a lot else.”

“Then why doesn't the dream fit with what we know? Or the changes we've made so far?”

Spike began gathering the dishes from the counter and putting them in the sink. He was elbow deep in sudsy water before he spoke again. “That makes sense,” he murmured to himself.

“I'm glad something does.” Buffy looked up. “Share, please?”

“You think you got the dream now because we've finally changed something that counts, yea? If we're on a new path, that dream could be a guide for how to walk it.”

She wrinkled her nose in thought. “...Oh. I get it. Because hindsight can't help us with the things that are different.” She stared off into space for a minute, processing that idea. “So what happened last night that was so momentous, if it wasn't alienating the Scoobies?”

“Thanks, Slayer. My ego needed a fresh dent or two.”

“I thought the wheel of time didn't spin around our bed?”

Spike shrugged. “It may not, but I'd accept it as a possibility.”

“We have to be missing something else, something important.” She caught the dishtowel in mid-air and threw it back, laughing. “I'm messing with you. Sort of. You know I'm right.”


“I hate that look on your face, honey. Please don't worry. I'll be fine. The doctors just need to know a little more. When they figure it out, they'll fix it. This will all be forgotten by Christmas, I'm sure.”

Buffy's lip quivered slightly. “And what if it's, you know... Not something they can fix? Or they try, and it doesn't stop you from...”

“Oh, honey. You worry too much.” Joyce's arm went around her daughter's shoulders. “The only thing you two need to worry about is how you're going to talk Dawn into going to school tomorrow.”

Spike leaned back in his chair. “Best give up that dream, Joyce. Lost cause from the start.”

“I know. Maybe it's for the best, since you can't travel during the day.” Her gaze drifted back to Buffy.

“I'm a grown up, Mom. I can handle my hospital phobia. I don't need anyone to babysit me. If Dawnie's not going to go to school, she can stay here with Spike.”

“Take her with you, love. She'll insist, anyway.” Spike stood up. “Gonna put the kettle on. Joyce?”

“Nothing for me, thanks. I need to get to bed.”

“Slayer?” Spike nodded toward the back of the house. “With cocoa?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Spike stepped close to the sofa to give Joyce a peck on the top of her head. “G'night, Joyce. Best of luck with the doctors.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Spike. Goodnight.” She watched him leave the living room before turning to her daughter. “What with cocoa?”

“A talk. He, um, can tell when I feel like talking. We'll be on the back porch for a while.”

“That's sweet. And last night's date went well?”

“Yes, very.” Buffy chuckled nervously, and tried to hide her blush. “This is awkward.”

“You're certain I can't get any untimely grandchildren out of a 'very well,' right?”

The chuckle returned. “Certain. No grandchildren, timely or otherwise. And again with the awkward.”

“But you're happy, right? You plan to keep seeing him?”

“Yes. Yes. What's with the prodding?”

Joyce bit her lip. “You know Spike is in love with you, don't you?”

“Yea... but you do?” Buffy's eyes widened. “Exactly how much do you two talk when I'm not around?”

“Enough for me to call him a friend, so I want to keep tabs on things from both sides. But you don't tell me much. You never even told me why you broke up with Riley, though I have a good guess.”

“Riley... Riley and I weren't nearly as good a match as I once thought. He's a great guy, but...”

“He's not Spike.”

“I didn't say that.” Buffy looked away. “Riley never really got me. You know, like how my brain works? He was very thoughtful, but it was intentional thoughtfulness. I know he meant it genuinely, but it was never... intuitive.”

“Like planning to meet you on the back porch for a talk without being told you need it?”

“Exactly. I know it's not a fair comparison.” Buffy smirked. “Spike's been studying slayers for a century, and me for years. He knows me better than I do. Some days, I feel like I'm still trying to catch up, trying to get to know him as well as he knows me. Some days, I think I'm already there, interpreting his silences as easily as his words.”

“I wonder if there's too much silence,” Joyce mused. “There seems to be a lot you don't say to each other. If you care about each other the way you seem to, I think you should talk about it.”

“He'd like nothing better. But there's all this baggage. You know, ex stuff, former sworn enemies stuff.”

“Everyone has baggage, Buffy. You kick it into a ditch or you carry it together. There aren't any other options -none that actually work, at any rate. And it sounds like none of the baggage you're worried about has any bearing on the here and now. The question is, how do you feel about Spike today, not when you were enemies, or were with other people, or whatever.”

“Think in present tense,” Buffy murmured, her thoughts racing.

“Trust me, honey. It's the only way forward.” Joyce patted Buffy's knee. “You'll talk to him, then?”

Buffy's brow furrowed. “I'm having trouble figuring out if I'm talking to Spike's friend or my mother.”

“Both. Does that give me extra pushy privileges?”

“Not really, but whatever makes you feel better,” Buffy grumbled playfully.

Joyce was laughing when she stood up. “Go on outside before your cocoa gets cold. G'night, honey.”

Buffy stood and gave her mother a hug. “G'night. And thanks for the girl talk. I think I needed it.”

“We'll talk about that problem after the doctors are finished poking at me.” Joyce gave Buffy a significant look as she headed for the stairs. “Don't stay up too late. We have to be at the hospital early.”


They sat on the top step in silence, staring out into the backyard. Spike's arm was around Buffy's shoulders, and she was leaning comfortably against him. Their empty mugs sat on the porch rail, forgotten for the moment. “It feels like a hangover,” she whispered. “Like a bad night of drinking came back to haunt me twice over. And this is just the beginning of it.”

“Seemed to be having a good chat while I was in the kitchen. Tried not to listen.”

“I know. I heard you humming. That 'good chat' came with some seriously awkward poking and prodding... She wanted to talk about us.”

“Bloody hell.”

“My thoughts exactly. And I mean that literally. I've officially been around you too long. My internal monologue cusses in British.”

“You're welcome.” Spike smirked and kissed the top of her head.

“She gave me some relationship advice, but I think it applies better to something else. The reason the dream doesn't make sense is that we're putting it in the wrong tense, the wrong timeline.”

“Back up, love. I'm not on this train with you.”

She pulled away so she could turn to face him. “Ok, so we keep thinking the thing about Tara standing in is about 2003, because that's the setting of the dream. But I had the dream in 2000. Maybe this is when it's applicable. It's not a 2003 Scooby meeting I need to let her stand in for. It's something much sooner. We're mentally stuck in our own time, and it's messing with our perspective.”

“Right. I can follow that. And it's sound enough. But how is your mum giving you advice about time travel dreams? You didn't...”

“Of course not. But honestly? I think I'd be ok with her knowing. She was actually giving me a speech on not looking at past baggage with you, with us. That's just what I got from it. Also, I hadn't realized how much she was an interested third party.” Buffy glared. “My mother, Spike? You couldn't have those conversations with anyone else on the entire planet?”

Spike shrugged. “She sees what's happening in her own house, love. Reads people pretty well, besides. Never had to tell her much.”

“You had to have told her something. She knows way too much.”

“Again, we're living in her house. She sees us together more than anyone else, save Nibblet, who likely thinks the same things, doubtful with much nuance, of course.”

Buffy slapped her hands on her knees. “That's it! I'm moving out.”

“Yea?” he laughed. “Where you gonna go? Move in with Rupert? Take over my crypt?”

“Hmm... Talk about shortening the commute to work...”

“Add that to the list of reasons you and the Farm Boy shouldn't have blown it up.”


Chapter #11 - Pivot Point
Author's Notes: Really, the title covers a lot of ground on this one. Welcome to the Pivot Point.


Chapter 11: Pivot Point

November, 2000

“I'll take the sewers and be there soon. Singed, but there.”

“No, don't.” Buffy looked across the wide corridor to the unshaded windows. “It's not safe for you here. Too much daylight.” She sighed into the payphone. “It's not like anything is different. It's the same nightmare it was the first time around.”

“I'm sorry, love.” Spike sank down into the sofa cushions. “Any luck with Doctor Boy, at least?”

“I haven't gotten a single useful thing out of him, and flirting with him makes me feel like I need a shower. We've gotten far enough that he's given me his phone number. I think the next big conversation is going to land me with a coffee date.”

“Perish the thought.”

“You're supposed to be jealous, Spike. Try to act like it.”

“It's for the job, love. Don't have to like it to live with it.”

“He's kind of handsy. I might come home smelling faintly of Ben.”

“Speaking of showers...”

“It's not just that. It's... Once I broke things off with Riley, I kinda thought I was done with all that stuff, you know? I didn't think I'd have to deal with anyone else... showing an interest.”

“Calling yourself off the market, are you?”

“Aren't you?”

“I was asking you.”

“I should go. Dawnie's alone. I'll call back soon.”

Spike frowned at the phone when the call disconnected. He paced the main floor of the house, glaring at the covered windows as he passed them. Then he picked up the phone again.


Buffy's mind was elsewhere as she played idly with Dawn's hair while she napped. Two hands appeared in her line of sight, draping a tweed jacket over the sleeping girl. Buffy looked up in surprise.

“Any word?” Giles whispered.

She shook her head. “Nothing yet.”

Willow handed her a cup of coffee and followed Giles to the row of seats under the windows across the corridor. Tara leaned over to give Buffy a hug. “Just tell us what you need.”

“Ladies room,” Buffy whispered before breaking the hug. Tara gave her a smile that was meant as confirmation before retreating to sit with her girlfriend.

Xander took the empty seat on Buffy's left. “Ahn's manning the store, or she'd be here, too.”

“I- I don't understand, Xan. I didn't tell anyone we were here. I thought everyone would still be mad about me going out with Spike. I mean, I didn't hear from anyone yesterday.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “The truth? We were trying to drum up support for a little intervention when Spike called and told us what was going on. He asked us to come and wait with you, since he couldn't.”

Buffy smiled softly. “He never stops surprising me,” she whispered.

“He surprised us, too. And talk about changing the vibe of the conversation.” Xander looked down at his own paper coffee cup. “Ahn's mad at me again. We got into another argument the other night. Now I'm getting shown up by Spike, and she made sure I knew it before we left the shop.”

“Will you guys be ok?”

“Yea. I just gotta quit putting my foot in my mouth about her history. If I don't, well, just call me Snoopy, because I'll be living in the doghouse.”

“Think in present tense,” Buffy murmured.


“Just a conversation I had with Mom. What matters is now, not the past. Ditch the baggage or help each other carry it. Otherwise, you'll fall flat on your face for not talking to each other.”

“Hmm...” Xander seemed to be trying to interpret this tangled message. “What were you and your mom talking about, exactly?”

“A certain pain in the ass vamp who couldn't be here today.”

“Ah. So she's not wigged?”

“She likes him. You would, too, I think. If you two ever gave each other a chance.”

Xander looked skeptical. “Not likely. But he called in the Scoobs when he thought you needed moral support. That counts for something.”


“I know this is terrible timing, and I hope it doesn't make me a callous daughter, but we need to talk shop, and getting you alone is kind of difficult.”

Tara leaned against a stall door frame. “No one thinks you aren't worried and upset, Buffy. Least of all me. And I needed to talk to you, too. You have no idea what things have been like since we saw you and Spike smooching at the Bronze. It's like the Buffybot panic, but with more guilt and paranoia. Xander is stuck somewhere between freaked and confused. Willow ran to Giles. Giles acted surprised, then pretended it wasn't important. So she went into research mode, studying thralls and talking about possible residuals from that spell she did when she and Oz broke up. She also questioned me.”

Buffy perched on the counter between the sinks. “She asked you about our auras, didn't she?”

“Yep. And I'm embarrassed to say how proud I was that she bought my lies.”

“Welcome to the club. Lying to people you care about is misery number one in the time travel game.”

“Speaking of lies, I had an idea about dealing with Glory I wanted to talk to you and Spike about. Can I come by your place later?”

“Sure. We'd love some new ideas. And I need to get your opinion on a slayer dream I had. Spike and I have turned it over in our heads, and made some progress, but we've kind of hit a wall. It was 2003--”

Willow poked her head around the bathroom door. “Hey. You guys ok? You've been in here a while.”

Tara gave a reassuring smile. “We're fine, sweetie. We were just talking about when my mom got sick, and all the medical paperwork stuff.”

Buffy gave Tara's quick thinking a nod of approval as they followed Willow out of the bathroom.


Spike answered the phone on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Thank you.”

“They showed up, then?”

“Everyone but Anya. She's at the Magic Box. If we're lucky, she'll tell Glory she's out of the ingredients she needs, and I won't have to strangle a giant snake tonight.”

“She's there alone? Not fond of that.”

“She's the one who knows what goes into a transmogrification spell. I'm willing to bet she lies to Glory about her inventory and sends her packing. She'll do this job for us, without even knowing it.”

“Still, think I'll hit the sewers, go keep an eye on Demon Girl. You talked to the doctors yet?”

“It's the same news as before: scary shadows. Dawn's visiting with Mom now. I'm going back in there in a sec. ...God, this is hard.”

“I know, love. Wish I could change it for you.”

“I know. I should go. Be careful.” She hung up the phone and went to sit with Giles. “I think Spike is feeling caged in by the evil sunshine. He's taking the underground route to the Magic Box.”

“Spike and Anya in my shop unsupervised? Should I be worried?” Giles chuckled slightly, trying to get her to smile. “They could conjure up something... Buffy? I'm only joking.”

A strange expression had crossed her face. “If there's anything to worry about, I'll stake him myself.”

His smile fell. “I suspect there's a story there.” He took her hand. “How are you managing all this?”

“Somewhere between numb and worried. Numb because... you know.”

Giles glanced around and lowered his already quiet voice to a whisper. “Familiar roads?”

“And tired feet. I don't want to be here again.” She forced a smile. “But I'm glad you guys are here. It helps.”

“Were we not... before?”

“No. This is something Spike changed for me.”


Anya's eyes lit up with recognition as she read the list. She schooled her expression quickly. “I have everything except the last item.”

The woman across the counter noticed the change in demeanor. “Are you lying to me, girlie?”

“I want your money, lady, but I can't take all of it. I'll get the rest of the items together for you.” Anya started to turn around, but found her arm caught in a vicious grip. She was yanked back against the display counter with enough force to break its glass.

“You have what I need, mortal. Don't make me dig through this place like a common thief to get it.”

“Hey! 'Mortal'?! Do you have any idea how old I--” Anya's words were cut off by violent shaking.

“Where. Is. It?” The woman ground out, nose to nose with her over the remains of the counter.

Anya shook her head resolutely.

“Ugh!” Glory threw her against the wall in frustration. She came around the counter, paying no attention to the glass grinding under her stilettos. “Never mind,” she sighed. “I'll find it myself.” She picked up the dropped list and began searching the broken shelves behind Anya's unconscious form.


Spike crouched on the floor behind the counter. “Anya! Wake up!”

“Xander?” Anya whispered.

“Hardly,” he scoffed. “Open your eyes, pet.”

“Spike?” Her eyes fluttered open. “Spike, I think I found Buffy's Hellgod.”

“Seems likely. Can you sit up?”

“I-- I don't think I can move my arm. It hurts too much.” Anya lifted her head to look at the debris around her. “My inventory...”

Spike's eyes followed hers. “Shh... Stay still. The mess will keep.” He spotted the new phone book laying open on a surviving section of counter. “Pet, I need to make a call. You'll be alright for a minute?”

“Lock the door,” she whispered. “I can't make money like this.”


“Buffy Summers, please visit a nurse's station courtesy phone. You have a telephone call on line 3.”

The page brought every Scooby head up at full attention. Buffy dropped the magazine she was pretending to read and hurried down the hall to the nearest nurse's station. She reached for the phone on the corner of the counter, but a hand got in her way. She looked up. “Great. Just what I needed today.”

“Nice to see you, too, kid.” Whistler removed his hand from the phone. “Go ahead. I'll wait.”

She gave him a suspicious look as she picked up the phone and pressed the button for line 3. “Hello?”

“I'm sorry, love.” Spike's voice was barely above a whisper. “Looks like I bollixed it up.”

“What's wrong?”

“I'm at the shop. A bit late to do any good. Looks like the bitch didn't like being told 'no' and just took what she wanted.”

“Is Anya...? She isn't...?”

“She's conscious, barely. Gonna need to join Joyce in hospital, I'm thinking.”

“I'll send someone to come get her. She's... coherent, right?”

“No less than usual. Got lucky on that score... Buffy, I made this happen. I--”

“We'll talk about it later. Go take care of Anya.” She hung up the phone. “Is that why you're here?”

“I'm here because you are. That phone rang because you geniuses stopped looking for the big picture, stopped using the one tool you have.”

“I'm not above killing you in front of witnesses,” Buffy hissed. “Make sense or make tracks.”

“You want sense? Figure out what this mission's really about, before you make things worse.”

Whistler disappeared in a flash of blue. Buffy looked around her, wondering if anyone had noticed. Seeing no reaction, she returned to her friends. “Giles, Xan, you need to get back to the shop. Glory paid us a visit. Anya's been attacked.”

Giles whispered to her as he reached for his jacket. “You seem surprised.”

“I am.”


At the Magic Box, Spike knelt on the floor behind the counter. Anya's eyes were drifting shut again. “Anyanka! Stay awake! Help's coming, pet. Just don't go to sleep.”

“And I thought slayers hit hard,” Anya mumbled. “They're nothing like that.”

“I know, pet. Trust me, I know.”

“My head hurts. And you're a little blurry.”

“Blurry, eh?”

“She knew I was lying.” Anya winced as she tried to move her shoulder. “Knew I recognized the spell. Transmogrification...” She tried to focus her gaze on the ceiling, but a pair of blue eyes got in her way.

“Pupils are uneven,” Spike muttered. “Think you've got a concussion, pet.”

“Great... Now I'm Giles.”

He fought back a chuckle. “Nah, you're just a typical Magic Box shopkeeper, earning her bones.”

“Hmm. I guess so.” She winced again as he gingerly inspected her arm. “Ow, ow, ow! ...Spike?”


“She's kind of pretty, you know the form she's taken. But she has chipmunk cheeks.” Anya lapsed into silence for a few minutes, her mind drifting between her pain and the urge to sleep. “But Spike won't let me sleep,” she muttered, finishing her train of thought aloud.

“Sorry, pet. Can't.”

She furrowed her brow. “Wait a second... I thought you were stuck at home?”

“Just couldn't go to a bloody hospital that doesn't cover the waiting room windows.”

“You want to be with Buffy. I so called it.” She tried to smile through her pain, but it came out as a grimace. “I knew Buffy wasn't dumb enough to not have sex with you.”

Spike teetered between his reluctance to have this conversation and the need to keep Anya alert. “What makes you so sure I'm shagging the slayer?”

Silence. He nudged her good shoulder. “Anya? Still with me, pet?”

“I'm not dumb, either,” she mumbled, struggling to keep her eyes open. “You don't have to live with her to help her with Dawn... or patrol with her. Buffy wants you close.”

“Think you might be the only one to figure that out, save maybe her mum.” Spike leaned back on his heels. “Harris picked up on it?”

“Xander thinks...” Anya started to drift off again, then forced her eyes open. “He thinks anything he doesn't want to believe isn't true if no one says it out loud... At the Bronze, you forced the conversation to start.” She reached out with her good hand to take Spike's. “I can't tell Xander this, but I like the conversation... It's better for me if Buffy's not available.”

Spike's eyebrow shot up at this admission, confirming his old suspicions, but he didn't have an opportunity to reply. Keys jingled outside the front door. A moment later, Xander and Giles came running in.

“Ahn! Anya?”

“Back here, Harris!” Spike called. “Watch your step!”

Xander caught himself on the corner of the counter's metal frame as he came around it, nearly losing his footing in the sea of broken glass. “Ahn?”

“Hey. There you are.” Anya managed a small smile. “I think my arm is broken.”

Spike relinquished her hand to her boyfriend and rose to his feet. He turned to Giles, who was looking around in dismay. “Concussion and a broken arm. Wearing her tongue out making herself stay awake.”

“We'll get her to the hospital. Is this why you came here?”

“No one was supposed to get hurt.” Spike started toward the stairs to the basement storeroom.

Giles watched him go, taking in the slumped shoulders and slow steps. Not for the first time, he found himself questioning the changes in the time traveling vampire.



“Mom's back in her room. So far, so good. But she's not going to be awake for a while. Dawnie and I are coming home for the evening.”

“Gonna let the snake sniff her out here, then?”

“Well, word on the street is that the Magic Box is already a wreck. And I'd rather have both of us on this job. Last time was too close of a shave, and we've had enough mistakes for one day.”

Spike absorbed the sting of her words with a sigh. “How's Anya?”

“In a cast and loaded up on painkillers. She's staying overnight for observation, so we'll all be making hospital rounds, between her and Mom.”

“You sound tired, love. Come home and get some kip before Glory's new toy comes to call.”

“We'll be there soon.”


Dawn was staring blankly at the television, barely noticing the images on the screen, when someone came in the front door and into the living room. She looked up. “Hi, Tara.”

“Hi, Dawnie.” Tara shifted the satchel strap on her shoulder. “Um, don't you want to grab a nap or something? You're going back to the hospital with Buffy tonight, right?”

“Yea, I guess I could try to sleep. But then, Buffy said the same thing when we got home.”

“What is she doing?”

Not sleeping.” Dawn hit the mute button on the remote control. “Listen.”

With the rest of the house in silence, Tara could hear muffled voices coming from below. She frowned. “I can't make out the words, but the tone...”

“Yea, I think they're arguing.” Dawn shrugged. “One of them is always making the other one mad about something. I think this one is about Anya getting hurt, but I'm not sure.”

“Go upstairs for a little while, Dawnie. Try to have a nap. I'll keep them from getting too loud, ok?”

Dawn hit the power button on the remote control and stood up. “Thanks, but I'm still going to put on some music. Not that I don't have any faith in you, but if they come upstairs...”

Tara came down the basement stairs just as the first punches were thrown. She jumped between the two combatants with her arms outstretched. “Hey! That's enough!”

Buffy was the first to back down. “He started it.”

“I did not!” Spike argued. “If you hadn't been so sure Anya saying 'sorry, sold out' to that crazy bitch would be enough, I might have hurried, might have gotten there in time.”

“In time for what?” Tara asked. “In time to get your butt kicked? How exactly would that have helped Anya?” She turned to Buffy. “And you! It was a sincere gesture, and you appreciated it at the time; I could see it all over your face when we got to the hospital. But when it backfires a few hours later, you're suddenly mad at him about it? How is that fair, Buffy?”

Buffy looked chastened. “I'm not mad at Spike. I'm mad at both of us. We got reckless, and the changes spun out of control while we were thinking about... other stuff.”

“I noticed at the Bronze Monday night that you were a little distracted from the mission. But that gave me the idea I wanted to talk to you about.” She gave them each stern glares. “If, that is, you aren't going to kill each other before Glory gets her chance at any of us?”

Spike fell into one of the club chairs and gestured to Tara to take the other. Buffy flopped onto the bed. “Ok, you have our attention. What's your idea?”

Tara took the offered seat. “When Willow and Xander went all bug-eyed at seeing you two on a date, I was thinking they'd be ok with it if they could see what I see, you know, the bond between you. And that made me realize something: The way to keep Dawn safe from Glory -and to keep the portal from opening- is to use what I've seen to distract and misdirect.”

Buffy shook her head. “I don't understand.”

Tara pulled a large, leather-bound spell book from her satchel and opened it to a marked page. She handed it to Buffy. “This is what I want to do.”

“That's not English.”

“You don't read Latin?”

“Um, no? Why would you think I could?”

“In your line of work, Buffy, you really should know Latin.”

“I do.” Spike took the book from Buffy and read over the spell. “Hmm. Reads like a glamour, but I didn't think they were that complicated.”

“They aren't, generally. This is a specialized type. It's longer-lasting, strong enough to stand without maintenance, and only visible to those to whom it's directed. I want to use it on myself.”

“To do what, exactly?”

“To make myself look like the Key to unhinged minds.”

This simple statement was met with shouts of anger. “Absolutely not!”

“Oh my god, Tara! Are you high?”

“Think about it: I'm the only one who knows what Dawn actually looks like to them, because I was one of them. Do you have another witch hanging around who has seen her original form?”

“Well, no. But--”

“I'm also new to your lives, at least compared to everyone else. I'm the best person to play decoy.”

“We don't need a decoy, Glinda. Can find another way to keep that bint's paws off Nibblet.”

“A decoy Key would improve the odds, Spike. You have to acknowledge that.”

“Why can't you do the spell on someone else, Tara? What about me?”

“She knows you're the protector of the Key, Buffy. And she knows it's newly created. She wouldn't believe it's the slayer, not for a minute. Me, on the other hand, I'd be totally believable.”

“You could die trying to pull off this stunt, pet.”

“That's the worst-case scenario, which is why it's so perfect. Even if I fail, I've slowed her search and confused her a little. And I'll only die a year earlier than I did before, this time for an actual reason.”

Her calm approach to her death brought an uncomfortable silence. “I don't think I like where this is going,” Buffy whispered. No one replied. She looked to Spike. “Don't you have anything to say to that, Mr. 'It's not suicide, it's sacrifice'?”

“Buffy...” Spike's eyes met hers as a realization struck him. “'Tara is going to stand in. Let her.'”


“It's just a test run. See that addendum at the bottom of the page? It's instructions for a light-weight, short-term version of the spell, something closer to a traditional glamour. It will only last about an hour. I thought I could try it on Glory's transmogrified snake, since you guys are going to be nearby to kill it, anyway. If I get a response from him, but look normal to you, I know I'm doing it right, and I can do the full version geared toward the mentally unsound.” Tara looked at the floor. “After I talk to Willow.”

“You're gonna tell Red what you're up to?”

“I have to. The full version takes more power than I have. She's a source of mystical power I can draw from. She has know what we're doing.”

Spike furrowed his brow. “Maybe not... Love, when you went to see the Shadow Men, Red had to pull power from other sources to reopen the portal to get you back. She grabbed Anya--”

“A vengeance demon. There's a lot of power there,” Tara interrupted.

“Former vengeance demon, actually.”

“Again?” Tara shook off her confusion. “Still, residual power.”

“--And Kennedy.”

Buffy's eyes lit up. “Then I'd be a good enough second source!”

“Who's Kennedy?”

“Um...” Buffy's elation faded. “She was -is, I guess- a potential slayer.”

“Point is, Glinda, if a Potential and a former demon have enough mystical power to help Willow fuel a portal to wherever and whenever that bleedin' carousel trinket sent Buffy, a full slayer definitely has enough juice to do this job with you.”

Tara frowned. “You'll have to explain this story to me sometime, but it can wait. This could leave you weakened for a while, Buffy, maybe even a couple of weeks.”

“Kennedy and Anya were alright after Red sucked the power from them. Tired for a day or two.”

“Willow had a lot more power then than anyone has now. I'm not sure she needed more than a little boost.” Buffy suddenly found her fingernails interesting. “She had already taken so much...”

Tara waved a hand to draw her attention. “I know the basics, remember? You don't have to coddle me about her. I know what she became. But that insane amount of power is also how you two got to come back to this time, so -hopefully- it will balance the scales. In the meantime, Spike, the two people she took from were carriers of power. Since they weren't actively using it, they wouldn't have known the difference. And Buffy's also right that she probably didn't need to borrow much. But I'm not her, then or now. I would need a stronger power source, and if it's someone actively using it -like you, Buffy, or Willow- I'd probably leave that person noticeably weakened. We'll have to choose our timing carefully, and be smart about which of you I use. Guys, we have to consider getting Willow's help. I don't like the idea of weakening Buffy in the middle of all this.”

“What we need is an alternate power source,” Buffy murmured. “Not a person.” She looked to see if Spike was following her train of thought.

He was. “Plan A had one of those.”

Buffy turned to their confused friend. “Tara, we can hook you up with some big time slayer power, without draining me. But it will take a while to get. We have to dig for it. Literally. Shovels and pick axes. Are you ready to get your hands dirty?”


Tara stood the hallway, listening for her cue from one of the open doors. Buffy crossed her line of vision, tapping the sidewalk in front of the house with her sword as she paced, looking in every direction for their target's approach.

Spike's voice came from the back porch. “Glinda! He's coming!”

Tara relayed the message. “Buffy! Out back!” She ran through the kitchen and out the back door, bolting down the porch steps and out the gate, trying to put as much distance between herself and the house as she could. Spike stayed close behind her, and Buffy was quickly catching up.

The snake found her in the narrow alley between the backyards, three houses east. He reared up in alarm at the sight of her, then abruptly turned north. He was moving toward Glory, not Dawn.

“It works!” She shouted. “Go!” She stepped aside as Buffy and Spike sped past her to tackle and stab the monster before it could get out of the neighborhood.


They walked back to the house, put away their weapons, and closed the doors. They fell into the living room chairs with smiles that were a mix of relief and excitement.

“It works,” Tara said again. “You get me that power source, and I'm your decoy. She won't get anything but annoyed from my blood.”

“So...” Spike looked at Buffy. “In retrospect?”

Buffy nodded. “The dream makes sense. And I was right about what we changed the other night that was so momentous: The Scoobies saw us on a date.” She pointed to Tara. “This Scooby in particular.”

Tara blushed. “I'm only a Scooby by association.”

“Who needs the bleedin' Scoobies, anyway?” Spike looked around the room. “Got muscle, magic, and some decent brains right here.”

“True.” Buffy said. “It took all three of us to solve that dream. We planned what to do about it, and ran a successful test of the plan, complete with slayed monster. Together. Sounds like a team to me.”

Tara laughed. “If I'd known this felt so good, I'd have forced you two to get along and joined in the fight the first time around.”

“You'll change your tune when we're digging under the vineyard together,” Spike grumbled.

Chapter #12 - Lost Pupil
Author's Notes: The changing relationships of now face the baggage of tomorrow. I think this is a chapter a lot of you have been waiting for.


Chapter 12: Lost Pupil

November, 2000

From the Watcher's diary of Rupert Giles

22 November, 2000
I continue to be fascinated by their partnership. Much of their communication is silent- eye contact and nods- occasionally supplemented with monosyllabic murmurs. How much of this is prearranged signals and how much is a simple matter of knowing each other extremely well, I'm unsure.

In truth, I am sure of very little where they are concerned. I know they have suffered great trials that have changed them into virtual strangers to me. I know I trust them more than they trust me. Both these facts bother me greatly. Trusting Spike is a foreign condition, but one I find myself adjusting to more readily than I would have imagined. Perhaps it is because he is so different from the vampire I knew. Perhaps it is that Buffy has such unwavering faith in him. Or perhaps I've begun to see that the man behind the demon has a voice in matters. He has evolved, and I find myself respecting that.

I still struggle to reconcile these two versions of Spike in my own mind, however. The differences are as pronounced as the differences between Angel and Angelus. And yet, I find something unsettling in even making that comparison. This is not the first time the idea of Spike being cursed with a soul has occurred to me. I've had some suspicions from the day I met this time traveling version of him. What unsettles me is not the idea of an ensouled Spike, but of an ensouled Spike at Buffy's side, caring for her as obviously as he did the night she first fought Glory. It reminds me of a mistake made once before, of trust and care placed in the shakiest of hands.

Admittedly, Spike is proving himself trustworthy, protective, and -by Buffy's own word- is encouraging a stronger relationship between me and my slayer. I should be thrilled with these changes in him. But what if he has in fact been cursed? What happens to her -to all of us- if the curse is broken? Why is she not asking herself that question? Has she forgotten our experiences with Angelus? Has she forgotten Jenny?


“No, you're not listening to me. I am certain Tara would be able to detect by aura reading if anything like that were amiss. I believe your problem is personal, Willow, not mystical.”

“I'm listening, but I don't understand why you seem to be ok with Spike weaseling into her life like this. First, he moves into her basement. Then she goes on a date with him. With kissing. And now she's asking his opinion on her mother's care. It's too weird, Giles. Admit it. I mean, why should he have any say in whether Mrs. Summers comes home or stays in the hospital while she's waiting for surgery?”

He held his glasses up to the light, checking for smudges. “Do you consult Tara on important matters?”

“Well, yea, of course. But what does that have to do with--” Her bluster faded. “Oh. You're saying they're acting like a couple.”

“I'm saying Buffy is a grown woman who can make her own questionable decisions.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, if you'll excuse me, the delivery from the lumber yard will be here any--”

Willow held up a hand to stop him from walking away. “I didn't tell you everything. I think there is something mystical going on, and somehow Tara can't see it.”


“I tried a few thrall breaking spells. They didn't work. So I decided we needed an insurance policy, to make sure Spike doesn't turn on her, doesn't betray her to Glory.”

Giles put his glasses back on to give her a hard look. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. I tried something, but it didn't work. I don't know why. Something might be blocking me. Or my equipment is wonky. Maybe he's already teamed up with Glory, and she's blocking the spell.”

“Willow, what did you do?” he asked again.

“Well, um, I have an orb of Thessulah...”


When Xander arrived at the Magic Box, Giles asked, “How is Anya?”

“Tired. Cranky. Bored. Dawn's staying with her tonight, so I can get these shelves rebuilt for you. Ahn's still not used to operating with one arm in a cast and sling. She'll adjust in another couple days. The main thing is to get her back to work before she goes nuts and takes me with her.” He put down his toolbox and circular saw beside the sawhorses and lumber in the training room. “I'll be here all night.”

“I'm in a hurry to reopen, but not so big of a hurry that you--”

“I am. Ahn really wants to get back to work. Soon. Besides, Dawnie only agreed to stay one night, and I think Buffy had to talk her into that much. Go home, Giles. You look beat. I'll be fine.”

“You'll keep the door locked?”

“Except when the pizza guy shows up.” He waved toward the door. “Go. Get some rest.”

Giles tried to not look relieved at his dismissal. “Alright. I'll see you in the morning. Please be careful.” He left the shop, but he didn't go home.


“You didn't tell me everything,” Giles accused the man who opened the door.

“Obviously. But what else do you need to know?”

“The truth. What did you do to deserve such a punishment?”

“Eh? You wanna run that by me again?”

Giles brushed past him. “We're having this conversation, Spike. Playing dumb won't get you out of it.”

“We're having what conversation? You been hitting the bottle, Watcher?”

Giles sighed in exasperation as he entered the living room. He stopped short when he saw Tara sitting on the sofa with a spell book open in her lap. “Tara? What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Mr. Giles. I'm helping Spike and Buffy with a demon tonight.” She repeated his question in a teasing tone. “What are you doing here?”

“To be honest, I'm wondering why the three of you have been lying to me. You had to have seen it-- Wait. Where is Buffy?” His question was promptly answered by the slamming of the back door.

“Stupid fucking vampires!” The refrigerator door opened and closed. “Spike?”

Spike kept his eyes locked on Giles'. “What'd I do this time?” he called.

“Not you, but pretty much the rest of your species.” Buffy followed his voice, appearing dirty and disheveled in the living room doorway. “I got vamp-mugged on my way home from the butcher's shop. Business must be slow at that bitey bordello up on Fifth. I recognized a couple of them, hanging around the butcher's back door. They have three fewer mouths to feed now, and your dinner's in the fridge. I'm really in the mood for a little arson right now. ...By the way, is there a reason you and Giles are giving each other death glares?” Neither man spoke. She looked to the sofa. “Tara? Fill me in?”

“Mr. Giles was asking what Spike did to deserve some punishment.”

“Huh? Giles, what are you talking about?”

“Buffy, it's time to tell me the truth. What happened to make Spike get his soul?”

The blood drained from her face. “Giles, I-- we-- we don't talk about that. It's ...personal.”

“Ah, so that's it.” Spike crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell us what you know, Watcher.”

“Will you reciprocate?”

Spike looked uncomfortable. “Maybe not in detail, but yea.”

“Willow has been trying to help you, Buffy. She made some futile attempts to break Spike's supposed thrall over you.”

Tara sighed. “I told her not to waste her time with that stuff. She wouldn't listen.”

“Then she decided the best method for keeping Spike's loyalty to our cause -presumably in lieu of the romantic involvement she witnessed- was to curse him with his soul.”

“Like the brooding Poofter?! What the hell is she thinking?”

The slayer grumbled, “That I shouldn't have a sex life, apparently.”

“Buffy!” Tara admonished. “You're getting as brazen as Anya!”

“She rationalized that -despite Spike's recent behavior- you would not risk repeating history.”

A snicker went around the room.

Giles glared at them and sank into a chair. “From Willow's perspective, the reasoning is sound.” He addressed Spike. “Cursing you could force some distance between you and Buffy, and would likely make you want to expose any ulterior motives in remaining close to her during such a dangerous time.”

“But it didn't work.” Buffy leaned against the door frame. “And now she knows.”

“Not yet. Willow believes she either has a faulty orb of Thessulah, or she's being blocked by some unidentified counter magic. I have a better understanding of the mechanics of what she's attempting. If that soul were out in the ether, the orb would have found it, whether it could be returned to its owner or not. The logical conclusion, then, is that the soul in question is either being forcibly contained somewhere -which is unlikely- or has already been restored.”

The back of Buffy's head tapped the door frame in time to her words. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

Spike raised an eyebrow at her. “Yea? How do you think I feel? It's not you she's gonna expose.”

“She could bring down the whole mission if she doesn't back off. She's well on her way to figuring out we aren't who we say we are. ...Tara, any Willow-wrangling ideas springing to mind?”

“Nothing ethical.”

“Might have to put the ethics in the drawer, pet, if she gets too close.”

“I know. And you know what you're asking me to do.”

Buffy studied Tara's expression. “Let's table that for now. We'll cross that bridge when it catches fire.”

Giles followed her gaze. “I see the soul isn't the only thing that's been omitted. What else did you fail to tell me, Tara?”

“I... um...”

“I wasn't cursed,” Spike interjected, earning a grateful glance from Tara. “Went out and got the thing myself. Don't know yet if I'll lose it when that time comes back around. You had a theory -you from our time- but weren't certain. In another year and a half, it might be gone, unless I try to get it again.”

“Is it wise to keep you so close, then?”

“It didn't change as much as you might expect,” Buffy put in quietly. “Not in good ways, at least. I've asked him to consider letting it go.”

“You've what?!” Giles was back on his feet. “Buffy, have you lost your mind? If the soul is released again without the chip to restrain... You know better than to be so reckless. The repercussions...”

Buffy stepped close to Spike's side. “Giles, do you even know what the big, scary repercussions would actually be?” She counted off on her fingers. “One: the nightmares might stop. Two: he'd be able to move more freely among other demons. Three--” She held up her other hand. “Hang on, I'm thinking. I'm sure I can come up with something scary. Give me a minute.”

“I think you've made your point, love,” Spike whispered.

“No, I don't think I have. Oh, wait! I know what number three is! He'd have one less thing in common with his grandsire... Not that there's very much in common to start with. You getting me, Giles?”

“Yes, I believe I am. You're allowing an emotional attachment to inhibit your judgment, blind you to a danger we all know quite well. We've worries enough, with Glory about. Another ensouled vampire at your side is a liability you can't afford right now. You need to be reasonable about this.”

Those words stuck a chord in Buffy. In seconds her demeanor shifted from mildly irritated to barely contained rage. “Liability?” she repeated through clenched teeth. “Reasonable? How dare you say those words to me. You didn't get kidnapped, tortured, and thrown off the top of a tower while trying to protect my sister. No, you thought it better to threaten to kill her. You left me when I needed you most. Spike didn't. And when you finally stopped by to play Watcher, you conspired to have my most reliable support murdered. From where I'm standing, there's only one man in this room who needs his soul worked on, only one man who's a liability, and it's the one with a pulse.” She spat the last word, leaning forward with her fists clenched and shoulders tensed for a fight.

Spike put a restraining hand on her arm. “Love...”

Giles shifted his weight. “Buffy, I haven't done those things. I'd like to think I wouldn't. I'm not the person you're so angry with.”

“Not yet, but you're damned close. You walked in here accusing Spike, making assumptions, proving you don't trust me to--” She quoted with a sneer, “'make the difficult decisions.' I know where this road goes, Giles. I've seen the crosses on the walls.”

Spike tightened his grip on her arm. “Buffy, love, take it easy.”

“No.” She jerked her arm free. “I can't. You may be all stoic about it, because you never expected mutual trust and respect with him, but I did. I was trained to it. I relied on it. And then it wasn't there.” She turned her focus back to Giles. “It took me too many years of thinking you'd come back around to being who I thought you were, too many years of thinking I was the problem, for me to figure out the simple truth: My mortal enemy is a better ally than my watcher.”

Buffy stormed out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Spike, Giles, and Tara staring at each other.

She came back down a minute later, brandishing a sword. Spike called to her as she wrenched open the front door. “Where are you going?”

“Out. I need to go kill something.”

“Don't forget--”

“Slime attacks. I know.” The door slammed behind her.

Tara held up her book. “What about the containment spell?”

“Mood she's in, the Queller doesn't stand a chance, even without our help.” Spike ran a hand through his hair and dropped onto the sofa beside her. “Bloody hell. Was hoping she'd hold out a little longer.”

“That was intense.” Tara laid aside her book and rubbed her temples. “It really got that bad?”

“By the time we left, it was a little shop talk, and naught else. If we hadn't been in a war, it'd have been nothing at all. But the general needed her soldiers.”

Giles frowned. “If you saw this coming, Spike, I would have appreciated a warning, before the volcano erupted... Though I'm finally beginning to understand why she's been keeping me at arm's length.”

“Only reason you're that close is 'cause I asked her to.”

“It seems she's not willing to give me a second chance.”

“Second chance was years ago, Watcher, even from your perspective.” Spike looked up at the watcher and spoke in a low tone, “I'm gonna have to ask you to leave, Rupert.”

Giles nodded. “I suppose you do. It's clear Buffy doesn't want me here right now.”

“You wouldn't let that stop you, that much I know. But she's not the one asking you to go. I am.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Tara interrupted. “This is Spike's home, too, you know.”

A few seconds later, the front door slammed again. Tara cringed. “Are we going to regret that?”

“Got through a hell of a lot without him, and got put through hell of a lot because of him.”

“So in other words, probably not.”


Giles poised his pen over the next line of his watcher diary as he reread the preceding entry. With a sigh to himself, he began writing.

26 November, 2000

Not for the first time, I fear this may be my last entry, or nearly so. I don't believe my slayer is likely to die tonight, nor is the Council likely to send anyone to “rein in” myself or my slayer, as they've repeatedly threatened for nearly two years. Buffy and I, as well as Faith, have been classified as “rogues” for quite a while. The fact that we are all three breathing is a testament to their uncertainty. They really don't know what to do about us. There is some humor to be found in that, though I'm finding it difficult to laugh tonight.

This evening, my suspicions about Spike's soul were confirmed, though not in the way I had imagined. He does in fact have it, but apparently by his own choosing, and not via that curse concocted by Jenny's ancestors. The reasoning behind such an unprecedented act was not offered. Both time travelers were tense and tight-lipped about the matter.

I admit I bungled my way into the conversation, but I still don't understand exactly how it ended the way it did. Buffy's temper exploded in my direction. She laid years of wrongs at my feet -wrongs I have not yet even committed- and left in a snit. And then Spike threw me out of the house (verbally, not physically), with Tara's support.

Tara was noticeably less surprised than I at Buffy's rage. At one point, she also seemed to be participating in that perpetually “half spoken, half implied” conversation that has so marked my interactions with Buffy and Spike since their arrival in this time. I don't know what to make of that, except that perhaps she has been told far more of the future from these two than I have, that she shares in their secrets.

I doubt such a privilege will be offered to me, at least not anytime soon. Buffy has been honest with me about her distrust, even openly comparing my future self to Quentin Travers. But until tonight, I did not even begin to understand the depth of her disappointment in me, or the depth of her wish to protect Spike from me.

I never thought we'd be here again, my slayer and I, standing on opposite sides of a line, with a vampire between us. As I've previously written, this time traveling version of Spike is not someone I find myself wishing to oppose, but relying on the inherent instability of a soul's grip on a demon is not something with which I can ever again be comfortable.

It was easier to trust his reformation when I thought it possible he had merely made good use of the time he carried that microchip, when I could believe he'd made himself an ally without any outside personality influences. Learning that the changes in him are attached to a soul brings the question of Spike himself back into play, and -without the chip- it's a treacherous game.

In saying so, perhaps I have made enemies of them both, depriving myself of their foresight, and ruining what may have been my last chance at a strong, adult friendship with my slayer... and her very unusual paramour.

Giles heard the back door slam, and the hum of Xander's saw in the training room came to an abrupt halt. He opened his office door to listen.

“Hey, Buffster. Eww! What did you get into?”

“Slime monster. I'm on my way to the hospital to check on Mom, but I need to clean up first.”

“Dead slime monster?”

“Dead slime monster.”


Giles listened to the water running in the bathroom until the restarting of the saw drowned it out. He stepped out of his office to find the bathroom door wide open, and Buffy's head under the sink's faucet. He stopped in the doorway. “Can we talk?”

She tried to raise her head instinctively, banging it on the faucet. “Ow! I didn't know you were here.” She continued rinsing her hair for a moment before she answered. “I really don't want to.”

“I do.” Giles fought to keep his voice low. “I don't understand what happened this evening. I'm not even certain I should. What I do understand is that you've been seething with resentment against me since your arrival, holding me responsible for crimes I have not committed. I don't think it's very fair.”

“You assumed Spike's soul was a punishment. As soon as you found out he had it, you assumed I was endangering everyone by sleeping with him.” Buffy pulled her head away from the sink and reached for the towel she'd brought from the training room. “That's not very fair, either.”

Giles watched her dry her hair, waiting until the towel was no longer blocking her face to speak. “I know Spike is not Angel, but I can't shake my concerns.”

She hung up the towel and ran her fingers through her damp hair. “And I know you haven't done all those things I was yelling at you about. But those thoughts are stuck in our heads, in both cases. Neither one of us seems to be able to get rid of them.”

“It appears we're at an impasse.”

“Actually, I think we're at a stopping point.” Buffy reached into her pocket and pulled out two keys, already separated from her key ring. She handed them to him. “Your apartment and the Magic Box. I was going to leave them on the counter, but since you're here...”

“Buffy, this is not what... I don't think this is the answer.”

“This is a small town with a big Hellmouth, and only one magic shop. Plus, we have a lot of mutual friends. It's not like we'll never see each other again.” She brushed past him without making eye contact. “Take care, Giles. I'll see you around.”

Giles was still standing in the bathroom doorway, holding the keys loosely in his hand, when the hum of the saw stopped again.

“No more hair gel from hell?”

“Nope. But I think the smell is lingering. Here, sniff.”

“Eww, yea. Maybe it will be better when it dries. By the way, where's your undead shadow tonight?”

“Spike's not my shadow. Why do you ask?”

“Well, with Dawnie over at my place tonight, I thought you two might be... together.”

“We had planned to patrol together, but I went out on my own instead. He's probably gone out by now. I'll see him in the morning.”

“I have a hard time figuring you out lately, Buff. You and Spike-- hella weird, just to put that out there, but sometimes you act like his girlfriend, and sometimes like his slayage boss. Hot and cold. I mean, the rest of us are getting that, too, but I wonder if he's getting the worst of it.”

“Holy crap. Is Xander Harris worried about Spike? Did hell just freeze over? 'Cause Glory is going to be super pissed if it has.”

“I'm not worried about Spike. I'm worried about you. If you two are just patrol buddies with occasional kissage, maybe you should just say so. Let yourself off the fangy hook.”

Buffy's hollow laugh echoed against the training room walls. “You know what? I'd be more inclined to take demon dating advice from someone who wasn't trying to hide the demon he's dating.”

“Ex-demon. Also, not hiding.”

“A demon's lifetime, a demon's memories, a demon's mind. And you think shoving her into the human world should make it all fade away. Do you love her for her, or for what you think she should be?”

“Whoa, whoa! Where did that come from? And how are we talking about Anya?”

“I'm getting a lot of stuff off my chest tonight. Cleaning house. And you're evading. Tell me, do you really want to be with her, Xan?”

“Well, yea, of course I do. Do you really want to be with the bleached menace?”

“Yea, I do. Lock the door behind me, will you?”

Giles returned to his desk.

As a rule, a slayer does not outlive the records of her exploits in the diaries. They are meant to die together. But then, Buffy has never been one to follow the rules. The Council knew that, learned from Merrick's reports and diary entries what kind of girl had been called to the cause. I suspect that is why she was assigned to me. My own youth was full of rule-breaking and general rebellion. Perhaps the Council thought I would see myself in her, and be understanding. More likely, they thought I'd be forceful in correcting her free-mindedness, knowing from experience where it may lead.

I wasn't forceful. I was understanding. And then, it seems, I wasn't. At some point in the future, I wasn't there for her when I should have been, wasn't the ally she needed. I abandoned my charge.

She can't see past those yet unmade mistakes, can't continue the ruse of being comfortable in the watcher-slayer paradigm. It isn't normal for her anymore. I suspect it hasn't been for quite a long time, something for which I have my future self to blame, perhaps also my past and present selves.

And so my charge has abandoned me.


Joyce opened her eyes, focusing them on the figure beside her bed. “The flashing one,” she murmured.

Buffy leaned forward in her chair. “What did you say?”

“One shimmers in green; one flashes in white... You aren't the one who was here.”

“No,” Buffy said gently. “Dawnie was here this afternoon. Is that what you mean?” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were alone. “Dawnie is the one who shimmers, remember?”

“Between flashes, you're the one who was here, the real one.”

Buffy fell back in her chair as understanding dawned. “Oh.”

“Where is the original?”

“I'm the original, Mom. You might be seeing a little... time displacement, but it's still me.”

Joyce ignored her. “Where is the original?” she shouted. “Stop flashing! Show me the real one!”

A nurse came in and prepared a needle with a sedative. “It's alright, Mrs. Summers. Just relax.”

“White flashes! Where's the real one?”

Buffy backed out of the room. She stumbled to a row of chairs in the corridor, and slouched into one, her head bowed and mind racing.

Someone sat beside her. “There's a little too much pressure on certain parts of her brain right now. Her perception of reality is very... fluid.”

“I'll say.” Buffy looked up. “You again. What did we screw up this time?”

Whistler took off his hat and waved it in front of his face. “Not showering after getting slimed by a Queller, for one. What makes you think you screwed up? Regretting ditching your watcher already?”

“The last time I saw you was when Anya got hurt because me and Spike...”

“Were thinking about yourselves instead of the mission.”

“Is that why you're here tonight? To drop a hint that I need to keep Giles around for the mission?”

“Summers, I'm not here to talk about your watcher daddy issues. Get a shrink.”

“So why are you here?”

“Just so you know, I figured out a while ago that glare is code for 'Go away.' Lucky for you, I take hints about as well as you do.” Whistler settled his hat back into place. “Actually, this is a pep talk visit. I kinda came down heavy on you last time.”

“What? Implying we were tanking a world-saving job? Nah, that wasn't heavy at all.”

“Yea, you've definitely been around Pratt too long. Your sarcasm used to have duller teeth.”

“Since it was directed at you, I'll take that as a compliment.” She waved a tired hand. “Go on, pep talk away. I can take it.”

“You aren't tanking it, kid. You're doing ok. Just keep your eyes open, find the big picture.”

“See? This is why I always want to pummel you. Our big picture, the reason we came back, was to stop my resurrection, preferably in the 'not dead Buffy' way. Then you tell me we don't even know what the big picture actually is. What the hell do you expect us to do with that lovely bit of trivia?

“I see I've picked a bad night. I should have known you didn't let it all out on the watcher.”

“Oh, I keep a special reserve of rage set aside, just for you.” Buffy struggled to keep her volume low. “I don't think you're even capable of appearing without some kind of bad news. I certainly haven't seen any proof of it. Hell, when you brought Tara in, which should have been your redeeming moment, it came with a side of Giles-style nagging and 'by the way, we can yank people out of heaven, too!'”

“Bloody hell. You again.”

They looked up to see Spike approaching. “Hey. You're just in time for a very twisted PTB pep talk.”

“I'm trying to tell you, it's not that bad,” Whistler said as Spike sat on Buffy's other side.

Spike sniffed. “Slimed?”

Buffy sighed. “Yes, yes. We have a consensus. I need to wash my hair. Demon slayed, by the way.”

“And she dumped her watcher faster than you can say 'emotional baggage.'”

She threw a glare at Whistler. “Thank you. I never could have managed tell him so eloquently.”

“Damn, Summers, you are in a mood tonight.” He addressed Spike. “Like I was telling Miss Sunshine And Roses here, you guys are doing ok, for the most part.”

“He's leaving out the part where he reminded me we don't know what our mission actually is, and he still hasn't offered to tell us, because -and I'm just guessing at the reasoning here- he's an asshole.”

Spike looked at Whistler. “Nothing personal, mate, but if the slayer decides to off you, I'm just gonna sit back and enjoy the show. Right now, I figure you've got about two minutes 'til curtain.”

Whistler glanced at Buffy's clenched fists. “You're probably right... So that fiasco at the Magic Box was a warning. You lose your focus, get reckless with your foresight, people get hurt. Lesson learned.”

“The hard way,” Buffy grumbled. “...Oh. That was the point.”

“You're thinking ahead now, and it shows. Tonight, you all told the watcher he was expendable, and you did it with an eye to the future, considering the consequences. You're ready for the big leagues.” He leaned forward. “Your idea of the mission, what you view as the big picture, isn't far off, it's just a touch too narrow. Look at the sources, the hows and whys of events, not just the events themselves. It's a lot easier to catch the stone in mid-air than to try to contain the ripples.”

In a flash of blue, he was gone. Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Huh?”

“He's talking about the ripple effect, love. The idea is, if you throw a stone into a still pond, the stone sinks out of sight, but the impact ripples outward 'til it changes the whole pond.”

“And that means what? That we're looking at the wrong stone?”

“That we're looking at ripples, when we think we're looking at the stone. It's not the resurrection that needs stopped, so much as the causes of it.”

“My death. We knew that.”

“Sure, if you don't jump, there's no need for the resurrection. Simple chain. But the source of the resurrection, the 'hows and whys' of it being possible, still exist. It doesn't have to happen to be possible. So if the resurrection is a ripple, what's the stone?”

The prompting made Buffy bury her face in her hands. “Ugh. Two things I hate: philosophical questions and cryptic demons.”

Spike pulled her hands away from her face and held them until she looked up at him. “You know the answer, love. You know where the problem is. You've known it since the night you crawled out of the ground. What's the stone, Buffy? And who threw it?”


The walk home was quiet, each focused on their own thoughts. When they entered the house, Buffy went straight to the phone. She dialed an international number she'd memorized in the summer of 2002. “Hi. This is Buffy Summers. I'd like to arrange a meeting with Althenea Grace.”


After showering off the Queller slime odor, Buffy came downstairs and crawled into bed. “So I never did ask about your night. Did you guys go to the vineyard?”

“Yea. Broke in, showed her around. No trap door to go below the cellar. Preacher must've put that in.”

“That sucks. That was my best point of reference. The Bringers found the scythe about twenty yards from the door. They basically dug a big cavern down there.”

“Assuming the cavern wasn't already there.” Spike put his book on the nightstand. “Pretty sure it isn't under the casks, at any rate. If I remember the door right, twenty yards puts the scythe 'bout five or six yards outside the cellar wall.”

“You think we can go straight down?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Get Glinda to try to dowse it for us, make sure we're right. The three of us should go together next time, compare memories, have her search for it.”

“I should have been there tonight.”

“That was the plan, yea? At least you got the Queller. Seems like it was a close shave, though.”

“My hair doesn't still smell like slime spit, does it?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Apple blossoms and vanilla.”

“Good.” She bit her lip. “About the thing with Giles...”

“Don't think I've seen you that brassed off since Red dropped us into our first bounce.”

“Stuff boiled over, stuff I've been sitting on for a while. But I didn't say anything tonight I didn't mean.”

“I know. That's why I told him to leave right after you did... Was the thing with Wood that set you off, wasn't it?”

“Giles was saying things that sounded so much like what he said to me that night, I just snapped. How did you know?”

“You mentioned crosses on the walls. Glinda asked about it later.”

“How much did you tell her?”

“Everything relevant, from 1977 on. She was surprised you didn't come down on me for biting the bastard. 'Course, I was in the same boat for a while, before I understood why.” He looked at her. “You'd have finished the job, in my place.”

“It would have been justified. Simple self-defense.” Buffy let her head sink back into her pillows. “Whoa. I never thought I'd say that out loud. I'm not supposed to think that about a human, let alone say it.” She closed her eyes. “I'm a bad slayer, Spike. I've broken a lot of rules, and I don't seem to be able to stop. And tonight, I broke up with my watcher.”

“Just a little falling out. You'll patch it up.”

“I saw him later, at the shop. That's what Whistler was referring to, not my tantrum upstairs.” She held up a hand. “Don't freak. I kept it peaceful. No shouting. No violence.” The hand dropped. “I tried, Sparky. I really did. I just can't do it. Neither can he, apparently. When he looked as us in the living room tonight, he saw a time traveling version of the Angelus scenario, playing over again, Jenny's body in his bed, being tied to a chair with Dru standing over him, and all that. I could see it on his face.”

“The old man still doesn't know who made sure he lived through that, does he?”

“Probably not. And when I look at him, I see someone who tried to hurt people I love. I know he meant to serve the greater good, but I don't agree with his interpretation of what that is.” Buffy opened her eyes and climbed out of bed. “I think I need a snack. I'll be back in a few. Want anything?”

He shook his head, and watched her go upstairs. “Is that what you meant, Cassie?” he whispered.

Chapter #13 - Old Friends

Author's Notes: She can't work with them quite the same way she used to. She doesn't trust them quite the same way she used to. She can't even talk to them quite the same way she used to. But they don't know any of the reasons why. To them, she's the one who isn't quite the same. Well, this seems perfectly simple. ...Right?


Chapter 13: Old Friends

November, 2000

Xander slipped into his bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He studied the occupant for a long time before he spoke. “Ahn, wake up.”

Anya shifted and winced, her pain waking her. Xander helped her adjust the pillow under her cast. “Hi. Did you finish the shelves?”

“Yea.” He stroked her hair. “And I'm sorry.”

“For what?” She blinked against the morning sunlight. “Are they crooked?”

“For arguing with you before you got hurt. For not respecting your history. For not telling you where I think you should be.”

Anya struggled to sit up against the headboard. “We fight about that stuff all the time. And where am I supposed to be? You invited me to stay here until I felt better, right?”

“I should have asked you to move in.” Xander studied the tiny spots of wood stain on his fingernails. “I stayed at the store all night, getting it ready to reopen, because I know you want to go back to work.”

“And I'm making you crazy here.”

He smiled. “A little. But that's your shop, as much as Giles'. You belong there. And here.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Yea.” Xander took a deep breath. “I can't explain how much I freaked when I heard Glory had attacked you. I'm not sure I have ever been that scared... About anything. Ever. It scared me into silence, if you can believe such a thing.” He looked at her. “I don't think you know... I don't think I've made it clear... I'm in love with you. Powerfully, painfully in love. The things you do ... the way you think ... the way you move ... Even with a broken arm, a bump on your head, and loaded up on painkillers, you're still amazing. You make me feel like I've never felt before in my life. I get excited every time I'm about to see you. I want more of that. I want us to... to come home to each other. Every day.” He shrugged. “I just needed to say that.”

Anya was silent for a moment. Then she tried to lean toward him, but her cast and its cushion got in the way. She frowned at her arm. “I want to be kissing you, but...”

Xander hopped off the bed and ran around to the other side to sit down beside her. The warmth of the kiss more than made up for the brief wait.

When she pulled away, Anya looked around the bedroom. “Ok.”


“Ok, I'll move in.”


“Giles is here,” Buffy said into the payphone.

“How are you faring with that?”

“I expected him to show up, for Mom's sake. And it's fine. We're civil and stuff. He just took Dawnie down to the cafeteria to get snacks.”

“How's everyone else?”

“Tense and worried. Anya decided not to reopen the Magic Box alone, and came to wait with Xander. I can't say I blame her, after last time. He's holding her good hand. Willow is cuddled up against Tara's shoulder. It's very... couple-y in here. Everyone has someone to lean on, to worry with them.”


“Someone should invest in heavy curtains. Or invent some kind of mystical sunscreen.”

“There was a gemstone, but I didn't get to give it more than a test drive.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I'm sorry, ok? But you were really being an ass that day, and you were still pretty dangerous back then.”

“Hey! I'm still dangerous!”

“This morning I saw you padding around my mother's kitchen in your bare feet, making an omelet for my sister, and drinking from a mug with tulips stenciled on it. Yes, you're dangerous and scary.”

“Bugger off.

She chuckled. “You're so fun to rile up.”

“Glad to be of service,” Spike grumbled.

“I'll check in again soon.”

“I'll be here.”


Buffy jumped up sit on the counter between the sinks. “So I think the crazies can see time travelers.”

“How do you mean?” Tara asked, leaning against the frame of a stall door.

“The other night, Mom was babbling about me 'flashing in white.' She saw what she thinks of as the 'real' Buffy between the flashes. I think she's seeing where I was merged into this time's Buffy. There was a lot of flashing white light in the spell that sent us here. I bet Spike is flashing, too. And possibly his coat. You might be, depending on how the PTB transferred you in.”

“Crap. I don't know how to mask that. I mean, I'm sure the Key glamour will cover it in me, if I am flashing, but there's no way I can mask you and Spike, on top of that, even with your super-charged power source. It would still be too much for me.

Buffy shrugged. “I figured as much. I just wanted to let you know what Mom told me.” Her gaze drifted to the restroom floor. “If only the news we're about to get was as good as everyone will think it is...”

“You don't know that the aneurysm will form again.”

“Why wouldn't it? Everything about her medical situation has progressed exactly the same way, at the same pace. I tried early on to get a couple of her appointments moved up, but there was never an opening. I even tried to find a better neurosurgeon, but this one is among the best in California. He's got a great survival rate on cases like Mom's ...I guess someone has to make up the statistics, but I wish they didn't have to come from my family.” She chuckled at herself, shaking her head. “Listen to me. Heartless and selfish. I guess everyone thinks that, but most people aren't crass enough to say it.”

“Most people don't have to go through it twice, Buffy. I think you're allowed a little extra selfishness.”

The gentleness in her voice made Buffy's smile shift from rueful to grateful. “It's good to have you here. I really need a friend with me right now, someone who gets it.”

“And can hang out near the windows?” Tara giggled. “I know I'm the second choice, but I still appreciate the sentiment... I'm also not the only friend you have here, you know.”

“You mean Willow.”

“For starters. She misses you, but this 'you and Spike' thing still has her freaked out. She came here for your mom, but also because she's hoping you'll make the next move.”

“I've already made my next move. I've called a reputable coven.”

“To train her or restrain her?” Tara looked worried. “I know she'll be a problem later...”

“Which ever needs to be done. We have to get to her before her first book-sucking rage-magic incident, Tara. If we're going to put you in the line of fire with Glory--”

“I could get hurt again. Or worse. And I'm her biggest trigger.”

“She has more love for you than she has good sense.” Buffy shrugged. “We either don't have your help, and keep you even more protected than Dawnie, or we risk Scary Black Eyed Willow. The only alternative is to get ahead of her, stage a magic intervention.”

“She's not going to take it well.” Tara sighed. “You want me to lead her into it, don't you?”

“We're not doing anything until we talk to the witches. For now, all I'm asking is that you'll be a part of the conversation.”

“Absolutely. You don't even have to ask that. But I won't force her into anything.”

“I don't want to force her, either. But I'm willing, if I have to. Let's just see what the pros say, ok?”

“You'll talk to her in the meantime? You know, about friend stuff?”

“I'll try.”


When Dawn broke out of the spontaneous group hug, she raced to the bank of payphones and called home. “She made it through surgery. She's going to be ok. The doctor says everything went exactly right.”

“That's grand, Bit. Any word on how long she'll be in hospital?”

“He said he'll decide when the test results start coming in. Hang on, Buffy wants to talk to you.”

A moment later, Buffy's quiet voice came over the line, a stark contrast the excitement of her sister's. “Hey, Sparky.”

“I know that tone. What's wrong?”

“My Mom relief is all mixed up with my Scooby tension. Everyone is being kind and supportive, but there's this undercurrent...”

“Sounds like you need to have a chat with your mates, love. What say I watch the Nibblet tonight, and you lot go out for drinks?”

“Spike, we're all under-aged. The only place we can get drinks in town is a bar they won't want to go to.”

“Then take the children out for a bloody soda pop at the Bronze. The beverage isn't the point.”

Buffy looked over to her friends. “I don't know... Maybe it is. And maybe you need to be there, too.”

“Yea? And who's gonna stay with the Bit?”


“You haven't met him yet, love.”

“I can call Janice's mom, maybe arrange a sleepover. Chandra's cool about this sort of stuff.”

“Chandra's cool about it when she knows you, a year from now.”

“It's worth a shot.”


Buffy expected more resistance than she got. When she told Chandra Miller she wanted to celebrate the good news with friends, but there would probably be alcohol involved, Chandra praised her for planning ahead and readily agreed to have Dawn spend the night with Janice. Dawn was elated at the idea of a school night sleepover, and eager to get away from the tension of the hospital waiting room. Willow and Xander were so surprised at the invitation, their girlfriends didn't even have to talk them into accepting.

When the three couples walked into Little Bangkok, the Thai restaurant on State street, a waitress near the hostess' stand greeted the vampire warmly. “Spike! You brought us friends! Not a take out order tonight?”

“No, Mae. We'll be dining in. A quiet table, if you can, pet.”

“That's easy.” Mae threw him another smile, then looked over the group. “Which of you ladies is the Drunken Noodle with Chicken, extra hot?”

With a nervous chuckle, Buffy raised her hand, earning strange looks from her friends.

“Aah. She's a pretty one, Spike. You'd better keep her happy.” Mae grabbed four menus from the stand and led the group to a table near the back of the dining room.

They settled in and placed their beverage orders. “So... drunken noodle?” Xander asked.

“It's really good. You might want to get it mild or medium, though. Extra hot is pretty much for non-humans and actual Thai people.” Buffy took a sip of her water. “Most people can't take the heat.”

“That's not what I was asking. Also, you're human.”

“Only mostly, Xan. Slayer, remember?”

“Do you never bring your girl food?” Spike asked him. “Why do you let him live, Anyanka?”

A snicker went around the table, but Anya didn't see the joke. “He orders pizzas sometimes.” She lifted her injured arm. “And carries things. Also, good sex can make up for a lot of little annoyances.”

“I'll drink to that,” Spike raised his water glass. “Ow! Dammit, Slayer!”

“Behave yourself, and you won't get kicked again.”

“Who's not behaving? Emily Post said fuck all about kicking your date.”

“Emily Post didn't have to put up with you.” Buffy smirked. “You're not wrong, Anya. ...Ow!”

Everyone laughed, save Willow, who looked profoundly uncomfortable. “I guess that answers that question,” she muttered from behind her menu.

Buffy turned to Tara as the laughter died away. “What are you ordering?”

“Um, I liked the Pad Thai. I might get that again.”

Willow lowered her menu with a frown. “You've been here before?”

“I, um, got take out once, with... my other friends.”

“Oh.” Willow explained to the table, “Tara's been branching out lately. At least that's how she puts it. She's been hanging out with some non-Scooby friends from her Chem class, Joan and Randy.”

Buffy choked on her water. Spike bit back his impulse to laugh as he patted her back.

“We should invite them next time,” Xander said as the coughing subsided. “You know, assuming Buffy remembers that the windpipe is not where water goes, and doesn't drown right here. Am I going to have to give you CPR again?”

Tara shifted in her seat. “They aren't Scoobies, Xander. That's kind of the point. I like having friends that aren't demon hunters.”

Buffy, when she was finally able to breathe again, fanned her red face with a napkin. “Are- are you guys ready to order?” she gasped. “Mae will be back any minute.”

To her relief, the conversation subsided as Willow, Tara, Xander, and Anya returned to looking over their menus. Spike caught her eye, still fighting back a smile. She kicked him again.


“Can we talk about the elephant in the room?” Willow asked, pushing her plate aside. “I'm not trying to ruin anything. We're having a fun night, but I kinda feel like it's a little forced.”

Anya looked around. “There's an elephant? Oh, in that gaudy mural by the kitchen door. Yea, someone needs to talk to them about that. Definitely not realistic.”

“I think she means the proverbial elephant, Ahn. The one with fangs.”

“Oh. Spike hasn't put on weight, as far as I can tell.” A chuckle went around the table. She adjusted her sling with a pout. “I'm not trying to be funny.”

“And you're right. It isn't funny.” Buffy's firm voice drew everyone's attention. “Willow's right on one point: We're having fun. Normal, Scooby fun. And there's nothing wrong with that.” She waved for the waitress. “Mae, I need an outsider's opinion, please. When you look at the six of us, what do you see?”

“I'm not sure what you're asking. A group of friends having dinner?” Mae looked uncertainly at Willow and Tara. “Three... couples?” Tara's nod relaxed her expression. “Is that what you mean?”

“That's exactly what I mean. Thank you, Mae.” Buffy addressed her friend as the waitress stepped away. “So where's the elephant, Wils?”

“Sitting between us.”

“Pineapple fried rice?”

“Silence.” Willow sat up straight, gathering her nerve. “You don't talk to me much anymore. Or Xan.”

Xander held up his hands, one of them still holding a fork. “Hey, keep me out of this.”

Willow turned on him. “Oh, so you don't mind feeling like you're only a friend sometimes, and a nameless soldier in Buffy's Hellgod war the rest? That's not what you told me.”

Buffy closed her eyes. “We're all soldiers,” she whispered. She opened her eyes and looked around the table. Willow, her hair short, the haunted look in her eyes noticeably absent. Tara beside her. Anya, her arm in a cast and sling, the expression on her face more concerned than bitter. Xander, slim and fit, looking at her with two kind eyes, rather than one resigned one. Spike, his hand reaching for hers under the table, his eyes darting worriedly to Tara's. “Never mind. This isn't the war you think it is. And you're all welcome to walk away.”

“No one is saying we want to, Buffster. We're here to help. We just want to feel like we're helping a friend. You know, someone who talks to us and hangs out with us? This is the first time we've all been together just for fun since Tara's birthday party.”

Willow nodded her agreement with Xander. “We want to be in on your life, trade stories and worries, and just be like we used to be, like before...” Her eyes drifted to Spike.

“Before I had a boyfriend you didn't approve of.” Buffy threw her napkin on the table.

Spike's eyebrows lifted. “Boyfriend?”

“Just roll with it, ok?” She turned back to Willow. “It's ok to say it, Wils. Hell, it's ok to tell me to my face that you think I'm enthralled. I didn't have to hear about it from Mom and Giles.”

Willow leaned back in her chair. “I would have, but you aren't exactly as ...approachable as you used to be. It's not just Spike, Buffy. It's you. You're distant, closed off. It's like you have to force yourself to trust us, and that's about as far as you can get. Being a friend is just asking too much. That's why I thought there was a thrall. But I get it now. There isn't a thrall, is there?”

Spike shook his head.

“No, you're shutting me out by your own free will. You dumped Riley, without even talking to your best friend about it.” Willow pointed to herself. “You had Spike move in pretty much immediately after, and at some point started dating him. Again, no girl talk. You fired Giles from watcher duty, and he's pretty upset about it, but neither of you has even offered to tell me why. And the best part? I had to find out your mom was sick from Spike. I'm not going to pretend to understand this.” She gestured between Buffy and Spike. “But I've figured one thing out for sure: I'm not your best friend anymore.”

Willow swiped at her damp cheek. Tara put comforting arm around her. Xander offered a spare napkin to use as a handkerchief. Buffy sat open-mouthed. This wasn't the anger she'd expected. This was hurt and disappointment. “Wils, I'm not closed off on purpose. I'm trying, really. The whole point of tonight is to just hang out, as friends.” She reached over the plate of rice to take Willow's hand. “All the Glory and Dawn stuff, and Mom being in and out of the hospital, has just shifted my focus toward home.”

“Which is conveniently where you keep your vampire,” Xander grumbled.

“Which is where she needs me to be,” Spike snapped. “Don't see any of you lot willing to move in to play bodyguard and help run the house while Joyce is ill.”

Willow shook her head. “Who are you? And what have you done with Spike?” She dabbed her nose with the napkin. “If you keep talking like that, people aren't going to want to stake you so much.”

A snicker went around the table, breaking the tension. “We should do this more often,” Anya said decidedly. “Catharsis and spicy food, to clean out all the systems at once. But people aren't supposed to have these conversations sober. It isn't natural.”

Spike smirked. “Yea, I think a few drinks are in order. Let's get out of here.”


“Spike. Slayer.” Willy nodded in acknowledgment as they walked into his bar. He saw the two couples behind them. “Hey! You're not going to fill this place up with your white hat humans! You'll drive off my clientele.”

Buffy looked around the half empty bar and raised an eyebrow at him. “Yea, your week night crowd is pretty wild. I'm not even sure we can get a table.”

He sighed, relenting. “What'll it be?”

“That's what I thought.” Buffy walked away from the bar to choose a table.

Willy looked at Spike. “Captain and Coke and Jack on the rocks?”

“And start a tab for me. Might be here a bit tonight.”

After the humans put in their orders, Xander leaned against the bar beside Spike to wait for the drinks. “So you order Thai takeout often enough that Mae knows your girlfriend by her favorite meal and the two of you come here often enough that Willy knows your drink orders?”

Spike shrugged.“We swing by for a nightcap after patrol sometimes.”

“And Willy is going to put Buffy's drinks on your tab without a second thought.”

“What are you getting at, Harris?”

Xander shrugged. “Nothing. I'm just making sure I'm reading this right. 'Cause, honestly, Spike? You and Buffy? It doesn't make sense. Like, none of it. From the very concept to the fact that you guys seemed to go from what I assumed was a first date to being like a settled couple really, really fast.”

“Some things just work, Harris. Even when there's no reason they should.”

A curvy redhead in her late thirties put the tray she carried on the bar beside Spike. “Not even a hello, Spike?”

He turned and gave her a warm smile. “Evening, pet.” He kissed her cheek. “Didn't see you. Thought you might have the night off.”

The waitress gestured to Willy behind the bar. “Working for this slave-driver? Are you kidding me? I'm still holding out for you to take me away from all this.”

“I would, Trix, but there'd be 110 pounds of slayer rage blocking the door.”

“Worse, she'd probably call my husband.” She smiled at Xander. “Hi. I'm Trixie.”

“Don't even bat your eyes, pet. His girl's sitting with mine.” Spike nodded toward the table the women had gathered around. “And she's a retired vengeance demon.”

Trixie gave a friendly wave to the table, where Anya was watching them with narrowed eyes, and Buffy was rolling hers. “Go on, get to your women. I'll bring your drinks.”

Spike gave her another kiss on the cheek as they stepped away. “Still my best girl, you know.”

“If I thought you meant that, I'd be divorced by now.” She waved them on.

Spike was chuckling when he took the empty chair beside Buffy.

“One of these days, William... some jealous husband is going to have himself a real good day.”

He laughed and put his arm across the back of her chair. “Doubt he could take me.”

“I might help.”

“Which one? Me or the husband?”

“I haven't decided yet,” she grumbled, but she was smiling.

Everyone laughed, save Willow, yet again. She looked around. “It's nice to not get carded and laughed out the bar, but guys, we're hanging out at Willy's.”

“I kind of like it.” Anya said. “It's dive-y, but homey. We should come here more often, Xander.”

He glanced around at the scattering of demons, trying to reconcile his worries with his wish to make her happy. “Um, if you want you, I guess we can, once in a while.” He looked at Buffy. “Is it safe to be here without a slayer escort?”

She shrugged. “Most of the demons in town know who you are, Xan. I'm pretty sure being my friend puts you on the 'do I really want to bruise this guy?' list. Ah! Thanks, Trix.” She accepted her drink from the waitress. “Keep this up, and I'll forget to call Greg when you and Spike run off together.”

“I wish!” Trixie laughed as she served the other drinks.

“Willy wouldn't let you get hurt in here,” Spike added when Trixie had moved to another table. “Knows Buffy would make him suffer for it. Besides, the weeknight regulars are mostly peaceful types.” He tapped Buffy on the shoulder and pointed to the far end of the bar.

Her eyes lit up. She nodded, and Spike sauntered back to the bar. He gestured for her to join him a minute later. “Clem, meet the slayer. Buffy, this is the bloke I've been telling you about.”

“Hi,” Clem said with a nervous wave. He cringed as Buffy stepped toward him.

“I'm not going to attack you. I've heard so much about you from Spike, I feel like I know you.” She held out her arms, inviting a hug. “Let's just start out as friends, ok?”

Clem hugged her readily. “She's not nearly as scary as everyone says,” he said over her shoulder.

“Not to you, anyway.”

Buffy pulled out of the hug and took Clem's hand. “Come on, you should meet my friends. They might be a little tense at first, but they'll like you.”

“By the third round, at any rate,” Spike mumbled.

“That's kinda the point.” She stopped a few steps from their table, when she spotted a tall, bumpy-faced demon slouched in a corner booth with his claws wrapped around an empty glass. “Rudy?” She released Clem's hand. “Spike will introduce you to the gang. I'll be right back.”

Willow forced herself to accept Clem's offered handshake. “Um, hi. It's nice to meet you.”

Clem chuckled, shaking the loose skin of his face. “It's alright to be nervous, human. Just don't try to kill me, and we'll be ok.” He took a seat at the table. “I didn't know Rudy knew the slayer.”

Xander peeled his eyes away from the booth in the corner. “Is Rudy the demon in the purple robe?”

Spike nodded. “We met him on patrol a few weeks back. Some young vamps were trying to mug him.”

“So Buffy's saving demons now? That's a little weird.”

Anya shrugged. “Not really, Xander. Jalferstalf demons might look like big, sharp-clawed scary things, but they're really just overgrown kittens.”

Clem nodded his agreement. “Rudy's a nice guy and all, but geez! His species makes mine look tough.”

Buffy came back to the table alone. “Sorry, everyone. I had to check on an acquaintance. I tried to get him to join us, but I think he's busy being miserable.”

“What's wrong with him?” Tara asked. “He looks really depressed.”

“He lost his favorite bicycle in a poker game.”

Xander took a sip of his drink. “I think I'm going to need more liquor to process this night. My brain is already sending me mixed signals about fear, sympathy, and the hilarious mental image of that big, nightmare-looking dude riding a bicycle. And we're barely into the first round.”

Buffy threw Spike a quick smile, anticipating success. “So we're going to be here for a while? Good. Does anyone have any quarters for the juke box?”


Buffy was sipping her coffee and reading the newspaper when Tara came into the kitchen. “Morning,” she said, without looking up. “Coffee's fresh. Do you remember where we keep everything?”

“Yep.” Tara pulled two mugs from the cabinet above the microwave and filled them, then reached for the sugar bowl. “Willow's hungover.” She dropped the sugar spoon on the floor and cringed at the noise. “I'm not in the best of shape myself.”

Buffy didn't even flinch. “You didn't have that much to drink.” She glanced over the top of the newspaper. “Also, Joan and Randy? Really, Tara?”

“I had to explain why I was going out without her some evenings, and those were the first names I thought of.” She shrugged. “And it's not just the alcohol. It's waking up in your mom's room with Willow. I looked out the window, half expecting you and Xander to be in the backyard.”

“Sorry, I wasn't thinking of that. I should have put you guys in my room.”

The clatter of the spoon dropping had woken the guest on the sofa. He shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Everything ok? And do I smell coffee?”

“'Morning, Clem. We're fine. Mugs are in the cabinet above the microwave.”

The sounds and smells from the kitchen slowly brought everyone else from their borrowed beds. By the time Spike came upstairs, the kitchen was full. Clem and Anya were debating the merits of cereal advertising. Willow was starting a second pot of coffee, Xander and Tara were scrounging around the refrigerator and cabinets, trying to come up with breakfast for seven. Buffy sat seemingly oblivious in the middle of it all, calmly reading the newspaper. Spike whispered in her ear, “Just like old times, eh?”

“No,” she whispered back. “This is quieter.”

Spike snickered and began the well-practiced maneuvers of moving around the humans to warm a mug of blood for himself. “Downstairs?” he asked over the noise of the other conversations.

“Good cloud cover this morning. A little foggy.”

“Suits me.” When the microwave beeped, he grabbed his mug and slipped out the back door.

Buffy joined him on the porch after she'd refilled her own mug. “Don't you dare laugh, but...”

“You've missed this?”

“You have, too. Admit it.”

“Maybe a bit.”

She leaned against the railing. “It just feels so... normal to me now. It shouldn't. And I really, really hope it doesn't have to become normal again, given why it was before. But there was something comforting and familiar about coming upstairs this morning, knowing the house was full of people and the kitchen would soon be in chaos.” She sighed. “I wonder how long we've been gone.”

“A few minutes. An hour, maybe. Red wasn't clear on how long it would take.”

“It's been months, plus the bounces. But they'll never even have time to miss us.”

“As soon as we prevent the resurrection spell, it'll have never even happened.”

“It's kind of sad. I know it's better this way but they--” She gestured toward the house. “will never know why we are the way we are, why morning kitchen chaos is comfortable, why assigning beds to a handful of drunk people was no big deal... why I can't connect with them the way they expect me to.”

“Seemed to do alright last night.”

“I got them liquored up and made them blow off some steam.”

Spike shrugged. “Worked for Faith.”

“And I gave her a serious chewing out for it. There's got to be a better way to bond with them again.”

“So why'd you want to take them to Willy's in the first place? I know you don't want to hear it, Slayer, but Faith got that part right. Easiest way to turn strangers into friends is booze and dancing. If you're gonna use her methods, you need to admit she knew what she was doing.”

“It's still not the same as Faith and the girls.” She pointed to the house again. “They aren't strangers.”

“No,” Spike said slowly. “We are. That's kinda the problem, isn't it?”

Chapter #14 - Eternal Monkey

Althenea is in Sunnydale and there's more than one offer on the proverbial table.


Chapter 14: Eternal Monkey

December, 2000

Giles looked up at the sound of the bell over the door. “Buffy.” He tried to keep his tone cool and detached. “What can I get for you?”

Buffy glanced at Anya, who was talking to a customer. “Can we talk in your office for a minute?” She followed him into the cluttered room, and closed the door behind them. “First of all, Mom says thanks for the flowers.”

“How is she?”

“Good. Really good. Every test they've run for the last three days has come up with 'best case scenario' results. I want to buy that surgeon a car, but I figure Mom and the insurance company are going to do that, anyway.” She shrugged. “They're releasing her tomorrow.”

“I'm happy to hear it.” He leaned against his desk, his arms crossed. “And the real reason you're here?”

“I've reached out to the Devon coven, trying to get ahead of Willow's dark magic use. You know, stop it before it starts. Althenea Grace is coming to talk to us about our options. She'll be at my place in about an hour. She's asked for you to be present, and I promised to extend an invitation.”

“Well, I do have a history with the coven.”

“And you haven't only been my watcher. You've been Willow's too, in a sense. Your input might be useful to them.”

“You know far more than I do. ...But it would be nice to see Althenea. Yes, I'll join you.”

“Thank you.” Buffy turned to open the door, but Giles' voice stopped her.

“Althenea is a seer, Buffy. She doesn't advertise it to outsiders, but she has the gift. She's also a master aura reader. The combination of the two means very little escapes her notice. She'll already know who you really are, and possibly some of your personal history you brought back with you. ”

Buffy bit her lip, thinking of the other guest. “Thanks for the warning, but you're probably the one who needs it. Brace yourself, Giles. She might tell you some stories you haven't heard yet.”


The living room furniture was pushed back to make room for the arrival of teleporting witches. When they flashed into the room, Spike shoved the chairs back into a vaguely conversational arrangement near the sofa while Buffy poured glasses of water from the pitcher she'd put on the desk. When she looked up at their guests to offer the first glass, she nearly dropped it. “Spike? Are you seeing this?”

“Yea.” He turned to the elder witch. “Althenea, right? You wanna introduce us to your friends?”

The old witch smiled to her coven mates and gestured to their hosts. “Meet the anomalies: Buffy, the slayer who fell out of the lineage, and William, the vampire who sought his soul. Buffy and William, I believe you've already met Bryn and Elsa.”

The handshakes offered to the two younger witches were stiff with shock. Althenea laughed as she hugged a greeting to Giles. “I do enjoy giving the warrior types an occasional reminder of where the real power lives.”

“While I agree seeing them stunned is entertaining, I don't believe I understand.”

“In their timeline, Bryn and Elsa helped your Miss Rosenberg send them back in time. In fact, if their timeline has not yet crumbled, Bryn, Elsa, and myself are with their bodies in this room, right now, in 2003, waiting for them to either catch up or destroy that possible path.”

“Oh, goody. Paradoxes. This is going to get fun.” Buffy grumbled.

Someone came in the back door and called from the kitchen. “Buffy? Spike? Am I late?”

Althenea clapped her hands together. “Finally! The one I've been dying to meet!”

“In here, Glinda. You're just in time.” Spike looked at Althenea's excited face. “For what, I'm not sure.”

Tara entered the living room to find herself face to face with a short, smiling old woman, who was scrutinizing her closely. “Um, hi?”

“It's beautiful work,” Althenea murmured, studying Tara's aura. “If I didn't know better, I'd say she was the original.”

The three time travelers traded glances, then looked to Giles, who could only repeat, “The original?”

“No merging markers, no distortion of the aura, no evidence of the Beast's mind alteration scarring.” Althenea shook out of her reverie. “But you remember everything, don't you, child?”

As Tara nodded, Giles sputtered. “Distortion? The Beast? Remember what?”

“Being dead, Giles,” Buffy whispered. “I'm not the only resurrection case in town.”


“I don't understand. Why would you reveal Buffy and Spike to me, but not yourself?”

“I didn't know I'd been sent back until after that,” Tara explained. “My future memories were blocked.”

Buffy slapped Spike's knee. “I told you that was the right term!”

Giles turned to her as if just remembering she was in the room. “And how long have you known?”

“Oh, we were there when she got her memories back. Our PTB handler stopped by to nag us, and stayed to give us our Tara back. So far, it's the only time he's been genuinely useful.”

Bryn frowned. “Your PTB handler? As in, an agent of the Powers?”

“Yea. A half-demon, half-human guy named Whistler. I met him years ago, but I didn't see him again until we came back. And now he won't go away.”

“What's it been, love? Four visits now?” Spike asked. Buffy nodded. “Bloke seems pretty interested in what we're up to. Guess his bosses are convinced we're gonna bugger it up.”

“That's not how it works,” Elsa said quietly. “Our coven has a long history, with excellent records. We have detailed accounts of some of the work agents of the Powers have done on this plane. It's common for them to put in an appearance -sometimes two- to ensure a job is properly done. They'll give a nudge in the right direction and disappear. But four visits in as many months? That's far less common.”

Buffy threw up her hands. “So we're record-breaking screw ups. Fabulous.”

“There's no need to come down hard on yourself, child. More likely, this agent's assignment is you, not your work.” Althenea smiled kindly. “It's a compliment from the Powers, for them to take an interest. They must have plans for you. Don't be surprised if you still see this Whistler gent after you've completed your mission.”

“Assuming I live that long,” Buffy grumbled. “'Cause if I have to die this time, it's a one way ticket.”

Spike took her hand. He pretended not to notice Giles' raised eyebrows at the openness of the gesture.

Buffy continued, “Which is why you ladies are here. If we can shove some magical ethics into Willow's brain, maybe she'll be less likely to bring me back if I don't make it.”

“How much of the time travel has been revealed to Miss Rosenberg?” Bryn asked.

“We've kept her completely in the dark,” Tara said guiltily. “But she's suspicious. ...She's already tried accessing Spike's soul, but gave up before she figured out why she couldn't find it. At least for now. It's the end of the semester, so she's got too much studying to do to spend a lot of time on wild goose chases.”

“She's definitely interested in wild geese, though. She'll probably get back to it after finals.” Buffy bit her lip. “Not to mention she's definitely noticed how different I am.”

“And assumed the slayer and me stopped fighting because I had her enthralled.”

Tara gave Spike a crooked smile. “You two stopped fighting? Since when?”

He shrugged. “Comparatively less, then.”

“In short,” Althenea looked at the three time travelers, “It's likely she'll expose at least one of you at some point in the near future. Yes?”

Buffy nodded. “Pretty likely.”

“Then I'm afraid we'll have to consider magical restraint.”

“Please don't,” Tara whispered. “I don't want to do anything to her behind her back.”

Althenea reached across the coffee table to pat Tara's knee. “I know you don't, child. But time travel is delicate work, and preventing an uprising of the First Evil is no frivolous task. The--”

“Oh, dear lord.”

“Yea, Watcher. The First.”

“How bad was it?” Giles asked faintly.

“Kidnapping, torture, mass murder, psychological taunting, and outright mind control,” Buffy said. “And that's just the crap it put Spike through. The tip of a big damn iceberg.”

“Worldwide uprising, not just local to the Hellmouth. Most of the Potentials and nearly all the Watchers were dead by the time we left. We told you it got ugly, Rupes.”

While Giles cleaned his glasses, Althenea finished her thought. “The risks associated with being exposed by an undisciplined witch -one who may learn by the exposure she was the source of the traveling- are many and great. Her reaction could be extreme if she learns the truth.”

“Oh, no... The trance thingy,” Buffy whispered. “The spell to see spells. She already knows it. It was earlier than this the first time around when she showed it to me.”

Tara leaned back on the sofa. “If she thinks of it, she'll do it. She won't even hesitate. And she'll see it, all of it. Maybe not me, because of the source, but definitely you two. The flashing caused by the merge, the different versions of you in the flashes, and her own magical signature all over you both.” She rubbed her eyes with the bases of her palms. “Buffy's right: Willow already knows that spell. If she tries it, we're in trouble. And she has the means to do it at any given moment.”

“Will you consent to restraint, then?” Bryn asked.

Tara brought her hands away from her face and into her lap, where they clasped each other nervously. “What are our other options?”

“Under such serious circumstances, the only other option is to remove her from the situation.”

“Gee, that doesn't sound ominous.” Buffy frowned at Althenea. “I thought you were the good guys.”

“It's not like the Council's wet works team, Buffy,” Giles said quietly. “She's talking about what she did for me, thirty years ago. She had me cloistered at the coven's sanctuary in Devon, for what I suppose you might call rehabilitation.”

“Magic rehab. Yea, you took Willow there after...” Buffy gestured to Tara, but her eyes were drifting back to Althenea. “This is why you asked me to invite him.”

“The act would be pre-emptive, in this case,” Elsa said. “She would need to be willing.”

“And that's the other reason I want Rupert involved. He can recommend she come to us for training. Someone she already trusts should lead the way.” Althenea looked to Tara. “And you--”

“I know,” Tara whispered sadly. “I have to support her leaving.”

“And how's Glinda supposed to explain not coming along? Our witches come as a pair 'round here.”

“Tara's situation is entirely different from Willow's, even from Willow's single timeline perspective,” Althenea said. “I can explain the differences in their needs, and the need for Willow to come to us alone, quite easily. I only need someone to facilitate the introductions.”

“And if she won't go?” Spike asked.

“We'll have to restrain her magically.”

“How are we going to explain that?” Buffy scoffed. “'Yea, Wils, that's what happens when you don't go for training. Your magic just goes poof overnight.' No way will she buy that.”

“There will be no need to lie to her,” Bryn said. “I see no reason why she can't be told she is verging on a dangerous path, and these are her options.”

“Ultimatums. Bloody wonderful.”

“Only if she refuses to go, Spike.” Giles looked thoughtful. “And I think I know how to make her willing to accept. We're fortunate you're here just before the holidays, Althenea. I'm certain you'll have a new pupil in January.”


While Giles and the witches were telling Tara more about the sanctuary, Buffy and Spike slipped out to the kitchen to talk. “There's no possible way this is what Whistler meant,” she whispered. “We've basically prevented the resurrection and all the other Willow-with-dark-magic stuff with one international phone call. It's too easy. Even if she starts to go off the rails after this, the coven will be watching her, will pull her back before she goes too crazy.”

“I know. That li'l bugger is up to something.”

“Oh, I think I know what he's up to. It goes something like 'Dance, monkey! Dance!'”

“You aren't the first to feel like a puppet,” came a voice from the doorway. “But there's a reason for it.” Althenea came into the room and took a stool at the counter. “Obviously, getting Willow proper training is extremely important, and could have wonderful ramifications down the line, but you already had what you needed to solve this problem. You only needed a nudge to use it.”

“The sanctuary's phone number.”

“As well as Rupert's presence. He would have happily served as intermediary, had you asked him.”

“I can't see past the man he became, Althenea. There was just too much damage done.”

“I'm not chastising you, Buffy. I understand. You don't get to go back to your time. This is your life now. You have to serve your own needs, as well as those of the mission at hand, same as anyone else.”

“Try telling Whistler that. Bloke seems to think we're better off living everything exactly the same as we did, save what has to change to stop Glory a different way.” Spike shook his head. “That's not the plan we came into this with.”

“We want to do better with everything,” Buffy said. “I don't think that's asking too much. But our PTB babysitter likes to nag us about it. I don't think it hurts to get a better life as a bonus for all the crap we went through.”

“I agree. I also think any agent could have been assigned to give the nudge that inspired you to call me. And it wasn't necessary that an agent even be seen to perform the spells to strengthen your memories and restore Tara's. ...What was the other visit? You said their were four.”

“I think that one could be summed up as 'Bad monkey! Dance better!'”

“Aah. I believe I understand. You made a mistake?”

“Big enough to get someone hurt,” Spike murmured in the direction of his boots.

Althenea gave him a sympathetic smile. “That conscience is still rather raw, isn't it?” She turned to Buffy. “There's absolutely no indication you need your hands held to complete this mission. You both seem to have a firm grasp on your goals. The most likely explanation for this agent hovering over you is that he is using this time travel expedition to learn about you, to study you.”

“So we're downgrading from dancing monkeys to bugs in a jar?” Buffy looked at Spike. “Plan A is sounding better and better. We break it, the PTB fixes it later.”

“Got my vote. Be glad to see the back of Whistler, at least.”

The old woman chuckled. “I've read of this a few times, as I've gone through the coven archives. There's a pattern to it. They seek out young, righteous warriors, witches, and mediators. It's always the independent types- no coven witches, no slayers, no watchers, no military servicemen, etc. An agent starts visiting the subject during a difficult trial, observing the journey. At the successful conclusion of the job at hand, if there is such, the subject finds himself offered an opportunity to become an agent of one type or another. The Powers are clearly considering you for something. It's quite an honor, not to mention the security and safety that comes along with it. Don't underestimate the value of being able to teleport at will. That ability alone is extremely valuable.”

“I'm not sure that applies to us, Althenea,” Buffy said. “I'm definitely a slayer, and there are no young independent types in this room.”

“Relatively speaking, William is quite young. As for you, you may carry a slayer's demon essence, and bear the responsibility of guarding this Hellmouth, but you haven't been the Chosen One, haven't been a part of the slayer lineage, since your first death. You're a freelance demon hunter, Buffy, same as William has become. The slayer title is merely an honorific.”

“I swear, you die for like, two minutes, and it haunts you forever.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Six feet under for five months? Yea, that sucks, and coming back breaks things, but what really counts is that you drowned in a puddle when you were sixteen. Can we at least pretend the second and third ones count for something?”

Spike's eyes went wide. “There was a third? When--”
Althenea held up a hand to stop his question. “My point, Buffy, is exactly that. Three deaths puts you not only as an anomaly among slayers, but as a separate entity altogether. And you, William, are as separate from your own species as you can be, with a profound knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of the Powers' mortal warriors, besides. The two of you are uniquely equipped for the sort of work the Powers have difficulty achieving through normal means.”

“The slayers,” Spike said, understanding. “They not good enough for the Powers, now?”

“I spoke to an agent directly once, many years ago. I've been one of the people who has needed a one-time nudge, believe it or not. She told me the thing this plane needs most is warriors with some wisdom, who live long enough -and want to live long enough- to accumulate experience for themselves, rather than being dependent upon the books of the Watchers.”

“Slayers without death wishes?” Spike clarified. “Good luck with that!”

“And now they've got one,” Buffy said, realization dawning. “I'm all 'been there, done that' with the death and reward thing. I don't plan to go back until I absolutely I have to. They want to get a full human lifetime out of me to support the next few slayers.”

“I would think they'd want more than a few decades, Buffy. Generations more.”

Buffy stole a glance at Spike without making eye contact. She shifted her weight uncomfortably. “Althenea, if you're talking about children, I'm not exactly leading the kind of life where that happens.”

“No, of course not.” Althenea chuckled. “And I think you know what I mean. You're leading the kind of life that puts you at ease with the idea of immortality, and have been for many years, specifically with the immortal who stands beside you. Do you really think that's a coincidence?” The old witch climbed down from her stool and turned to walk out of the room, intending to leave them alone with that thought, but Buffy's voice stopped her.

“Althenea, if it's not too personal to ask, what was the nudge you needed?”

“I was waffling about taking in a troubled young warlock who had dropped out of Watcher training. It seems the Powers thought it important I get him back on track. Thirty years on, I'm beginning to understand why.”

“Oh.” Buffy watched the woman leave the kitchen, then took a seat on the recently vacated stool. “I know she's only theorizing, but that's a huge idea to take in. I accepted it, you know? I got some time bought for me, more than once, but I accepted the reality: Slayers die young. Period.”

“Familiar with the concept.” Spike narrowed his eyes on her. “Some of them three times.” His expression softened. “We've never talked about... Do you understand what she's hinting at? What it is Glinda sees between us?”

She looked down at her hands. “I do. I've... I've read some things.”

“Not Council books, I hope.”

“Um, the first time I got curious, yea. ...A few years down the line, I realized they had some stuff wrong, so I looked deeper.” She didn't look up. “But I didn't know it would already be... um, active. Tara mentioned seeing it light up when I wanted to talk to you.”

“That's a bit off from what I expected, too. Seems early.” He studied her for a moment, trying to interpret her silence. “You mean to fight it, when the time comes. To reject...” He sighed. “Figured as much.”

Buffy slowly brought her gaze back to his. “There are other ways I could be pulled out of time, Sparky. Ways that don't get you involved at all.”

“So it's not the idea of it. It's me. Thanks, Slayer.”

“That's not what I mean.” She reached for his hand, trying to calm his rising temper. “Can we please talk about something else? Anything else?”

“Yea...” Spike shook away all signs of emotion. “So, about that third time, General?”

She was visibly relieved at his choice of subject. It felt like safer ground. “When Tara got shot, I was the actual target. She caught a stray bullet in the back, that went right through her heart. Willow said she was gone in a matter of seconds. I got hit in the shoulder. Xan was with me. He called the paramedics, and I got to the hospital, but I flat-lined in the ER. Willow came in before they'd given up on me, all rage-magicked up. She pulled out the bullet, and healed my wound. So technically, she's brought me back from the dead twice, both times with dark magics.”

“And you never mentioned this because...?”

“By the time you came back, and weren't on the verge of ten kinds of crazy, it had been like six months. It wasn't exactly news.” She shrugged. “Besides, anything after the first one apparently doesn't count.”

“No need to be flippant about it,” Spike grumbled. “Three's enough for now. Fourth time should be a century or two down the road, at least. One way or another.”

Buffy shrugged again. “Or, you know, this coming May.”

“I told you, I'm not gonna let you jump.”

“And I hear you. Really.” She squeezed his hand. “But we can't count on Althenea's theory being right. I won't count on it. There might be a big pot of anti-aging cream and teleporting blue awesomeness at the end of the rainbow, or there might just be a painfully zappy portal to a hell dimension.”

“You just sap the fun out of every little daydream, don't you?”

“Oh, please! Like you really want to have to put up with me for centuries! Even you aren't that crazy.” She slid off her stool and went to the living room to check on their guests.

Spike whispered to the empty kitchen, “Some days, I think I am.”


Dawn was at school. Buffy was at the hospital pharmacy, picking up a refill for her mother. Joyce was in her own bed, resting. Spike was sprawled on the sofa, talking on the phone.

Tara was pacing the floor of her dorm room. “I'm still not sure I can go through with this,” she said into the phone. “It feels like a lie. Not like a little white time travel lie, but like a big, fat scam. I don't want to do that to her.”

“She needs the training, pet. She's going to get it this way, and know that's what she's agreeing to. Where's the lie in it?”

“I don't know,” Tara whined. “I just feel off about it, you know?”

“Maybe it's not about getting her to go. Maybe it's about her being gone.”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “If I weren't needed here, I'd go with her in a heartbeat.”

“Me, too. Grab Buffy, Joyce, and the Nibblet, and run off to the old country, hide out at the farmhouse 'til it all blows over.”

“The farmhouse?”

“Got a place in Bath, right near England's sleepy little Hellmouth. It's the one house that's not leased out. Figure the crazy bitch and her Doctor Boy box would run out of time 'fore they tracked us down.”

“It's an idea... There's just one problem.”

“We can't take this bloody Hellmouth with us. I know. She'd never leave it unguarded, or leave Glory to run loose without being around to keep an eye on her.”

“And whether we stay or go, Glory stays dangerous, in addition to the thousand other weird things that are drawn to the Hellmouth stirring up trouble.” Tara dropped onto the edge of her bed. “So I'm needed here.”

“She'll still be your girl, even apart for a while.”

“I hope so.”

“She will be, pet. I know it.”

“Spike, I've tried not to ask, but after I died...”

“Eventually, there was someone else, but she still had you on her mind, more than a little. Never dealt with the grief right, and it bit her in the ass. Got most of that story secondhand, though. Buffy did, too. We were busy with something else at the time.” Spike rubbed the back of his head and sighed into the phone. “Point is, it'll take more than living apart for few months to break you two up.”

There was a brief silence. “Thanks, Spike. I needed to hear that.”

“You think you can do it now?”

“I think so.”

“Good luck, pet.”


Tara met Willow after class, and walked with her to Giles' apartment.

“Did Giles say why he wanted to see me?”

“No, he just said it was important,” Tara lied.

“I bet it's about Buffy. He probably wants to explain why she dropped him like a bad habit, and ask for help getting her to come to her senses about going watcher-less.”

“Hmm... Maybe.”

“But why wouldn't he want to do it at the shop? That's where most of the spell books are.”

Tara frowned. Willow was apparently closer to giving Buffy a magical inspection than they'd thought.

When they were admitted to Giles' apartment, he ushered them to the sofa. “Willow, Tara, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Miss Althenea Grace.”

Althenea offered her hand to them each in turn. “Althenea, please.”

Willow and Tara introduced themselves, and accepted cups of tea from Giles. Willow seemed confused. “This meeting isn't about Buffy, is it?”

“She is part of the reason for it, certainly.” Giles took the chair across from Willow. “Among many other things Buffy has said of late to give me pause, she reminded me that I have been, in some ways, your watcher, as well as hers. And I believe I have failed in that duty.”

“Huh? No way. Giles, you've been great... I don't understand.”

“You've been a practicing witch for a few years now, and I have neglected to provide you with proper training. I'm attempting to correct that error.”

Althenea, seeing that Giles was struggling, cut in. “I am part of a large coven, based in Devon. Rupert told me about you, Willow, and I suggested inviting you to come to us for training.”

“Like, over winter break?” Willow grabbed Tara's hand excitedly. “That would be great! We'd love to!”

“Willow,” Giles said quietly. “There's a reason we're having this conversation before you register for the spring term. We're suggesting you have a lengthy and thorough training session, that you take some time to develop a firm understanding of the power you possess, and how to use it. Think of it as a semester abroad. In fact, that might be the best way to phrase it to your parents, your adviser, and any other outsiders.”

Willow's elation faded. “The whole semester? But what about Glory? Buffy will need a witch.”

“She'll have one,” Tara whispered, lowering her gaze to the floor. “I'll be here.”

“What? You won't come with me?” Willow released Tara's hand in dismay.

“The invitation is just for you, child. Tara doesn't need the same guidance you need.” At Willow's pout, Althenea continued. “She was born of a witch, and trained in using her innate abilities from the moment she could speak. She has a good grasp of balance and wise uses of magic. You have none of that background, and have acquired a significant amount of power.”

The startled dismay had developed into an expression of mild horror. “You think I'm dangerous.”

“I think you have only a superficial understanding of your capabilities, and an untamed view on how they should be used.” Althenea kept her voice low and soothing, despite her words. “Being well-meaning does not make you a good practitioner. Training does. One does not grow wise from time alone, but how one uses that time. Yours is being wasted. You could easily find yourself traveling a treacherous path if you are not soon properly educated.”

“I didn't get into her hands in time, Willow,” Giles said. “I'd already done quite a bit of harm to myself and others by the time the coven took me in. I don't wish the same to happen to you.”

Willow was silent for a few moments. “You really think I might... like you did?”

“Unfortunately, it's possible. And I never had the degree of power you already possess.”

“You're saying I could do more damage.”

At his nod, Willow fell silent again. “A semester abroad, huh?” She reached for Tara's hand again. “I guess it's worth considering.”


Chapter #15 - Tree Trunks

Chapter 15: Tree Trunks

December, 2000

Joyce admitted Anya to the house with a smile. “How is your arm, dear?”

“Itchy. How's your brain?”

“Anya!” Dawn admonished from the stairs.

Joyce laughed. “Much better, thanks. I'm glad to be up and about again, that's for certain. I've grown so tired of lying in bed, I barely want to sleep at night.” She led her guest into the living room, with Dawn trailing behind. “Have a seat, Anya. Buffy is almost ready.” She returned to her desk, where she'd been sitting before Anya had knocked on the door.

Dawn crossed her arms over her chest. “Mom, what are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out this insurance form and paying a few bills.”

“You're supposed to be resting.” Dawn called toward the stairs. “Buffy! Mom's doing stuff again!”

“I'll be down in a minute!” Buffy called back.

Joyce stuck her tongue out at her younger daughter. “Tattle-tale.”

“The doctor said to rest.”

“I've had just about all the rest I can... take.” Joyce seemed distracted by something she'd noticed on the piece of paper in her hand. “What...?” She glanced up to see Anya and Dawn watching her closely. “Um... So do you girls know what it is you're shopping for?”

“Not really,” Dawn admitted. “I have a basic idea of what I want to get for some people, but for others, I'm waiting on inspiration to strike.”

“Xander is getting clothes,” Anya answered promptly. “Some for him to wear at work, and some for me to wear at home.”

Buffy, coming down the stairs in time to hear this, rolled her eyes. “We are not taking my sister to any of those stores, Anya. Let's just get the clothes Xan will wear on this shopping trip, ok?”

“I'm not a baby, Buffy. I understand the concept of sexy lingerie.”

“Let's keep it limited to a 'concept' for a little longer, please,” Joyce murmured, still staring at the paper.

Buffy joined them in the living room just long enough to kiss her mother on the cheek. “Spike's downstairs if you need anything. Get some rest.”

Joyce nodded and exchanged goodbyes with the three young women. As soon as they'd left, she took the surprising piece of paper from her desk and marched down to the basement.

Spike was lounging on the bed, reading. He looked up at her arrival. “Joyce. How're you feeling?”

She held up the paper. “What is this, Spike?”

“Looks like a bank statement.”

“This line, right here.” She pointed. “I seem to have developed the amazing ability to make large deposits from my hospital bed.”

“Congratulations. There are worse superpowers to have.” He dropped his gaze back to his book.

“Don't you dare play coy with me, William. I know you have to be behind this.”

“Call it rent.”

“Rent?! For an unfinished basement? This is three mortgage payments!” Joyce looked at the deposit again. “Actually, this is exactly three mortgage payments. How did you know--? Oh, well of course you had to have a co-conspirator. I'll deal with her later.”

“Leave her out of it. Call it rent and your Christmas gift. Happy?”

“I can't accept this, Spike. I'm coming home tomorrow with a cashier's check.”

“Your jailers are letting you out?”

“Finally! But only for a few hours. And don't change the subject.” She waved the paper around. “What are we going to do about this?”

Spike shrugged. “You can accept it graciously, or I'll take your first born in trade.”

“Very funny.” She dropped into a chair. “And I think you already have her. Things are going well between you, right? I haven't heard much yelling lately.”

“Been saving the worst of it for patrol, so you could rest.”

“I'm really starting to hate that word.”


“Evening, Glinda. Safe to talk?” Spike said into the phone.

“Yea. I'm alone. What's up?”

“You get your hands on the stuff for that dowsing spell yet?”

“Three days ago. I told Buffy. She didn't tell you?”

“No. Shouldn't be surprised, though. She's all caught up in gift shopping and such, not thinking of much else. Seems to want to make a big deal out of Christmas this year. Trying to make her mum happy, I think. Didn't even say a word against inviting Rupert when Joyce mentioned it.”

“Well, the reasoning is sound. You know, just in case.” Tara sighed. “If I'd known what she knows, I'd have gone a little nuts about the last Christmas with my mom, too. ...What's she up to now?”

“Climbing on the front porch roof, hanging lights. Can hear her cussing from the living room. Likely to break her neck up there, messing with those bloody things.” He shook his head. “It's been a while since this place was gussied up for the holidays. Didn't even think it mattered much to her.”

“I take it you guys didn't get to do much celebrating last year?”

“Short version? I spent Christmas chained up in a cave, with a twitchy Turok Han and the First dressed up like Dru... when it wasn't looking like Buffy.”

“Ouch! Ok, so not a good Christmas.”

“Haven't been much for religious holidays since I was living. Just another reason to hate 'em.”

“The holiday may not mean much to you, Spike. But do you think maybe Buffy's not just going all out for her mom? Maybe she wants to have a normal-ish Christmas with you, too? Something better than the last one?”

“Wouldn't take much,” he grumbled.

“You know what I mean. And maybe you should try to participate?”

“You're hinting for me to go gift shopping, too, aren't you?”

“Uh-huh. Tomorrow, though. 'Cause I'm guessing you called to try to schedule a field trip for tonight?”

“Yea. If you've got your stuff, we oughta go out there again, get a feel for what the excavation will be like. I can coax Santa Slayer off the roof, drag her along with us. If we're lucky, she won't find another watcher to scream at 'fore we go this time. ...Red gonna notice you're gone?”

“Probably not. She's locked up in her own dorm room tonight, writing out another pro-con list.” Tara sighed. “I'm glad she hasn't switched her focus back to you, but the obsessive streak is continuing, just with something else now.”

“So no decision yet.”

“Not yet. Spike, I'm starting to worry. What if she says 'no'?”

“Then those coven birds will likely take charge of her, anyway. Like it or not.”

“Oh. I see. You're with Buffy in the 'I don't care if they restrain her' camp. I was hoping to not be out voted on this.”

“Pet, we can't just let her run loose. You know that. Even if Whistler's playing a bigger game -and it sure as hell seems like he might be- he's right on that score. Red's gotta get under control 'fore she goes wild, one way or the other.”

There was a brief silence. “I know you guys are right, but I still feel like... I don't know? A traitor?”

“Greater good, Glinda.”

“I know, I know.” She sighed. “You'll pick me up?”

“Yea. We'll see you in a bit.”


Tara finished the spell and looked up. They were still arguing. She made a notation on the floor plan sketch in her notebook. She gathered her other supplies and put them back in her satchel. They were still arguing. She leaned against a cask and waited.

“I'm telling you, your perspective is off! They're going to move this big cask! It was about six yards further that way. So the trapdoor would have been right here!”

“They don't shift those giant things around on a whim like the armchairs in your living room, you stupid chit! They're right where they will be! That puts the bloody door right here!”

“If you were right, the cask you broke would line up with the trapdoor, almost exactly. I'd remember that. It lined up with where Caleb was standing when he killed Molly and shoved in Xander's eye!”

Tara winced. “Ouch!”

“And that was about four yards from the cask he threw me into. So the trapdoor was right here! That damned memory boost did you no good.”

“That makes no sense. I remember the scythe was about twenty yards that way from the door, which would put it--”

“In the foundation of the bloody building! Six yards further east, and it's outside that wall.”

“There's no way it's that far over! You don't remember, because you only came down here to fight. I was here after, alone, and I walked it.”

“You remember why you were alone? 'Cause you left me some twisted love child of a thank you note and a Dear John and slipped out while I was still asleep!”

“Hey! I put a lot of thought into that letter!”

Tara sighed. “Oh, dear. Here we go.”

“I've known you a lot of years, Buffy. I know what your primary school scrawl looks like when you're in a hurry. If you had taken your time--”

“Fucking hell. Now I'm going to get handwriting lessons from a leftie. How's that going to work? Mirrors? Oh, wait...”

“My penmanship is miles beyond yours, and you didn't have to learn to write with teachers rapping your knuckles raw with a ruler five days a week!”

“That's because you're so old your teachers still believed in Dark Age superstitions about you left-handed freaks. The truth is far simpler. You're just backwards! And you have zero capacity for measuring distances!”

Tara cleared her throat. “Are you two finished yet?”

“I am not backward! And I seem to recall you actually complimenting my handwriting once, when you were digging in the lock box.”

“And I should have taken it back the next time you asked me to translate mine!”

“Well, some of us were educated in English before we learned Sanskrit! But to be fair, Sanskrit is actually easier on the eyes!”

“If my handwriting is so unreadable, and my notes are so twisted, why did you come home that night?”

“Because you asked me to!”

“Oh so you could read it.”

Tara tapped her foot.

“Fortunately, I had all day to figure it out. You know, after you went off to play the solo hero.”

“I'm the slayer! That's the job!”

“No, you've just got a bloody martyr complex!”

“Are you kidding me? Martyr complex? This from the vamp I had to forcibly drag off a stone cross before he went up in smoke?!”

“Hey! That doesn't count! I was nearly out of my gourd at the time!”

“You're telling me! You were so nuts, I wanted to hunt down that shaman myself, so he could undo it!”

“Why the hell didn't you?”

“I was busy! Or don't you remember that very active Hellmouth you were living on until I brought your crazy, mind-jacked ass home?”

“Bollocks. Just admit you had no idea what to do and were winging it, as usual.”

“Fine! I had no idea what to do with a man who had nearly destroyed himself for me. There. I said it. Are you happy now, Sparky?”

They stood perfectly still, staring at each other, for a long time.

Buffy broke the silence with a whisper. “And I still don't.”

Spike ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You wanna take a trip to Africa this summer, see what we can do about it?”

“To get rid of it, or make sure you don't lose it in a time shift thingy?”

“Honestly? I don't even know.”

“We'll go when you do.”

“And if it goes in the meantime?”

She smirked. “I'll still call you Sparky.”

Tara shook her head. “I'm so glad I was dead for all of this.”

They turned to look at her, finally remembering her presence. Buffy smiled sheepishly. “Um, so, did you do the spell? Was I right?”

“Nope.” She held up a hand before Spike could gloat. “And neither were you.” She waved toward the stairs with her notebook. “Come on, let's go outside.”

They followed her upstairs and out the door they'd left propped open when they broke in. Once behind the winery, Tara flipped on her key chain flashlight and pointed it at her sketch. “Ok, so here's how it breaks down. Buffy, your estimates put the scythe directly under the foundation, right under that window.”

“Told you so,” Spike interjected

“Spike, your estimates put it directly behind us, under that old oak.”

“No way,” Buffy said. “There were no tree roots dangling overhead down there. It was all stone.”

“The spell I did to detect a mystical power source put these four scorch marks on the page. The three big burns are us, in the winery. Here's me, and here's you guys. The light scorch line between you is the energy of your bond, which I totally didn't expect. The little burn I circled is right below where we're standing now, about halfway between the two estimates you gave me.”

“Oh. So I guess we were both wrong.”

“About more than one thing. Buffy, there's no way that area is completely stone, not with that giant tree so close by. It has to have roots down there. That means dirt, not solid rock.”

“It was a big, stone cavern, Tara. Trust me, my memory is not failing me on this one.”

“Maybe it's the drop you don't remember right, love. Could be it's further down than you thought?”

She shook her head. “No...” She turned around to look at the oak tree. “Spike, do you even remember this tree?”

“Come to think of it, no. Bringers tend to kill every living thing around their nests, though.”

“It might have died, sure. Like the one near the front door did. But I don't even remember a fallen tree here. Something's not right. It's not the same.”

“Maybe the scythe's surroundings were altered to protect it from the Bringers?” Tara offered. “That seems like something the Powers would do, right?”

“Maybe... At least the Guardian lady would.” Buffy studied the grass at their feet thoughtfully. “I had to King Arthur it out of the stone. They couldn't pull it free. It would only respond to a slayer. ...If it's in loose dirt right now... Stand back, guys. I want to try something.”

Spike and Tara backed away a few feet. Buffy knelt in the grass and slowly put her open palm against the ground. The earth around them began to shake. Spike and Tara backed up another couple of steps. The earthquake intensified, with audible rumbling. Dirt, sod and small rocks flew out of the ground. Buffy closed her eyes tightly and turned her head toward her shoulder, but she kept her hand where it was. Spike pulled Tara close to him, and tried to shield them both from the onslaught with his coat.

When it stopped, Tara hurried back to the slayer's side. “Buffy? Are you alright?”

Buffy was still kneeling in the grass, filthy with the dirt that had burst out of the ground ahead of the prize she now held, its curved blade glinting in the moonlight. She was staring at it with a puzzled expression. “It's not the same,” she murmured.

Spike came to kneel beside her and looked at the weapon, familiar in every aspect -except its dark green color. “What the hell are they playing at? Trying to confuse us?” As he leaned over to study it more closely, his palm came to rest on the ground. The quake started again. “Oh, bloody hell...”

“Tara? I thought you only saw one power source down there?”

“Yea, and I thought you said the scythe was red,” Tara answered over the rising rumble from the earth. She ran toward the oak tree, seeking shelter from the coming debris storm. “Buffy! Come on! You don't have to go through it twice!”

Buffy stared after her for a moment, but elected to remain still. This time, when the onslaught came, she tucked her head behind Spike's shoulder. When it stopped, she turned back to the scythe still held under her right hand. Beside it, under Spike's left hand, was another dark green scythe.

They were still staring at the twin weapons when Tara came back from behind the oak tree. “Ok, so also not red.”

Spike took both scythes as he stood up. He walked over to the oak tree and dropped them near the base, a few feet apart. “Try the spell again, Glinda. Unless you fancy putting your paw on the ground, too?”

“Uh, no. Thanks. I already feel like I've been through a tornado.” She pulled her satchel off her shoulder. “We'll just see what we can find out the dirt-free way.” While she was setting up the spell, Buffy and Spike staked out places in the grass that were away from the scythes and the hole they'd left in the ground.

“I really need a shower.”

“Yea, you do. You come out of your grave looking that bad, Woodchuck?”

“What did you look like coming out of yours, Mosquito?”

He shrugged. “Hungry, most likely. Ask Dru.”

“I think I will. I probably won't understand the answer, but it could be a fun conversation.”

“You think she'll show up here again?”

“Probably. Aurelians seem to like Sunnydale.”

“We're a posh bunch. Won't hang out in bloody Cleveland, but we do love a good Hellmouth. Dru's fond of the energy. Me, I like the scenery.”

“Rows and rows of headstones?”

“Mostly the bird that likes to walk between them.”

“Oh, yea?”

“Yea.” They traded sly smiles.

“So what are you going to do when your girlfriend comes back to town?”

“You going someplace, love?”

“Hey!” Tara called over to them. “If you two are finished flirting, come check this out!” She flipped on her little flashlight again when they were standing on either side of her. “Ok, so there's the original burn mark, from the first spell. Nothing new showed up, so I think the hole you just made is empty now. Here's three new large burn marks, corresponding to our positions, with the scorch between you guys. The oak tree is here. Do you see what I see?”

Buffy squinted at the page. “Two little burns with a smudge between them?”

“That's not a smudge. That's a lighter burn, from the energy passing between the scythes. I guess they must have been too close together when I did the first spell for me to see it. But with them separated... Guys, those two scythes are connected to each other, just like you are.”

Buffy went to the tree to retrieve the weapons. She tossed one into Spike's hand. “Get your stuff together, Tara. We have one more stop to make before we go home.”

“Really, Buffy? It's really late and I'm desperate for a shower and some clean clothes.”

“You'll want to see this. If this goes like last time, as soon as these things came out of the ground, a temple-slash-tomb thingy appeared just outside the southern border of Restfield cemetery.”

“Whoa.” Tara hurriedly refilled her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. “And no one will mind if we go in there all dirty?”

“We're going to meet the Guardian of the slayer line. I'm pretty sure she's seen young women in all kinds of rough conditions over the years.” She looked at Spike. “You might be her first vamp, though. Run your fingers through your hair a few times, try to knock some of the dirt out.”

“Bad?” he asked as he raked through his hair.

“It's almost its natural color.”


They stepped into the tiny, candle-lit structure and were promptly greeted by a tall, elderly woman with long white hair, streaked with silver. “Welcome, travelers.” She gestured to three cushions on a curved bench. “The heaven sent witch, the vampire who defeated his nature, and the slayer who isn't The Slayer. Please, sit. Three who should not be, arriving together. History should note this moment.” She knelt on the floor in front of them, and held out her hands. “The weapons?”

Buffy and Spike handed over the scythes. The Guardian held them for a moment, then handed them back, each to the other one. Buffy frowned as she accepted the scythe Spike had carried in. “They aren't the same?”

“One is yours. One is his. You will come to know them.”

“Expected a red one, encased in stone. Instead, we got two green ones, that flew out of the dirt. Can you explain that?”

The Guardian frowned at Spike. “You expected a weapon for her, but not for yourself?”

“Yea, that's about the size of it.”

“Are you not allies and partners?” The Guardian seemed confused. “Are you not each other's best weapons of war? Should you not be equally equipped to protect each other?”

“Not complaining, pet. So long as I don't stake myself with it, it'll suit me fine. Just wondering 'bout the changes.”

The Guardian ran her hand along the handle of Buffy's scythe. “Red is raw, fiery. Untamed, unfocused. It stands alone in a barren world. Green is life, connectedness, stability. A tree of two trunks, twisted together for greater strength.” She looked at their faces. “You didn't notice? Look again.”

“Trees and paint colors aside, are they they same as the one from our time?” Buffy asked. “Conduits to PTB power and slayer demon essence?”

“Just the same. Power from both your plane and mine.”

“Well, that answers that question. I had been wondering if you were just another kind of PTB agent.”

The Guardian smiled, letting loose a low, raspy chuckle that surprised her solemn audience. “Not exactly, my fallen slayer. The Guardianship of the Lineage operates... separately, in many ways.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Like a PTB branch office?”

“I suppose that's an accurate description.” She turned to Tara. “You don't know why you're here.”

“I came with my friends. ...Is that ok?”

“Today, your path is with theirs, a path of partnership, of friendship. When you transition to your next path, you will find this time not wasted, but an honor you have bestowed upon each other.”

Tara nodded slowly. “I think I understand. Thank you.”

The Guardian turned back to Buffy and Spike. “You both fear you will never know rest, never know peace. You will. You will also know war and worry. That is the path you were born to. No respite in life is eternal, particularly for warriors.”

Buffy bit her lip. “Um, speaking of eternal... There's a theory that the PTB might want some extra time out of me. I was wondering...”

“You will have the opportunity to choose, if he offers you his time.”

“When,” Spike quietly interjected. “Not if.”

“I'm asking about other methods.”

The Guardian rose to her feet. “You will not see me again. My duty is to the slayers, and those who watch them. You are not of the lineage, are above my duty. I came only to see the weapons found. I wish you well, travelers.” She gave them a slight bow as they rose to their feet. Each returned the bow and offered thanks before exiting the tiny structure.

Tara looked behind them and watched the building disappear. “Wow. Sometimes, it's worth putting up with the arguing. I had no idea this night would turn out this way.”

“Only sometimes?” Spike threw an arm around her shoulders as they walked away. “Come on, Glinda! You know we'll always keep things interesting.”

“Or at least yell out tons of future blackmail material for you,” Buffy said with a shrug. “We're potentially lucrative. Well, Spike is. I'm broke.”

Tara laughed. “You're entertaining, at least. I think I can live with that.”


Xander pulled into the driveway just as Buffy was coming outside to check the mail. She met him on the porch. “Hey, Xan. What's up?”

“I stopped on my way home from work to see your mom, but the Jeep is gone.”

“She's at the grocery store. Her second solo trip out of the house since her surgery, and it's food shopping the week before Christmas.” Buffy shuddered. “She should have let me go with her.”

“She'll be fine. If some old biddy tries to grab the last turkey, she'll just whack her with it.”

Buffy laughed as they went inside. The sound of an argument drew Xander to the dining room.

“I'm telling you, the Canadians took that hill. I was there -a few hours before the Americans even showed up, for the record. They were late for the party.”

“Only you would think of a battlefield as a party.”

“Not the point.”

“No, the point is that if I don't answer based on the book, I'll get the question wrong!”

“The bleedin' book is wrong! By the time you lot got there, it was nearly over. But then, that goes for the whole damned conflict, doesn't it? Doubt your book points that out.”

Xander looked at Buffy, who had followed him. She was calmly ignoring the pair at the table as she sorted through the mail. He waved to get their attention. “Hi. What's the hubbub?”

“World War I,” Dawn answered. “The old fart thinks he knows better than the people who wrote the textbook.”

“I do. Didn't see any of them out there, getting their hands dirty.”

“Because they aren't older than the dirt!”

Buffy tossed a bright red envelope onto the table. “Christmas card from Dad.”

“What's the postmark?”

“Madrid again.” Another envelope hit the table. “William.”

Dawn picked it up. “Spike, since when do you get mail here? Or anywhere?”

Spike snatched the envelope and handed it back to Buffy. “Put that one with the bills, love.”

“My mother is not going to open your mail.” Dawn rolled her eyes. “Hello, federal offense?”

“First, I'm not an American citizen. Second, I think there's an exception for the deceased, Bit.”

“Female handwriting.” Dawn glanced at Buffy. “Young female handwriting. You see that, too, right?”

“I see it.” Buffy shook her head in mock sadness. “And I always figured him for a hard-core monogamist. I should have known.” She fought back a laugh.

“Wait.” Xander looked around the table. “So there's another woman, she knows where you live, and Buffy's not mad?” His eyes narrowed. “So there isn't actually anything serious between you two?”

Spike gestured for Buffy to hand back the envelope. “Bird's name is Jenna. Works for my banker.”

“Ah. Hence having the address.” Dawn nodded, understanding . “Somebody has a crush?”

“Somebody is in charge of handling my money.” Spike tore open the envelope and pulled out a cashier's check, which he handed to Buffy. “Bottom of the pile, love.”

She frowned at the amount. “You know she won't accept this.”

“She will when she sees what's above.” Spike shrugged. “Managed to talk her into accepting the rent money, didn't I?”

“That wasn't rent, Spike. That was the mortgage for the entire first quarter.”

Dawn frowned. “You know how much the mortgage is?”

“Well, yea! I've paid--” Buffy caught herself. “--attention to stuff. You know, so I can help Mom.”

Dawn started to close her history book, but Spike's hand blocked her. “Aw, come on. We're just hanging out and talking. And Mom will be home soon.”

Spike waved Buffy and Xander away. “Out. The Bit's got an exam tomorrow.”

“No gory stories!” Buffy said over her shoulder as she led Xander out of the dining room.

“It was a bloody war, Slayer. They weren't firing rose petals.”

Xander watched Buffy arrange the bills on the desk, carefully sliding the check below the envelopes from the hospital. “So where did Spike get a bunch of dough all of a sudden?”

“He had it squirreled away.” She turned a couple of envelopes to make the bill pile look more natural. “This one is going to start a fight. Once, she'll accept it. Twice in a single month?” She shook her head. “Mom's always complaining about me and Spike arguing, but the fact is, everyone argues with Spike. Including her. And this one is going to be a doozy.”

“My money's on your mom. She's pretty tough, even if she did just have brain surgery.”

Buffy fell into a chair. “You have no idea how stubborn Spike really is, Xan. Mom will yell and threaten and maybe even throw something at him, but he's not the type to give in. He's tenacious.”

“Well, that explains why you fight with him so much. You know, aside from the whole 'he's an evil vampire' thing, which I hope accounts for a lot of it. You're stubborn, too.” Xander took the chair across from hers. “That's why I'm trying not to get in your way with this thing too much. I know I'd lose.”

“You would,” she said quietly.

“I'd also have to fight with Anya about it. She seems to like the idea of you two being together. She said -and I quote- 'Spike has been a good influence on Buffy. She's much less annoying now.'”

Buffy laughed. “I notice she didn't say anything about him being less annoying.”

“I don't think she thought he was to start with, which puts her in the minority.”

“More like unique. 'Minority' implies at least one person in the world agrees with her.” Her smile faded. “Tell me seriously, Xan: what are your thoughts, besides 'don't fight it, you'll lose'?”

Xander looked at his hands. “I don't understand it at all, Buff. It was like someone flipped a switch one day, and poof! You and Spike aren't enemies anymore. Then he moves into your house, and the next thing I know, you two are acting like a long-term couple. It's all kind of left my head spinning. I do have one question, and you don't have to answer it if you don't want to.” He looked up at her. “Was Spike living downtown before he moved in here?”

Buffy bit her lip. Her words came slowly. “Yes. But I never cheated on Riley. I went to Spike's place to talk, and to sleep. I... I find his presence ...comforting.”

“That's not a word I ever would have associated with William the Bloody.”

“I used to think the same thing, before I really got to know him. He's not all fangs and British curse words, you know.”

Xander frowned. “I really don't.”

“Maybe you should try to find out?”


Spike intercepted Xander on his way out. “Harris, I was wondering if I might ask a favor.”

Chapter #16 - Flash Decisions
It's Christmastime in Sunnydale, and everyone has gifts on their minds.


Chapter 16: Flash Decisions

May, 2003 / December, 2000

“Uh, guys? I think we're moving backwards. I just got shorter.” Dawn watched an image of herself walk into the living room. Th image dropped onto the sofa and picked up a magazine, which she flipped through with a decided pout.

An image of Spike followed her into the room. “Bit, there's nothing we can do.” She ignored him. He sat beside her. “You only get one father. Ought to spend some time with him.”

Dawn threw down the magazine. “You're the evil undead, and you can't find a loophole? Please! I'm not buying that for a second. Also, I'm not even sure he is my father. I may be genetically Buffy-ish, but that might make Hank Summers my grandfather or something. We don't even know who the other DNA contributor was that the monks used, 'cause I'm clearly not a clone.”

Spike ran a hand over her long, dark hair. “Don't know, but my money's on the other slayer. ...But your dad's still got legal rights.”

“There's got to be something we can do. We could run away. You could hide me until I'm eighteen.” She frowned at his expression. “You have found a loophole, haven't you?”

“There's a law firm, specializes in dirty pool for demons with a bit of dosh. Peaches has had some run ins with them. He thinks they might be able to help, but it's a big risk, them finding out what you are, getting their mitts on you. Best case, they take something from me instead... and not just money.”

Dawn's head fell back against the sofa cushions. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “If you've talked to Angel about it, you've definitely pulled out all the stops. And that law firm sounds like a really bad idea.”

There was another flash, and the pair on the sofa were replaced by an image of Willow, taking notes from a thick, yellow-paged book.

The real Willow gasped. “Oh, no... I know that book. I'm working on the resurrection.”

The group watched the image scribbling in her notebook, their expressions worried. “Yeah,” Xander whispered. “This is gonna be one bad Groundhog Day.”

Dawn whispered, “We've been here for over an hour, and they haven't changed it yet. She jumped.”

“We may be seeing earlier images, but that doesn't remove the possibility of no-impact variations,” Elsa said. “The only thing this proves is that they were successful in traveling back.”

There was another flash, and an image of Buffy stood alone by the fireplace, looking at the pictures on the mantle. She turned around and studied the room with a smirk.

Dawn shuddered as she looked into the image's eyes. “Guys, I don't think that's Buffy.”

The First Evil laughed. “You really think this is going to work, don't you? You really think you can smack me down so easily?”

“We can at least make you stop appearing like her!” Dawn snapped.

“Actually, you can't. Even if all of this is successful -and I have my doubts, with you screw-ups at the helm- she has still tasted death. In fact, all three of them have, though they're likely to try to erase the death of the other one.” It gestured to the pair in the circle. “These two are all mine to mimic as I please, and always will be. But that's the least of your worries. If I were you guys, I'd be more concerned about not existing anymore.” It leaned toward Willow tauntingly. “You sent them back so they could make you go away.”

“Wha- What do you mean?”

“You've given them the perfect opportunity to trade up, and they've done just that. Such a shame, too.” It shook its head in mock sadness. “You girls used to be so close.” The First disappeared, leaving the group in silent dismay.

Xander was the first to speak. “Three? Is there a mouse in Spike's pocket?”

Willow shook her head. “No. I think I know what it meant. A death they could erase? Trading up from me? There's only one person that could be.”

“Tara,” Dawn whispered. “Buffy's recruited a different witch this time.”

Giles was carefully watching the expressions playing across Althenea's face. “Which is precisely what you hoped would happen, wasn't it?”

The old witch let loose the smile she'd been holding back. “The First Evil clearly meant to entice you to break the spell before it destroys this timeline, but has instead given us the best possible news.”

“I'm not too sure about that. Tara never had the kind of power I had. She may not be able to handle the last couple of years without my help.”

Elsa spoke up. “Forgive me for saying so, but isn't much of the difficulty of the intervening years triggered by your power and misuse of it? I don't mean to be rude, but perhaps the First Evil is right: They have traded up.”

Willow opened her mouth to argue, but no sound came out. All actions ceased. The army of teenaged girls disappeared from the backyard. The chains on the basement wall vanished. The plywood wall behind the sofa was again a picture window. A playpen appeared in the living room, folded and leaning against a wall, beside a wooden toy box, replacing the pile of sleeping bags. The picture frames on the mantle changed and grew in number.

'Well, that's one possible future off the books,' Bryn thought, just before the people in the living room and the 2003 they'd known winked out of existence.


Spike came into the living room, slipping on his coat.“The slayer took an early patrol. She'll meet us at the shop later,” he explained to Tara, who was nervously pacing the length of the room.

That's probably better, anyway.”

She seems to be settling into the routine.”

Uh-huh.” Tara glanced at her watch. “We're going to be late.” She called upstairs,“Come on! Let's go already!”

Just hold your horses, Glinda. There's no rush. A few more minutes won't kill either of you.”

It's been five months, Spike. If you could have made your five month wait a minute shorter, would you have done it?”

He tilted his head toward the ceiling. “Get your arses down here! Plane's touching down any minute!”

Dawn came rushing down the stairs. “I'm ready! Buffy's still playing with her hair and makeup.”

She picked a bad day to get vain about it,” Tara grumbled. She yelled again. “Buffy! In about thirty seconds, you're going to be walking to the airport!”

Buffy woke up from her impromptu nap with a smile on her face. She stretched until her hand bumped the table lamp behind her head. She sat up to steady it as Spike walked into the living room.

“Do we need to have a talk about which one of us is the nocturnal creature?”

She giggled through a yawn. “Vamps don't have exclusive rights to sleeping during the day, you know.”

“Bloody hell. Now you tell me. They left that out of the brochure.”

“You're in a good mood.”

“Just got some good news. Glinda called. Red's--”

“Decided to go to Devon. I know. I just woke up from the PTB memo about it.”

“Another time-traveling slayer dream?”

“And this one made a lot more sense.”

“Yeah? You wanna tell me about it?”

“Not yet.”


Buffy came out to the back porch. “You've been out here for a few hours now.”

Spike shrugged.

She sat on the top step beside him. “So while you were out here, I decided to do something stupid.”

“I'm almost afraid to ask,” he mumbled around his cigarette.

“I'm going to ask you what you're thinking about.”

He watched the smoke drift off on the exhale. “There aren't any shackles downstairs,” he whispered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Should there be?”

“Your sis keeps a sign for her bedroom door, to warn me when the curtains are open upstairs.”

“I keep telling her to move it to the top of the staircase railing, so you'll see it a few steps sooner. You didn't get singed this afternoon, did you?”

Spike shook his head distractedly. “And your mum bought a fourth stocking the hang from the mantle.”

“So? I'm no math genius, but I'm pretty sure there are four of us.”

“Like it's normal,” he muttered, shaking his head. He turned to look at her. “Do you know where I was last evening?”

“You said you were going gift shopping.” Buffy frowned. “What are you getting at with all this?”

He shook his head again and took another drag from his cigarette. “It's just... different. All of it. Not even sure I recognize our lives anymore.”

“Oh, it'll get familiar again. You can be sure of that. Right about the time Glory's spewing threats the living room, the Knights of Byzantium are joining in the 'hunt and kill the Key' party, and I'm scaring the shit out of a few watchers to make them behave, it'll all come rushing back.”

“Not quite as familiar to me. You were still keeping me at arm's length back then. Further, usually.” Spike put out his cigarette in the little sand-filled flowerpot Joyce had placed beside the steps for that purpose, right after he'd moved in. “'Bout time to clean this out again.”

Buffy leaned around him to look at the butts sticking out of the sand. “Yeah, it looks that way.”

“You ever think about why it's there?” Spike shook out of his thoughts. “Never mind.”

“No 'never minds.' Tell me what you meant.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You really wanna know?”

“I told you I was going to do something stupid. Talk.”

“Your mum and sis, they treat me like family.”

“'Cause you are.”

Spike jerked in surprise at this reflexive response.

“What? You know it.” Buffy frowned at his uncertain expression. “Unless you're planning on bailing out on us...”

“You know better than that.”

“This is about all the 'family Christmas' stuff, isn't it? We're throwing way too much garland and domesticity at you at once.”

“After the amount of laundry that came with you running a bloody refugee camp here, I think I've built up an immunity to 'too much domesticity.'”

She chuckled and leaned against his shoulder. “So we're not scaring you away?”

“You do remember who the scary one is in this house, don't you?”

“The Slayer?”

“The Slayer of Slayers.”

“Two words: Tulip mug.”

He pushed her off his shoulder. “Bugger off.”

She laughed and shoved him back. “You're evading.”

“I used that mug exactly once.”

“Still evading. Out with it.”

He stared out into the yard, gathering his nerve. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper again. “Don't ever revoke my invite, Buffy. Please.”

Understanding his meaning, she put a hand to his knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I won't.”


“Promise. You're stuck with us until the girly domesticity, open curtain warning signs, and cheesy Christmas decorations scare you away.”

He pulled her close to him, so she was again leaning on his shoulder. “Should know by now, I'm not easy to scare off.”

“That's what I'm counting on.”


Dawn danced to her favorite funny Christmas carols as she hung up the ornaments, nearly tripping over her mother, who was kneeling on the floor, smoothing the tree skirt. “Oops! Sorry, Mom!”

Joyce stood up and studied her work, giving the skirt one last nudge with her toe. She looked to the sofa, where Buffy was unwrapping and attaching hooks to ornaments as fast as Dawn could grab them. “What do you think?”

“Tree skirt: good. Dawn's dancing: not so good.”

Dawn stuck her tongue out at her sister as she snatched another ornament from the coffee table. “Buffy's just cranky because she hasn't finished her Christmas shopping.”


Joyce sat in the armchair nearest her daughter. “Honey, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. You're running out of time.”

“I know, I know. And I have most of them. You know how I always get Willow seven of her favorite candies and one big gift for Hanukkah? Well, I can't decide what the eighth thing will be. It's sort of a going away gift, too, and we haven't been super close lately, so I want it to be something really good.”

“Anything she can take with her will be appreciated, especially something to remind her of home.”

“I thought about a photo album, but Xander's doing that. He's got stuff from childhood, so he can do it better than I could, anyway.”

“I got her an English dictionary,” Dawn said proudly. She shrugged at their expressions. “Well, I thought it was funny. And Giles always complains about you guys butchering the language. Spike does, too, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't have any room to talk.”

“And that's the other present I haven't figured out,” Buffy said. “What do you get for the vamp who wants nothing?”

“You could always take Anya's suggestion.”

“Dawn Summers! Don't ever repeat anything Anya says while walking by Victoria's Secret.”

Joyce covered her face with her hands. “Quiet, girls. I need to pretend you're both little toddlers in pigtails for a moment.”

The sisters exchanged grins, then turned to their mother and whined in unison. “Moooooommmmy!”

Joyce pulled her hands away. “Ok, I'm over it. Dawn, have you picked out a college yet?”

Spike came in the front door to the sounds of laughter. “What's so funny?”

“We were just torturing Mom,” Dawn answered.

Joyce stood up. “Spike, now would be a very good time for you to save me from my children. Are we still on for coffee?”

“Yeah. Just came back to pick you up.”

The young women watched in surprise as their mother grabbed her jacket and followed Spike out.

“Uh, Buffy? I think Mom just ran off with your boyfriend.”


They sat down at a small table, with three cups of coffee between them. “So, how'd you make out on that li'l job, Joyce?”

She pulled a ring from her pocket. “I found it. And I gave it a thorough cleaning and polishing.” She pushed it across the table. “But I don't understand why you couldn't look for it yourself.”

“Because your daughter is a slob. She's spilled so much holy water over the years, the bottom of that chest is practically consecrated.” Spike pocketed the ring. “Thanks. I owe you.”

She pulled the cashier's check out of her other jacket pocket placed it on the table. “No. You don't.”


“The insurance covered a lot, and my savings has helped. Not to mention that alleged 'rent' deposit. You don't owe me anything, Spike.”

“You could use the help, and I've got it to give.”

She tapped on the check. “Put this in savings. Earn some interest on it. As simply as you live, this check could fund an entire decade.”

“You don't take it, I'll just blow it on whiskey and smokes. Maybe a bauble or two for Buffy.”

“Baubles for Buffy? Are we talking last minute gifts? 'Cause I've got you covered. I am so the man.” Xander dropped into the chair across from Spike's as Joyce discreetly slipped the check back into her pocket, pausing the argument. “It's in the car. But you still haven't told me what it's for.”

“We will.” Spike pushed the third coffee cup toward the newcomer. “Thanks for doing it on short notice.” He reached into his pocket. “What do I owe you?”

“$30 would cover the materials. As for the labor...” Xander bit his lip. “How about a beer? …Um, you and me? At Willy's sometime soon?”

Spike raised an eyebrow.

Joyce laughed at the vampire's expression. “My thoughts, exactly. Xander, are you feeling alright?”

“Well... the truth is, Buffy wants us to get along, like be buds or something.”

“She said that?” Joyce asked.

“Not in those exact words, but that's the hint she's been dropping. And I guess I'm willing to give it a try.”

“This keeps up, I might start believing in miracles.” Spike handed Xander $30. “Next week alright?”

“Ha. ha. And whenever is fine. So... did you get the pictures?”

“I left it to Spike,” Joyce said. “My boxes of duplicates are stored in the basement.”

Spike pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket and slid it across the table. “See if you can make any of that work for your album. Got some good ones in there.”

Xander pulled out a few pictures. “Aww! Itty-bitty Buffster and even tinier Dawnmeister.”

“A little young for your clock to be ticking, aren't you, Harris?”

“You can't tell me you didn't melt when you saw those chubby cheeks, Spike.”

“No, but I questioned the '80s all over again. What made you dress her that way, Joyce?”

She shrugged. “Freudian revenge on my own mother? I was a child of the '60s. You can guess how horrible my childhood wardrobe was.”

Xander's eyes lit up. “Ooh! Pictures!”

“Absolutely not.”

“No worries, Harris. I know where she keeps 'em. I'll go digging tomorrow, while Buffy and the Bit are keeping her occupied with party preparations.”

“No, you'll be upstairs helping me. Buffy will be gone all day.”

Spike frowned. “First I've heard of it.”

“She asked to borrow the car to drive out to Valley State.”

“Oh,” Xander said. “I didn't see that coming.” He glanced at Spike, whose expression had grown very dark. “And I'm apparently not the only one.”

“I didn't think you even knew...”

“I know enough, Joyce.”


Faith sat down and picked up the phone receiver, staring hard at the woman on the other side of the glass. “What do you want?”

“Ok, so I guess we're skipping the 'how are yous.'”

“If you were going to come to gloat, you'd have done it sooner. And I know you didn't drive all the way out here to check on me. So what do you want?”

“Your word as a slayer,” Buffy whispered into the receiver. “I need to know you'll be on the job, that you'll fulfill your destiny. You know... if...”

Faith's glare faded into something Buffy thought might be genuine concern. “What've you gotten yourself into?”

“Hellgod. She's laying low right now, but it's going to get bad before it gets good again. I might not live to see summer. I need to know Sunnydale will be guarded after I'm gone.”

“B, have you noticed where I am? You remember why?”

“I remember that you're a slayer, and there's a Hellmouth right down the interstate, one that will need you if things don't go right. I need your promise. I need to know you'll get out of here and do your job if you find yourself the 'one girl in all the world.'”

Faith scoffed at the quotation. Then she leaned close to the glass. “You really mean it, don't you?”

“I do. Get your head on straight while you still have some down time. If any of the Scoobies come to see you, get the hell out of here and go home with them. Replace me.” Faith didn't respond. “I need to know you'll be on the job,” she said again.

Faith nodded slowly. “Alright. I promise. ...But I have to know: Why do you trust me with this?”

“Because you're a damned good slayer, and I happen to know you've got leadership potential. You're the current Chosen One, Faith. Not me. I'm the spare slayer.” Buffy fidgeted with the phone cord.

“What else is on your mind, B?”

“I have another request. And you don't have to promise me this one. I just want you to think about it.”

“Uh... Ok. Shoot.”

“If it's me that comes to see you, will you consider coming back, anyway?” She stood up. “I have to go. Hopefully, I'll see you before summer. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, B.” Faith watched Buffy hang up the receiver and walk out of sight. “Merry Christmas.”


Joyce stepped out onto the front porch at the sound of her Jeep in the driveway, leaving the door open behind her. “How much higher will my insurance rate be next month?” she called to the driver.

“The car is fine, Mom.” Buffy rolled up the window and climbed out of the Jeep. “And so am I, thanks for asking.”

“And Faith?”

“She's holding up ok.”

“It was very kind of you to pay her a Christmas visit, after all she's put everyone through.”

“She's a slayer, Mom. She may have gone off the deep end, and royally pissed me off more than once, but she's still a slayer.” Buffy joined her mother on the porch and handed her the car keys. “Thanks for the loan.” She peered into the house. “It's awfully quiet in there. Did you have to tie up your elves?”

“Dawn has just locked herself up in her room to finish wrapping gifts. Spike helped us all afternoon, but he left a few minutes ago, as soon as the sun had set.” Joyce fidgeted with the keys. “Honey, he's very upset about this trip. Did you fight about it?”

“The 150 year old man is having another childish tantrum, that's all.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Is there time for me to find him and coax him home before he ruins Christmas?”

Joyce looked down at her watch. “If you hurry. The guests will be here by eight.” Buffy's feet had hit the sidewalk by the time she looked back up.


When Buffy walked into Willy's Bar, she was surprised to find it packed. Willy gave her a significant look, his eyes darting around to some of the unfamiliar faces. “If you're here for information, Slayer, I got nothing to offer you.” He put down his bar towel. “Except a Christmas drink? On the house?”

Buffy played along with the ruse, knowing a good relationship with a slayer could prove bad for Willy's health with some demons. “Sure, I'll take a bribe. Just this once, for Christmas.” She pointed down the bar to her destination. On receiving his nod, she went in that direction. When she reached the far end of the bar, she tapped a brunette woman on the shoulder. “Excuse me. You're in my seat.”

The woman turned away from the man she'd been talking to. “No, I'm not, Slayer.” Her eyes flashed golden. “Find your own seat. Preferably in another bar.”

“You're wasting your time, you know. He's not going to go home with you.”

“Yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because he's going home with me.”

“Sure he is.” The brunette snorted. She turned back to face the bar, and resume her flirting.

Buffy tapped her shoulder again, causing her to whirl around with another golden-eyed glare. Buffy matched it with her own angry expression. “I'm done playing nice. Get away from my boyfriend or you leave here in Willy's dustpan.” She reached under her jacket to the back of her waistband.

The brunette's hands went up. “Ok, ok. I'm gone.” She grabbed her drink and edged away, keeping one eye on Buffy until she had reached a corner table.

Buffy took the vampire's seat just as Willy delivered her rum and Coke. “Thanks.” She glanced at the vampire the brunette had been flirting with. “Hi.”

“There's that B word again,” Spike muttered, his eyes on his drink.

“It seems like an appropriate word... Do you disagree?”

“What's it matter if it's only for five more months?”

She propped her elbows on the bar and dropped her forehead into her palms. “Can we please not have this argument again?” She was careful to keep her volume as low as his. “They're called contingency plans, Spike. I'm not going to drop them. If you recall, contingency planning is a big part of the reason you're even here.”

“That's what you thought. I never had any intention of letting it get that far.”

She looked up to study his profile. “No matter what we do, jumping is still a possibility.”

“No, it's not. Got a contingency plan of my own, if it gets that bad.” He sipped his whiskey. “Told you not to go out there to see her. No need for it.”

“We could have dozens of contingency plans and still have things blow up in our faces.”

“Not likely.”

“Not impossible.” She took a drink. “Will you at least look at me?”

He finally made eye contact. “I'm not gonna let you jump. I keep telling you, and you won't listen.”

Buffy bit her lip. “I'm listening. I hear you, loud and clear, every time you say it, subtext and all.” She looked back at her glass, her voice dropping even lower. “And I love you, too.”

There was no reaction from the neighboring stool, only stillness and silence. She slowly brought her gaze back to his. He was staring at her, dumbstruck. Eventually, he reclaimed his composure with a shake of his head. “It's about bloody time.”

“That wasn't the response I was expecting.”

“Seems like the response you deserve.” Spike drained his glass and set it on the bar. “Right then, Slayer. Go ahead. Stake me now, and be done with it. You'll never get a better chance to catch me off guard.”

She leaned in close. “Can I tell you another secret? I was bluffing when I reached under my jacket. Where I was today? You can't take weapons in there. I've got nothing on me.” She sat up straight and resumed sipping on her drink. “So who was the little vamp tramp, anyway? I don't recognize her.”

“Eh, just some young thing looking for a good time. Very young thing. Couldn't see past the sense of power she got from me.” He gestured to Willy for a refill.

“Ah. Hence the flirting. She didn't notice the spark.”

“Or that I smell like a bloke who shares his bed with a slayer.”

“Not too bright, huh?”

“She stood up to you, at first. Points for that. Was older than her when I first stared down a slayer.”

“Great. In another century, she'll steal your title.”

“The hell she will!”

Buffy smirked. “Ego, much?”

“Feeling pretty good just now, love. Don't ruin it.”


“Last Christmas sucked. Worst. Christmas. Ever.”

“Oh, yeah? You got tortured, too?”

“Ok, so yours was worse. Hey, Willy? Another?”

“What are we gonna do about this Christmas?”

“Enjoy it. Glory's not up in our faces right now, and Mom... you know.”

“I mean about the bloody Scoobies, Red and Rupert, mainly. Harris may have taken the edge off his hate, but I'm sure Red's still looking for answers, and I think Rupert wants me gone. Again.”

“I think it's me -you know, this version- he really wants gone. But they can both suck it up and behave themselves. I'm a resident of the hostess' house, and so is my date. Thanks, Willy.” Buffy took a sip of her fourth drink. “Besides, she's leaving in ten days, and he's not my watcher anymore. So screw 'em.”

“Won't work out too well if you go in with that attitude.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise at this reproach. Then she noticed his poorly hidden smile. “You like it when I get bitchy, don't you?”

“Not directed at me, now is it?”

“I sometimes wonder if you like that, too.”

He ignored that comment. He caught Willy's eye and nodded toward his empty glass. “You know, I was starting to think you'd never get around to actually saying it.”

“Yeah, well, me neither.”

“You gonna make a habit of it?”

Buffy shrugged. “Probably not. You ok with that?”

“Wouldn't mind being reminded once in a while.”

“I think I can manage that.” She took a gulp of her drink.

He watched her, shaking his head. “Some days I still wonder what happened to my slayer making faces every time she had a drink stronger than apple juice.”

“She discovered mixers. I still have no idea how you tolerate any of this stuff straight.”

“Practice. And a lot of years of self-loathing.”

“You're in an honest mood. I should take advantage of it.”

“Still not drunk enough to quote you any poetry.”


Chapter #17 - Implied Promises

Author's Notes: The good news: We're finally seeing the emotional dam beginning to break with Buffy. Also, it's Christmas in Sunnydale, and Glory's not stirring up trouble (giving us time for some fun stuff).

The bad news: The author is both evil and crazy. This is the part where you start questioning if I've lost the plot, both literally and figuratively. All I can ask is that you trust me. In the big picture, everything matters, and everything pays off. Even Christmastime silliness.


Chapter 17: Implied Promises

December, 2000

By the time Buffy and Spike got home, the living room was full of Scoobies. “Bloody hell. We're late.” He called toward the kitchen. “Joyce! You need any help?”

“Spike! Thank god! I thought you'd be gone all night.” Joyce sounded stressed. “Get in here!”

Buffy slipped out of Spike's coat, and then out of her own thin jacket, hanging both by the front door. Willow joined her in the hall. “He loaned you his coat?”

“Chivalry died sometime after William did.” She shrugged. “But then, he also made a stupid vampire comment about it being an historic moment. This coat hasn't seen a slayer's shoulders in really long time.”

Willow wrinkled her nose. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yeah, Wils. It's a trophy.” Buffy ran a hand along the leather. “Her name was Nikki,” she whispered. “She loved this coat. She fought in it, and she died in it. It took Spike two tries to bring her down, and she still didn't die until she was ready to go.”

“Uh-huh. I'm sure that's how he tells it.”

“I know the feeling. Every slayer does, if she lives long enough. When I'm ready, and I'll leave something with Spike, too. Just like his other slayers.”

“Buff, you're scaring me. Do you think Spike is going to kill you one day?”

“I just know I'll have to leave something for him, that's all.” Buffy snapped out of her reverie. “I'll be right back.” She grabbed the keys to the Jeep from the foyer table and ran outside. She returned with two small boxes. “It's no slayer trophy, but it will do for now. I just need to make one little addition before I wrap it. The other one is for you.” She called into the living room. “Dawnie, is the wrapping paper still in your room?”

“Yeah. Do you need help?”

“No, thanks.” She rooted around in Spike's coat pockets until she found a stake, which she tossed to Willow. “Guard the stairs. I'll be right back.”

Willow frowned at the weapon as Buffy ran up the stairs. “That must be a pretty serious gift.”

A few minutes, later, Buffy returned with the boxes, now wrapped in festive paper. She smiled smugly. “Twenty-four hours ago, I had zero ideas. But tonight, I'm so getting the award for best gifter. I am officially awesome. Just wait until you see yours.” She took back the stake and returned it to the coat. “You didn't have use that, did you?”

“No... But Buffy? You're acting a little weird.”

Buffy chuckled as she led them into the living room. “I've had a weird day. FYI, being groped by a prison guard? Not fun.”

“Well, it really depends on the guard,” Anya said from the sofa. “Male or female? Hot?”

“Female. And no.” Buffy sat beside her after putting the gifts under the tree. “What did the doctor say?”

“My x-rays look better than expected. She wants to take the cast off this week.”

Xander leaned forward from the other end of the sofa. “Can we go back to the 'Buffy with a female prison guard' part of the conversation?”

“Did you miss the 'not hot' part, Xan?” Buffy laughed. “I went to see Faith. She's got a bit of a reputation in there, and no record of visitors. They were suspicious, so I got pawed at.”

“I didn't think you'd go through with it. You know, with Spike being all 'grr' about it.”

“You knew I was going?”

Giles spoke up for the first time since Buffy had entered the room, unwittingly rescuing Xander from his slip up. “What possible purpose could visiting Faith serve?”

“Guys, I just wanted to talk to her. Why is everyone looking at me like I beat up a puppy?”

“Because you went to visit Faith,” Willow said slowly, as if explaining something to a child. “Why would you even want to talk to her?”

“Um, because she's a slayer?” Buffy looked around the room. “Did anyone else notice the Hellgod running around town? The one who beat the crap out of me, had us all attacked by marrow-sucking demons, and threw Anya into a wall?”

Willow's nose was still wrinkled. “So?”

“Glory is easily strong enough to kill me, and since her target is someone I'm willing to die to protect, it's not an unreasonable assumption that she might. If she does, Sunnydale will need a slayer, and there will only be one left in the world.”

Giles fidgeted with his tie in the ensuing silence. “Buffy, do you really think this is the appropriate time and place for this discussion?”

“I sure as hell don't.” Everyone looked up to see Spike in the doorway, holding a tray of appetizers.

“I know that look,” Dawn said. She glanced at her sister. “And that one. Make room, everyone. They're about thirty seconds from hitting each other.”

“No, we're not.” Buffy crossed her arms and settled further into the sofa cushions. “We are not having this argument again, William.”

“It'll stop being an argument when you admit you're not actually over it.”

“Oh, bite me!”

“One of these days, Slayer, I just might.” Spike's eyes glinted with amber.

“I dare you to try.”

“Don't think I can't. I'm not that out of practice.” He put the tray on the coffee table. “So what else are you lying about tonight?”

Buffy was suddenly on her feet with her fists clenched. “You son of a bitch. Don't you even imply--”

Dawn jumped between them. “It's Christmas, remember? Goodwill towards men and mortal enemies?”

Joyce stepped into the doorway behind Spike. “Outside. Both of you.” They didn't move. “Now!”

“Fine. Let's go.” Buffy brushed past them and headed for the back door. Spike followed, detouring to grab his coat.

“Don't come back until you're ready to act like civilized humans!” Joyce called after them.

“One of us doesn't qualify!” Buffy called back.

“He's not the one I'm worried about!” Joyce turned back to face her guests. “I'm so sorry. I don't know what's gotten into them tonight.”

“Rum, I think.” Anya said. “I could smell it on her breath when she was sitting with me.”

“He smells pretty boozy, too,” Dawn said. “And they're usually so good about keeping their arguments downstairs and their fights out of the house.” She shrugged. “Well, sometimes.”

Tara abruptly stood up. “I'll be right back.” The back door closed behind her a few seconds later, drawing the attention of the pair in the yard, who looked like they were about to prove Dawn right. “Hey! You two need to sober up and behave yourselves,” she said, walking toward them. “Another little display like that could raise questions none of us want to answer.”

“Then tell this woman to make up her bloody mind! One minute, she's acting like we've got all the time in the world. The next, she's practically planning her funeral. Been going back and forth like that for months, but this...” He looked at Buffy. “This is probably the worst you could make it.”

“I'm a slayer, remember? If I'm not expecting it, I'm a really, really stupid slayer.”

Tara shook her head. “I have a feeling the subtext here is none of my business, so I'm not going to ask. I will say this, though: You're both stupid.”

“Hey!” they said in unison, looking offended.

“Spike, no one knows slayers like you do. No one knows Buffy like you do. You know she has to prepare for the possibility, especially since we know when and where that possibility is. And Buffy, you know Spike needs to know where you stand. You never like to say what you're thinking, and nothing good ever comes of it. So just say it, already.”

“I already did.”

Tara looked back and forth between them. “Ok, so I found the subtext. ...But that's not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I know.” Buffy took a deep breath. “There's a difference between expecting it and wanting it, Sparky.”

“And what happens when you cross from one to the other? It's a thin line, love.”

“Make it a quick talk, guys,” Tara said, turning back toward the house. When she got back to the living room, she returned to her chair with a proud smile. “Mrs. Summers, your demons will be back in a minute, behaving themselves.”

“Buffy's not a demon!" Xander objected.

“Technically, she is part demon,” Anya said with a one-shoulder shrug. “All slayers are.”

Willow frowned. “Maybe so, but it's not enough to call her one.”

“Guys, guys! I was speaking metaphorically...”

Outside, Buffy allowed the soft, time-worn leather to be draped over her shoulders for the second time in an hour. “I do know it isn't likely anymore, but I still feel compelled to prepare for it. Tara's right--”

“On both counts, I'd say.”

“I should be more upfront with you. You deserve frequent reminders that I'm not looking for it.” She sat down on the garden bench. “And maybe other frequent reminders.”

“Guess I should know better than anyone that you're gonna expect it. ...Just afraid you'll start to want it again.”

“How the hell did we survive without Tara around to keep us in line?”

“We barely did.” Spike joined her on the bench. “You don't want it, do you?”

“I meant what I said to Althenea. I'm over the death wish. But that doesn't mean death won't find me.”

“I'm not gonna let you jump.”

“And I know why.” She sighed as she looked toward the house. “I should have said it sooner. I've been holding onto that for a while.”

“Figured that part out on my own. Any special reason?”

“There's never a good time to say stuff like that. There's always a Turok to hunt, a war to be fought, time travel spells, or something going on.”

Spike leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Before we left. Suspected as much.”

“Last Christmas was when it hit me. Until then, I wasn't even sure I'd forgiven... what happened. But when I couldn't get to you, couldn't get you out of there, I realized I was way past forgiving. The dreams were the big giveaway.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Every night, I saved you.”

“Further back than I thought.” Spike clenched his jaw. “A whole bloody year, and you never said...” He shook his head. “Taking everything I've got not to knock you off this bench right now.”

“It's only been about nine months. For us, anyway.”

“And that's so much better.” He threw her a glare.

She gave him a pleading smile. “Will you forgive me if I promise to remind you sometimes, and not die until I have to?”

“I'm gonna hold you to that.”


Something in the kitchen crashed to the floor. Spike scooted his chair away from the dining table. “Slayer?” he called. “Joyce?”

The only response from the kitchen was giggling.

“Ok, so I guess no one's hurt,” Xander said. “But was that the sound of a pie falling to its death?”

“I'll check.” Dawn started to stand up, but Joyce's appearance in the doorway stopped her.

Her face was flushed, and she was smiling. “So... How about ice cream instead?”

Tara frowned, a memory surfacing. “Buffy slayed the pie, didn't she?”

Joyce nodded, giggling again.

Tara shook her head. “Of course she did.”


“An English dictionary?” Willow fought back the urge to laugh with everyone else. “Thanks, Dawnie.”

“Heaven knows you need it,” Giles muttered.

“I so called it!” Dawn smiled proudly.

Anya shrugged. “It's better than the candy and dirt Buffy gave you.”

“It's not just dirt, Anya!” Buffy pointed out the handwritten labels on the vials. “That's from the burnt lawn of Sunnydale High. This one is from the gate at Restfield. That one is from the quad at UC Sunnydale. That one is from her parents' yard. And that one is from the flower bed in front of the Magic Box.”

“Ok, so it's local dirt.”

“It's sentimental, Anya,” Tara explained. “So Willow can take her homeland with her.”

Dawn reached for the largest gift under the Christmas tree. “Well, I hope this box isn't full of dirt, 'cause it's huge.” She read the label. “Buffy, this one is yours... From someone with beautiful handwriting.”

Tara snickered.

Buffy glared at Spike. “You so put her up to that.” She gave the large package a shake. “What is it?”

“The point is to unwrap the thing, Slayer.”

She tore open the paper to reveal a sturdy wooden case, finished to a warm honey color, with ornate, wrought iron hinges and latches. She ran a hand across the smooth surface. “Ooh! Pretty!”

“Harris did the woodwork.”

“It's lovely, Xan.” Buffy opened the case. The inside was lined with thick, sturdy foam, with a foam divider running the length of the middle, all of it covered in a velvety black fabric. “I think I know what this is for.” She closed the case and looked at the wood again. “This is oak, isn't it?”

“Yep,” Xander confirmed. “Spike insisted on oak for some reason.”

“It's perfect,” she whispered, looking at Spike. “I love it.”

Anya looked bored. “Dirt, dictionaries, and boxes? What's next? Socks?”

Dawn studied the pile of unopened gifts. “Not that I know of. Mom?”

“Even I'm not that practical,” Joyce laughed.

Tara gave Dawn a nudge and pointed out a package. “I think this is a good time for that one.”

Dawn read the label. “To Spike and Buffy. From Tara.”

Spike opened the shallow gift box to reveal two simple, silver picture frames. One frame held the familiar sight of the oak tree at the vineyard, its leaves catching the moonlight. The other was of the same tree in broad daylight, with its twisted trunk clearly visible. Spike studied the base of the tree in the sunlit photo. “I think I see it now.” He handed the frame to Buffy. “Look close, love.”

She scrutinized the photo. “Yeah... Two trees. Huh.” She passed around frames to show everyone. “This is a really great gift, Tara. Thank you.”

“Only way I can see it in mid-day. Thanks, Glinda.”

Joyce looked at the photos. “It's certainly a beautiful tree, but I don't understand the significance.”

Giles looked uncomfortable. He glanced at the time travelers. “Perhaps we shouldn't.”

Spike and Buffy held a silent conference, looking at each other just long enough to catch the attention of the others. Spike stood up and went downstairs. Buffy picked up her wooden case again. “Spike and I told Tara about a trip to the outskirts of town that we haven't gotten around to sharing with the group yet, and I guess we inspired her gift with that conversation. The tree in those photos overlooks the place a slayer dream sent us to get what goes in here.”

“Ah. Hence the oak.” Xander nodded in understanding. “What was it?”

“A pair of really nice weapons.”

Spike came back into the room with the scythes. “Too good to be tucked under our bed like they've been, sitting loose. Love?”

Buffy accepted one of the scythes and placed it in the case. “Perfect fit.” He handed her the other one. “You know, I still can't tell the difference?”

“Me neither.” Spike looked at the sets of curious eyes. “They're powerful. Should be a big help with Glory, when the time comes.”

Buffy handed the second scythe to Willow. “Do you feel it?”

Willow's eyes went wide. “Wow. There's a lot of juice running through there.” She handed it off to Tara. “I bet they didn't tell you this when they told you about that tree!”

Tara accepted the weapon gingerly. “Um, no. They just, um, told me where they found them. And yeah, I think this will be very... helpful.” She gave the scythe back to Buffy, who put it in its case, and closed the latches. “So what are we opening next?”


Willow followed Joyce into the kitchen. “Buffy has officially joined the old folks. She said she'll have tea with Giles and Spike. Everyone else is still on the eggnog train. I can help.”

“Thank you, dear. Will you fill the kettle for me?”

“Sure.” She took the tea kettle to the sink and looked over her shoulder. “So were you just faking being happy with that book Spike gave you? '101 Fun and Fruity Cocktail Recipes' doesn't seem like it's exactly your style.”

Joyce chuckled. “Actually, I think it will be fun to experiment with. When you're older, Willow, you'll appreciate silly, impractical gifts. They become rather rare by the time you reach my age, when almost everyone looks at you as a serious adult, or just as somebody's mom.”

Willow put the kettle on the stove and turned to face her hostess. “So can I ask you another question, as a mom?” At Joyce's nod, she continued. “Why are you letting Buffy... um, shack up with Spike under your roof? He said they were keeping those axe thingies under his bed, but he called it 'our bed,' and you didn't even blink. Neither did Dawnie. Buffy's with him every night, isn't she?”

Joyce put down the tin of nutmeg. “Willow, have you noticed anything different about Buffy lately?”

“Oh, yea. Lots. She's like a totally different person. She doesn't talk as much, to anyone or about anything, for starters. She always seems to be holding something back. We're struggling to still be friends, mostly because she's not really there, you know?”

“What else have you noticed?”

“Besides the chipped up vampire attached to her hip, not much. Again with the not talking problem.”

“She's finally comfortable in her own skin, Willow. Even with her constant worrying about this Glory person, she's more settled than I've seen her since before she became a slayer. She's not faking at being at ease with herself. She actually is. Trust me, a mother can tell.”

“You think he's good for her.”

“Something has certainly changed her attitude. Spike is the most obvious culprit. And if she ties him a little closer to the human world, that's good, too. Right?”

Willow shifted her weight. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Just then, in the living room, Dawn was exclaiming, “Holy crap, Buffy! What's in there? I think the vampire is on the verge of blushing.”

“I bet I know,” Anya said. “But lace would be more expressive than paper. Unless there's a photo?”

Spike slammed the book shut. “Nothing like that. Nibblet, grab the next gift.”

When the group's attention drifted away from him, Spike fidgeted with the silver pen, running a fingertip along the engraved initials, 'WHP', while he looked at the dark red leather of the book. The cover and spine were blank. He glanced around again, assuring himself no one was watching, and opened the book again. 150 lined pages, just waiting for ink. The only writing inside was on the flyleaf.


I don't care what your peers thought. I know whatever you create in these pages will be worth reading. I'm looking forward to you getting drunk enough to let me see it. Take your time. I'm in no hurry. I hope I don't need to be. And if you later find I should have been, remember where I went, and that you still saved me, in ways you'll never even know. I love you, Sparky.



Buffy came downstairs to find Spike sitting on the bed, staring at the flyleaf of the book again. She placed the scythe case on top of the dresser. “I think it looks good there. What do you think?” There was no response. “Hey! Earth to Spike! Are you still trying to translate my handwriting?”

He closed the book. “No. I can read every word.”

“So you've finally gotten used to Buffy Sanskrit. Took you long enough.”

Spike was on his feet and in front of her in a second, burying her joke in kisses that left her breathless.

She pulled away, gasping. “Ok, I think that means I did good with the gift stuff.”

“Much better than socks.”

“Big achievement.”

He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “I love you.”

“I hear you.” After another heated kiss, she led him to the bed and waited while he moved his book to the nightstand. Something shiny on her pillow caught her eye. “What's that?” She picked it up, frowning when she identified the object. “You took it back. And you put it on a necklace?”

“Eh, it was loose on your finger, anyway.”

Buffy studied the familiar skull ring, which had been cleaned until it shone brightly enough to hold its own against the new silver chain it was attached to. She narrowed her eyes. “What is this, Spike?”

“It's... It's a request.”

“Technically, that's what it was the first time. Spit it out.”

“I'm just asking you to wear it.”

“To represent what?”

“Isn't that what human blokes your age do? Put their rings on chains for their girls to wear? And weren't you about to rip my clothes off?”

“I'll get back to that in a minute.” She jingled the jewelry in her hand. “A girlfriend necklace? What does that mean?”

He thought for a moment. “That we're exclusive?”

“That was kind of implied.”

“So was the end of our engagement, according to you.”

“And according to you, it was ok that I kept this, and put it in my weapons chest. And now I find out my engagement ring has been downgraded to a girlfriend necklace. That's just... awesome.”

“You pissed off that I took it out of the chest or pissed off that I gave it back?”

“I'm pissed off because I thought it meant more than... this.

“If you'd rather wear it on your hand, Slayer, go right ahead. Won't get any argument from me.”

“That would be a first,” she scoffed. “Wait. Are you serious?”

“Sure sounds like you are. You're the one still calling it an engagement ring!”

“That's still how I think of it, ok? Don't read so much into it. It was just a stupid spell! We could barely even hold a civil conversation back then.”

“And that's changed?” He raised an eyebrow, challenging her.

“The only thing that changed was you letting me keep it when we were bouncing. That's what I thought actually meant something. ...Something a little better than a stupid girlfriend necklace!”

“It was already yours. Told you as much at the time. Not like you ever listen to a damn thing I say!”

“Oh, I'm listening. I'm getting this lovely little message loud and clear. And you know what? You're probably right. It didn't mean anything. Hell, getting along with you even well enough for girlfriend status would be my greatest achievement.” She put the silver chain around her neck. “There! Officially downgraded. Happy?”

“It wasn't meant as an insult, you stupid bint!”

“Too late! The damage is done. It's a girlfriend necklace now. So if you decide you want to marry me, William Pratt, you're going to have to ask me all over again!”

“Don't tempt me!” he threatened. “I'll march your stubborn ass down the aisle so fast, people will think I've knocked you up.”

“And how exactly to you plan to pull that one off, genius? We're surrounded by people who know that isn't possible, and think we've only been seeing each other since last month!”

“Then just wear the damn necklace, pretend to be my girlfriend--”

“Pretend?!” she interjected.

“--and marry me on the sly!”

Spike slowly sat down the edge of the bed, visibly surprised at his own words.

Buffy leaned against the bed beside him, and stared across the basement. “Whoa.”

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his head bowed. “Yeah,” he agreed.

There was a long silence. “Are you still drunk?” she eventually whispered.

Spike looked up to stare across the room with her. “Stone cold sober. You?”


“Fairly sure we can't blame this one on Red, either.”

“Safe bet.”

He threw up his hands. “Oh, why the hell not? May as well. Already been through bleedin' everything together. We put each other through most of it.”

“If this is you talking yourself into it, I'm willing to pretend I didn't hear anything that sounded even remotely like a proposal.”

“Maybe I'm talking you into it.”

“Or maybe you've lost your damned mind. Again.”

“Possible.” His gaze fell on the space they'd recently agreed to fill with a wardrobe, so Buffy could move more of her clothes downstairs. From there, his eyes traveled around the room, taking in the furniture, decorative objects, and casually intermingled belongings that had slowly crept in over the last two months, turning half of an unfinished basement into a cozy, homey little nest for two. “Look around, love. What do you see?”

“Um, our room? Full of our stuff?” She glanced at him. “What are you getting at?”

“In here, it already looks like we're long past arguing about engagement rings.”

“We don't just live in this room, you know. What about the rest of the world?”

“What counts is in here. Been that way for a while now.”

“Don't start getting romantic on me now, Spike. We're way past that. For tonight, anyway.”

“So the plan of ripping my clothes off...?”

“Don't change the subject, either.” She sighed. “The rest of the world doesn't know about all that stuff we've put each other through. They wouldn't understand... We'd be hiding again. You hate that.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Just wanted to see you wearing my ring again. That's all I was asking.”

“Well, if you'd been straightforward about it, like you are with pretty much everything else, we wouldn't have ended up screaming threats of marriage at each other.” She sat down beside him. “It's been sitting in the back of your mind for a while, hasn't it?”

“A little, I suppose. Mostly the other... the thing you don't want to talk about.”

“Same here. But this? This is just an old fantasy, a leftover from a spell gone wrong.” She smiled. “It's not like we could even follow through if we tried. I'm pretty sure California doesn't have a statute that covers marrying undead illegal immigrants.”

“We could follow through. That's not a problem.” Spike shrugged at her look of surprise. “How do you think I keep ownership of all the properties? I have all the paper needed to pass for a living human, love, and it's kept up to date. Anything I don't have, I can get. It'd be legal.” He paused as something occurred to him. “Bloody hell... Buffy, it would be legal.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You already said that.”

“Think about it. What changes a few months down the line if you're hitched? And to a man with a bit of dosh, besides?”

“I buy a new car?”

“Sure, if you want. After you ace the custody hearing.”

“Oh... Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “Marriage and money are major stability markers. We wouldn't be constantly on the verge of losing Dawnie. ...You realize you might be her legal guardian, too, right?”

“Used to taking care of the Nibblet. Got too much practice a couple years back.” He took her hand. “Hoping not to get the same sort of practice again.”

“And if you had to... Spike, you might have a chance at keeping her. It would be a long shot, but not impossible. I'd want her to stay with you. ...Sorry, sorry. I know you hate the contingency planning.”

“Yeah, but you're right. Could work in her favor, later... But since you're not gonna jump, we'd just be using it to get custody in the first place. Right?”

“Mom would have to be told some stuff. I wouldn't want to hide this from her.”

“She already knows we aren't who we say we are, love. She saw the flashing.”

“She doesn't know what it means yet, assuming she even remembers it.” Buffy tapped her lower lip with one finger, thinking. “The name change stuff takes a while. I'd probably still be using my maiden name for a couple of months... So hiding from the Scoobies until spring should play out fine.”

Spike's eyebrows shot up. “You'd change your name?”

“Yeah. I mean, if it's ok with you.”

“There are some old fashioned streaks in my modern California girl, then?”

She laughed. “Buried deep, but yeah, I guess so.”

“We know Glinda would stand up for us. If we need a second witness, think Joyce would do it?”

“Probably.” She started tapping her lip again. “...Justice of the Peace. Here at the house. In the evening. Shouldn't take more than half an hour. We'll just have to get the license in advance. Pick a cloudy day, and swing by the County Clerk's office...”

“Sometime soon, 'fore Glory pokes her head out of her hole again.”

“Yeah, we should do it while we're not busy. We don't need the officiant witnessing a surprise demon attack or something. That wouldn't help our case later.”

Spike held up a hand to pause the impromptu planning session. “Before this goes any further, I gotta ask: You agreeing to this just for the Bit's sake?”

Buffy exhaled slowly. “I don't know... 'Yes' sounds like the wrong answer to that question, but for the timing, at least, it's an honest one.” She looked up at him. “That's not what you wanted to hear.”

“It's not much of an answer at all.”

“If it weren't for Dawnie, I'd probably be trying to talk you into starting this argument up again in a few years, so there would be a simple answer. At least, I hope there would be a simple answer by then. 'Cause right now? We kind of have a world to save. And this is pretty low priority stuff we're talking, Lieutenant.”

“Thanks loads. About not being straightforward...”

“You know what I mean. You usually do. This is not the time to start pretending you aren't a Buffy translation expert.” She shook her head. “And if we didn't know custody would be a struggle, it would also be a really, really stupid time to try to play out that ridiculous Will Be Done spell.”

He gave her a pointed look. “No 'Wind Beneath My Wings.'”

“God, no. I have no idea why I even suggested that. 'Highway to Hell' would have been more appropriate, anyway.” They traded smirks. “And no personally written vows.”

“Fine. No tux.”

“That's fair. No frilly white dress.”

Spike shrugged. “Not like anyone would buy that lie, anyway.”

She tried to glare at him, but couldn't help expressing how amused she was by the negotiations. “Do we have a deal?” she asked through a chuckle.

Spike studied her smile for a moment before he reached around her neck to undo the clasp on her necklace. “Need to borrow the ring for a minute, love.”

She grabbed the ring and chain before they could be lifted away. “Oh, no. Don't you dare.”

“We can't let all that yelling stand, Buffy. You should have a real proposal.”

“I've had a proposal.” She secured her necklace back into place. “We're good. Leave it alone.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You're not counting the first time, are you?”

“I'm counting tonight. I'd rather have spontaneous yelling from my angry, impulsive vampire than some gooey, romantic crap you've probably been rewriting in your head since you were human. I'll quit while I'm ahead, thanks.”

The eyebrow rose higher.

“Don't even try to deny it. You think I don't know you, William?”

“Oh, yeah.” He shook his head at himself. “This'll end well.”

Chapter #18 - Steps Behind

Author's Note: Thanks for continuing to read and review. I appreciate it!


Chapter 18: Steps Behind

December, 2000

Spike walked into the living room and over to the desk. “Enough with the paperwork, Joyce. Come on outside with me.” He handed her one of the mugs of cocoa he carried.

“Sure. I could use a break.” She grabbed her shawl and followed him out to the back porch, taking a seat on the top step beside him. “Is everything alright? I know Buffy comes out here with you when she's worried about something.”

“Just need to talk to you.”

“If this is about that check... Spike, I'm not going to deposit it.”

“Yeah, you are. You need it. I don't.”


He gave her a dangerous look. “You're housing a vampire in your basement, Joyce. Best not to oppose him much.”

She glared back. “You're housing my daughter in your bedroom, an arrangement I could very easily bring to a sudden stop. Who has the leverage?”

“Stubborn woman.” Spike shook his head. “You play hard ball.”

“Uh-huh.” She gave him a smug grin. “Where did you think she got it from?”

“She's why I wanted to talk.”

Joyce nodded for him to continue, her smile fading at his serious tone.

“What do you remember, 'bout what was going on when you were in hospital, waiting for surgery?”

She blinked. “Oh, no... It wasn't a dream.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Dawn shimmered and glowed. I already knew about her, but seeing it was very different from being told.”

“And?” he prompted. “What did you think was a dream?”

“It was nighttime, and Buffy was in my room. She left when a nurse came in. You came to the doorway a little while later, when I was feeling very drowsy. Both you and Buffy were flashing, like white lights with images of slightly different people between them. You didn't look that different from one image to the other, just very stressed and tired in one of them. Buffy had the same kind of look in one of her images. But she was also very thin, and... I don't know? Maybe a little older? In the other image, she looked more like she does now. I know, it doesn't make much sense.” She shook her head. “I really thought it was a dream. But if you're asking, I know it wasn't.”
“It wasn't.”

She took a deep breath, bracing herself. “Ok. Tell me what it was that I saw.”

“The truth.” He took a sip of his cocoa. “You saw who we really are. Two versions, merged together. Present and future. We got those looks on our faces from living through some bloody awful years. Got ourselves sent back into our own pasts to fix it.”

“Time travel.”

“Yeah. Time travel. Tara reads auras pretty well. Knew we were imposters as soon as she laid eyes on us. Could see the differences, and the magic around it. You can ask her, if you want someone to verify.”

“You'll understand if I do?”

“Won't be offended. Just don't try to send my girl back to the funny farm, alright?”

“She talked about the clinic?”

“When the situation was bad enough she had to.” Spike ran a hand through his hair. “Almost lost her over that one, in about the worst way we could have. Told you, bloody awful years.”

Joyce was silent for a few minutes. “How long have you been here, in this time?”

“Since September.”

“Ah. That explains a lot. Buffy has seemed... different for the last few months. I thought it was mostly about her getting closer to you, but that makes sense. Why September?”

“This Glory business is why we're here, but we had ourselves sent back to right before the Bit arrived. Didn't want to risk messing that up. Couldn't lose our Nibblet, but we couldn't afford to lose our memories, either. Was still risky, but we were desperate.”

“Were things really that bad?”

“End of the world bad.” Spike lost himself in thought for a few minutes. “After the mutiny,” he eventually whispered, “me and the general came back home, and they let her take the reins again. Not long after, she put two options on the table, and lobbied for this one. Me? I didn't feel good about either of 'em, not at first. Too much magic, too much that could go wrong. But I backed her up, as usual. And here we are.”

“The general? A mutiny? This sounds like... was Buffy leading a war?”

“And we were on the losing side. Theory is, if we'd taken the other option, I wouldn't have made it. Odds are, I wouldn't have been the only one. This way, should be a lot less bloodshed. Too soon to tell if it'll work out. We're still in that war, Joyce, just fighting it differently. Getting ahead of the causes.”

“I see.” Joyce fell silent again. “We,” she finally whispered. “You keep saying 'we.' You two have been together a lot longer than a couple of months, haven't you?”

“A few years. Off and on, hot and cold, but always around... when we could be.”

“That sounded like a disclaimer. What kept you apart?”

Spike shook his head. “There's a lot I shouldn't say. Do want to tell you a couple of things, though.” He waited for her nod. “First, the chip in my head is long gone. I've been off the bloody leash for months. Back in our time, it nearly turned me to a vegetable when it buggered up, zapping constantly. Buffy called Finn's people for help, had it removed. She just did it a lot sooner this time around.”

“Well, then I can thank her for that, for saving you that pain. But you haven't been, um...”

“Hunting? Nah. Get my kicks these days out patrolling with the slayer.” He smirked. “And fighting with her. All these years, and she can still sometimes throw a punch that surprises me.” He sobered his expression. “The other thing I want you to know: A year before we left our time, I broke the trust with Buffy, did something she should never have forgiven. Soon as I realized what I'd done, I took a trip to find a certain shaman, a demon who specializes in hard requests, and makes you earn it in blood and misery. Barely made it through the trials, but... I came out of there with my soul.”

Joyce sucked in a breath.

“It's not a curse, not as shaky as Angel's. But it might get gone further along the timeline.” Spike looked away. “Buffy's leaving it to me whether I risk letting it go. Doesn't seem to think I need it as much as she used to. But the risk I'm hinging on is maybe making her have to be my conscience again, like she was before I went. Don't want to be a burden. Been enough of one, already.”

“How's that?”

“Shove a dozen decades worth of conscience in a vamp all at once, he'll go a little mad. Still don't know how I managed to find my way back. Hardly remember the trip. Curled up close to the Hellmouth, too plagued with nightmares and flashbacks and confusion to function, too driven by instinct to dust myself... or stay away from Sunnyhell. Buffy found me. Kept an eye on me. Eventually, she brought me home. Was another Big Bad in play, made it more complicated than that, but that's the gist of it. ...This isn't the first time I've lived downstairs, Joyce, and not the first time Buffy's made a habit of staying down there with me.”

She studied his profile. “You didn't need to tell me all of this, Spike. Or any of it, as far I can tell. I appreciate it, don't get me wrong. A lot of things make more sense now, not the least of which is why you and Buffy don't act like any new couple I've ever seen. Because you aren't.”

“Not at all.” He turned to look her in the eye. “That's why I told you. Wanted you to have the facts in front of you before I asked for your daughter's hand.”


“This is such a bad idea.”

“Oh, come on! I know you missed the last year, and in a lot of ways, that one counted most, but I really want some custody insurance, and this will work.”

“That's a terrible reason to get married, Buffy.” Tara closed the door behind them. “But I was referring to breaking into the Magic Box.”

“Well, I turned in my keys on the spur of the moment, and I didn't get everything I should have.”

“Spur of the moment? You mean 'heat of temper,' right? Also, why can't you get your stuff during the day?” Tara's tiny key chain flashlight barely lit their path through the darkened store.

“Because it's not mine to take.”

“Buffy Summers! I did not sign on to rob Mr. Giles' store!”

“Shh! I just need some information. In the office.”

Tara tried the knob. “It's locked. Are you going to pick this one, too?”

“Yep. Point the light for me.” Buffy dropped to her knees and pulled the tiny leather case of lock picks out of her pocket again. “By the way, I didn't say custody was the only reason.”

“No, you just made it sound like it was the main one. I get that you have to be practical, Buffy. I'm in this boat with you. And I understand you're not really the romantic type, but...”

“But what?”

“Spike is. How do you think he feels about a marriage of convenience?”

“There!” Buffy opened the office door. “I'm starting to get good at this. Spike will be so proud.”

Tara followed her into the office. “Maybe... After he yells at you for stealing his lock picks from his coat pocket.”

“He'll get over it.” Buffy closed the door and turned on the desk lamp. “Ok, you're on Rolodex duty. I need names, addresses and phone numbers of any office of -or anyone obviously connected to- the Council. First priority, Quentin Travers. And if you see a woman named Lydia listed, I definitely need her info. That's the watcher who was all swoony over Spike. She could be very helpful.”

“You do realize that half the straight women on the planet would get swoony over Spike?”

“But they aren't Watchers. Lydia's swooning could be useful.” Buffy scanned the bookshelves, looking for a particular volume. “The rest can keep dreaming. Those cheekbones are mine. Ah! Here it is!”

Tara frowned at the book Buffy pulled off the shelf. “You don't own a copy of The Slayer Handbook?”

“No,” Buffy gave a vague imitation of a pout. “Giles said it would be useless with me.” But this isn't what I'm after.” She reached to the back of the shelf, behind the Handbook's space, and pulled out what looked like the same book, only larger. She dropped it on the corner of the desk with a proud smile. “Watcher Edition. Annotated.”

Tara nodded. “Now that could be useful. She handed Buffy a sheet of paper, and took one for herself. As she began flipping through the Rolodex, she glanced at her friend, who was perusing the book's table of contents. “He's going along with it to make you happy. You know that, right?”

“What? Getting hitched? Totally his idea. I mean, not in a planned way, but still...”

“What I'm saying, sweetie, is that this is just another version of that weird fling you had. He wanted more out of it, and should have backed off, because you weren't ready to give it, but he hung on, because he thought it would make you happier. Also, he's stupidly optimistic where you're concerned. Back then, he thought if he waited patiently, you'd catch up with him, be in the same place in the relationship he was. I doubt that's changed.”

“Thanks, Dr. Freud. Or is it Dr. Ruth? And Spike doesn't do patient.”

“With you, he does. Sometimes. And I'm being serious, Buffy. This is a lot harder to back out of than an affair. And I don't mean that just in the legal sense. If you do this for the wrong reasons, you might not be able to repair it this time.”

“I don't see it as important, the marriage part, that is. This is going to be a long-term thing, probably until the next time I die, whenever that turns out to be. Nothing's going to change because we sign a marriage license. We're not exactly aiming for white picket fences and fat babies, here.”

“No, you're just solidifying commitment in a way that meant way more in his time than it does in ours.”

“His time,” Buffy whispered, biting her lip. She shook off her thoughts. “I'm changing my name. Even he called that old fashioned. I think we're good.”

Tara sighed, exasperated. “Just think about it, ok? Promise me you two will talk about this before Sunday? Without yelling at each other?”

“Ok, ok. I promise.” Buffy turned her attention back to her book.


After seeing Tara back to her dorm, Buffy cut across Restfield cemetery, letting her mind wander as her feet traced a familiar path. She was so deep in thought, she didn't notice the vampire behind her until he reached for her shoulder. Her elbow flung back reflexively, knocking his hand away. She gave him a jab to the nose as she turned around. The next punch sent him reeling away from her.

“Aw! Come on! You've got to have more fight in you than that! I could use the workout.” The vampire lunged toward her, and she grinned. “That's a good boy.”

When she tired of toying with him, she swept his feet out from under him and drove her stake home, dropping into a crouch to do it. When she looked up through the settling ashes, she saw a familiar pair of boots in a familiar doorway a few feet away. She stood up and dusted herself off. “Friend of yours?”

“No, I just came out to enjoy the show.” Spike grinned. “Feels like old times.”

“Not so much. I can't kick your door in if it's already open.”

“You'll get over it.” He waved her into the crypt. “What brings you, love? Something wrong? You knew I'd be home before sun up.”

“I think I was running on auto-pilot. I was passing this way, and wanted to talk to you, so my feet brought me here. Old habits.” Buffy looked around the inside of the crypt. “Oh, wow. It's all... gone.”

“This isn't what I've been working on.” He started toward the hatch in the floor.

“I can tell. It's so ...bare.”

“It's a crypt again.”

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the empty spaces where the television, refrigerator, and orange recliner used to sit. “It doesn't look like it's yours anymore,” she whispered.

“Yeah, 'cause I don't live here. You are the woman I've been waking up with for months, right?”


“Then what's the problem?”

She walked the room. There were no forgotten whiskey bottles, no t-shirts thrown into corners. “It's like you were never here. When you moved back home, you said you were keeping it.”

He shrugged. “Turns out I didn't need to. Farm Boy's long gone. Your mates know where to find me. Clem and me meet up at Willy's. Any demons I have business with, I go to them.”

“You're the master vamp in town, Spike. Your banker, your ID guy, and whomever else you're dragging around by the nose to do things for you, should all be coming to you. Like they used to.”

“Not worth keeping up the crypt just to play the pretentious git. Only took advantage of it the first time 'round for my ego. 'Sides, Jenna and Charlie know how to reach me. Lucy's got the number, too. The rest of the demon world has no clue where I hang my hat. Lends an air of mystery.”

“I'm sure enough of them have seen us together by now that they can figure it out.”

“And who's going to bother either of us, if they do?” He grinned. “No human will mess with a family with a vamp in the basement. And no demon will mess with a vamp in the slayer's house.”

“Tell that to the Bringers who kidnapped you from that very same basement.”

“Well, there's that. Come look. It's nearly done.” Spike led her down the ladder to the lower room.

She jumped off the last rung and turned around. “Damn. I think this is even more depressing.”

Her eyes roamed the large room. What was in their memories a cozy, candlelit love nest now had the appearance of an emergency shelter for a group. The electricity routed from the Restfield caretaker's house was now run to the lower level instead of the upper, and powered a few appliances and bright overhead lights. Near the ladder, a bookcase full of bedding sat beside a wooden bin full of pillows, both tightly wrapped in plastic to keep the dampness out. The rest of that long front wall had plastic-wrapped mattresses butted up against it, with candles sitting in the spaces between them. There was another mattress to the right of the ladder, in the place Spike's bed had been in their time. But this one sat on a low frame, with large drawers beneath it. Buffy opened one. He had already started building a weapons stash.

She walked the rest of the room. On the other side of the bed, in the recessed area, there was a kitchen of sorts. Two more plastic-wrapped bookcases, one full of dishes and cookware, the other full of dry goods, sat on either side of the refrigerator. Two small tables held a microwave and a small television. A much larger table dominated that side of the room, surrounded by metal folding chairs. At one end of it was a two-burner camp stove. At the other end, there were more candles. She ran her hand along the table's surface as she passed it. “You brought this from the safe house.”

“The candles and the mattress on our bed, too. No point in leaving 'em there to rot, just 'cause we'd gone back to our other basement.”

She didn't return his smile. She went through the hole in the far wall, that led to the sewers, and turned into the little alcove that had once been her bathroom. “You've already tapped into the water line.”

“Yeah, still gotta get the shower head hooked up, and get Glinda to stockpile some spell supplies in a drawer, but in the main, it's done.” He watched her pace the room again, a strange expression on her face. “So if we need to come here, we pack overnight bags and hit the grocer for perishables on the way. That's it.”

She looked at him, forcing a smile. “You've covered every base. This is so much better than a Winnebago and an abandoned gas station.”

“Familiar territory. Home field advantage.”


“So what's with the fake smile? This is what we planned to do with the place isn't it?”

Buffy nodded. “This is what we planned. I just didn't think it would hit me this hard. You're not going to agree with me on this, but I think this is worse than blowing it up.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You're right. I don't.”

“It's like upstairs. It's not yours anymore. And down here... It's not mine, either.”

“Don't get nostalgic on me now, Slayer. We're way too late to start working on a Plan C.”

She sat on the bed. “I know, I know. It's just bad timing, I guess. I talked to Tara tonight.”

He flopped down on the bare mattress beside her, his hands behind his head. “Yeah? What'd she say?”

“She made me think about things... things that mostly happened here, when this place was ours.” Buffy looked around the room again. “When things between us were... unbalanced. She reminded me that they still are.”

“Don't.” He closed his eyes. “Don't come back here, for the first time in months, and start a conversation that sounds like it's going to end in you walking out with an apology on your lips. I can't take that again, Buffy.”

“Ok,” she said slowly. “Then I'm just going to say what I'm thinking, and you have to promise not to interrupt me.” She nudged him. “Sit up and look at me. Please?”

He sat up, opening his eyes. “Alright, I'll hear you out. But--”

“No buts. Just listen.” She reached for his hand. “Me wishing we could put it off until later? It's not just because of the mission.” She took a deep breath. “I'm not too sure about this, Spike.”

“Here it comes,” he muttered. His hand started to pull away, but she held it firmly.

“You said you'd hear me out.” He stopped pulling. “You know how things turned out with my parents' marriage. After Mom found out about the second affair, their arguments were as bitter and hateful as ours at our worst. I think she hated him for talking her into a second chance, and herself for giving it to him. You and I have already had so many second chances, I'm terrified of the day we run out.”

“Love, we aren't your parents.”

“No, but we're wading in some serious commitment waters, and that's the example I'm working from.” She shook her head. “Not exactly 'happily ever after' stuff.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “I know you expect getting married to start that other conversation, the one that's even more terrifying. But talk about pushing our luck on second chances!” She shuddered. “That is not how I want your story to end.”

“My story?” Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Ah. I get it. You're avoiding even talking about it 'cause you think you might still have to jump.”

“Or drown. Or get shot. Or any number of other things. Have you seen my track record? I'm not willing to take the risk that... Not with you.” She shook off a shudder. “For Dawnie's sake, getting married is a smart move to make right now, no question. But I need to be totally clear on this before we go any further: I need a little more time. I'm willing, but I'm not where you are, Sparky. I'm a few steps behind, as usual. ...I'm not actually ready for this stuff.”

Spike's hand started to pull away again, and she let it go. It was buried in her hair a moment later, holding her in a deep kiss. When he broke away, he whispered, “I know you're not. But thanks for sayin' it.”


Buffy opened her eyes and looked around, realizing where she was. “Oh, crap.” She lifted her arm over her head to look at her wristwatch. “Make that an 'oh, shit.'” She pushed aside the leather coat that was serving as a blanket and rolled off the bare mattress. She scrambled around, trying to piece together the outfit she'd worn the previous night. “Have you seen my underwear?”

Spike half-opened his eyes to watch her. “Bloody hell. It's too early in the morning for flashbacks.”

“That's the problem! It's morning! The sun's already starting to come up.”

“Maybe when I wake up again, you won't be running out of here like you used to.” He let his eyes drift shut again.

A partially dressed Buffy pounced on him, straddling his waist and bending down to make her hair tickle his nose. “Wake up! You have just enough time to get dressed and take the sewers to Revello. The sun should still be low enough for you to make a run for it from there.”

“Or I can spend the day here, asleep. Finally got this mattress broken in. Gotta take advantage of it.”

“Not today. Come on. Up. It's Friday.”

“So? It's Friday, then. You staying or going? 'Cause I kinda like where you are.”

“Sure, I'll stay, but we won't be getting married this weekend if I do.”

He opened his eyes. “Friday. The marriage license.” He knocked her sideways onto the bed as he jumped up and started looking for his clothes.

She was laughing by the time she hit the mattress. “You remember details of World War I battles I'm pretty sure you were lying about attending, but you forget about going to the County Clerk's office? The single most important part of prep for your own wedding? You're going to be a terrible husband!”

He threw her panties at her. “That's what nagging wives are for, remembering the little shit.”

“You don't have to go through with it, you know,” she said as she dressed. “Seriously.”

“If I don't, your mum might stake me. Got all misty-eyed when I asked for your hand. What's she gonna be like if I disappoint her?”

Buffy's jaw dropped. “Asked for my...? Oh my god. What century are you from?” She held up a hand before his eyebrow was fully raised. “Forget I said that. You just really show your age sometimes.” She slipped on her boots and stepped over to kiss him as he reached for his. “I'll take the surface streets home. See you soon.” She climbed the ladder and could be heard hurrying out of the crypt above.

“Couldn't you have left like that every time?” He asked the empty room.


When Spike pushed aside the manhole cover and put a hand out onto the quiet street to gauge the sunlight, he felt something soft. He pulled it back into the darkness. It was the wool blanket he usually kept by the front door, tucked behind the umbrella stand.

Buffy was crawling out from under the bed when he came downstairs. “What are you up to, Woodchuck?”

“Just adding some new notes to the lock box.” She sniffed. “No crispy?”

“You raced me home to make sure of that.”


“Because I kept us at the bunker too long.”


“Why didn't I marry you sooner?”

“Ha! You'll change your tune.”

He smirked. “Don't be so sure.”

She pulled a tiny leather case from her pocket. “I stole your lock picks.”

“Dammit, Buffy!”


“Remind me to bite that meteorologist,” Spike mumbled from under the blanket in the back seat. 'Overcast all afternoon'? There's barely a cloud in the sky!”

“Just be glad there's a parking garage, with its own entrance,” Buffy said from the Jeep's driver's seat.

“I really need to work on the DeSoto.”

“The blanket is doing its job. Quit your bitching. I'm not going to put this off until we get lucky on the weather, because it could end up too close to my birthday. We're not doing this anywhere near my birthday. It would be a disaster. Three weeks is already uncomfortably close.”

“Just so you know, love, I'm never throwing you a birthday party.”

“Thank you. The first time was enough.”

“Hey! That was mostly Dru!”

“I'm sorry, whose minions gathered up Judge parts for her?”

“Alright, no more birthday parties, then. ...But I still plan to come watch the chaos at the parties other people throw for you.”

“I was hoping you'd be there to help me get out of whatever death and destruction I get tangled up in.”

“Sure, I can do that. After I've had a good laugh about it.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I really should turn this car around. I already want a divorce.”


Dawn let Xander into the house. “Hey, Xander. Buffy's downstairs with her punching bag.”

“What'd he do this time?”

“No, the real one. Spike's in the shower.”

Xander descended the basement stairs, stopping a few steps from the bottom. “Heya, Buffster.”

“Hey,” she said, still working the punching bag hanging from the ceiling. “Almost done. Have a seat.”

“Take your time.” Xander looked around as he made his way to the pair of club chairs.

The floor of the bedroom area was covered in faded tufted rugs, layered two deep in places. The bed was made, but the pillows were propped up against the headboard, stacked together, with a red, leather-bound book and a silver pen resting beside them. A cream colored robe hung over a corner of the foot board. One nightstand held a lamp and a stack of secondhand books, the other an alarm clock and the framed tree photos. Both had stacks of books and CDs on their lower shelves. The scythe case nearly covered the top of the dresser. A laundry basket, mostly full of black clothes, with a few items of denim, grey, and white mixed in, sat between the dresser and the wardrobe. Between the club chairs was Buffy's tiny dorm room refrigerator, with two liquor bottles and two glasses sitting on top.

Xander's gaze traveled to the five small canvas prints hanging on the wall above the bed. Each depicted a different landscape, partially obscured by text. “'Always forgive your enemies - nothing annoys them so much',” he read aloud from the one nearest the nightstand with the lamp. “That suits.”

Buffy stopped the swing of the bag with both hands and turned to look at the wall. “Dammit. He did it again.” She jumped up onto the bed. “He's always moving that one to his side. He thinks he's funny.” She lifted the print from the nail on which it hung and switched it out with the one nearest the other nightstand, which read 'True friends stab you in the front.'

Xander laughed. “Where did you get those?”

“Spike stumbled onto them at a secondhand shop. He had to have them. Oscar Wilde was a college friend. ...At least, that's the story. You know how vamps are about colorful histories.” She hopped off the bed and went to the mini-fridge to get a bottle of water. “Thirsty? I have Coke, water, Jack Daniels, Captain Morgan, and... ice. But there's lots of stuff upstairs.”

“Caffeine sounds good.” Xander accepted a can of Coke. “And Spike went to college?”

“Uh-huh. He's just good at acting like he didn't.” Buffy dropped into the neighboring chair. “So what brings you down to see the cellar dwellers?”

Xander glanced around again. “Actually, this is pretty nice for a vamp nest. Cozy.”

“Yeah, Spike's good at making subterranean holes feel homey. He's been adding stuff, a little at a time, since he moved in.” She pointed to the wardrobe. “We just got that this week. There's a serious lack of closet down here.”

“He mentioned that when we went out to Willy's. Did he really threaten to drop it on you? And live to tell the tale?”

“For now,” she grumbled. “Did he also tell you he's the jackass who started an argument while we were carrying that giant thing down the stairs?” She took a sip of her water. “How did Wednesday night go, anyway? Spike didn't say much.”

Xander frowned. “Surprisingly good. Clem joined us, and we had a good guys' night.”

“And the frowny face is because...?”

“Surprisingly. Like, very. As in, 'I think we're going to make a habit of it' surprising. And I'm seriously weirded out about being willing to do that.”

Buffy laughed. “I told you so.”

“I'm hearing enough of that at home, Buff. I don't need it from you, too.” He threw her a playful glare and looked around the bedroom area again, noticing something odd under the stairs. “I'm going to guess the pile of stakes beside the stereo is your contribution to the decor? ”

“Sort of. That's where they get thrown when they're noticed. I tend to leave them laying around. Spike hates it.”

“Gee, Buff. I wonder why?”

“You should have seen his face the first time I left one under my pillow.” She shrugged. “It's an old habit, you know. A good slayer is always armed.”

“A good slayer wouldn't keep the kind of lover who worries about finding stakes in the bed,” Spike grumbled, coming down the stairs. “Lesson the first be damned.”

“Does that make Faith the good one?” Buffy asked.

“What lesson? Also, please tell me there's a door number three.” Xander faked a shudder.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Why are you here, again?”

“Well, tomorrow is New year's Eve, and we have nothing planned. With Wils leaving on Tuesday, it's our last best chance for a big Scooby party. Shall we Bronze it? They're throwing a huge shindig. Formal, but black tie optional. Word on the street is, the bartenders won't be carding the regulars.”

Spike fluffed the pillows and sat on the bed against them, pushing his book aside. “Don't see why not.”

“I was thinking maybe we could all meet up someplace before, order some pizzas, let you girls do each other's hair or whatever, then walk to the Bronze together.”

“Uh-huh.” Buffy looked at her friend with narrowed eyes. “I can see straight through this. Our place is bigger than yours, big enough to host everyone, and Anya wants you to help her with her hair.”

Xander gave her a big, pleading smile. “Please, Buff? She got rid of the cast, but she's still wearing a brace, and using the sling a lot, because her arm is achy and weak. Pretty please? Bail me out?”

Spike stole a glance at Buffy. “What time were you thinking everyone would come calling?”

“Eight-ish? Things don't kick off at the Bronze until 10, and no New Year's party gets fun until 11 or so.”

“Well... It would give Dawnie a chance to feel like she's part of the group, without taking her out to a boozy party.” Buffy looked at Spike, then back to Xander. “Make it 8:30, then. We have plans for the earlier part of the evening. I'd better go warn Mom.”

Xander watched her run up the stairs. “What's on the agenda?”

“Just a date.” Spike turned around to kneel on the bed, and switched out the two canvas prints nearest the nightstands. He shook his head as he turned back around. “She thinks she's funny.”


“Honey, this is actually good news. You'll get a reception, sort of. You were going to go clothes shopping this evening, anyway. It should be easy enough to get something you can wear straight through. You already said you weren't getting anything white or fancy. I bet the party won't even have to influence your choice.”

Buffy paced her mother's room. “What if the officiant runs late? What if he's not gone by the time the Scoobies show up? How will Tara explain coming over early, and telling Willow she can't come with?”

“Buffy, breathe. Did Spike agree to this?”

“He acts like he thinks it will be fine.”

“Do you know why? Because it will be. If all the jitters you have are about handling back to back events, you're doing very, very well.”

“Jitters? Mom, this isn't jitters. This is serious worry about plans going totally sideways.”

Joyce kept her tone low and soothing. “Take another deep breath, honey. There you go. This is panic over nothing, instead of the big stuff you're afraid to panic about out loud. That's jitters. It's normal. I'll call the Justice of the Peace first thing tomorrow, and ask if he can get here a little earlier. You call Tara tonight, work out some excuse she can make to meet Willow here, and we'll say she arrived just ahead of the others. How does that sound?”

Buffy started to relax. “Ok. That might work.”

Her mother pulled her into a hug. “Oh! My baby's getting married tomorrow!”

“Mom!” She rolled her eyes. “I'm eloping with a 150 year old vampire, and we're living in your basement. You are not supposed to be happy about this.”

“Would you please let me have my moment?”

Chapter #19 - Dance Partners

Chapter 19: Dance Partners

December, 2000 – January, 2001

Dawn was in the living room when Buffy and Spike came home, both carrying garment bags. She followed them downstairs. “You missed dinner.”

“We stopped by Little Bangkok for drunken noodle.”

“And green curry.”

Again? I'm starting to think you're addicted. Let me see the clothes. What'd you get?”

Buffy hung the bags from the open wardrobe door. “Have at it.” She sat on the bed with Spike.

Dawn unzipped one bag to find a black suit and a black silk shirt. “Predictable, but snazzy. No tie?”

Spike shook his head. “Gave those up decades ago, and haven't missed 'em.”

She opened the other bag to reveal a black cocktail dress with a ruffle-edged, angled skirt. The shoulder straps were silver ribbons, braided together, with a matching braid at the waist. “Ooh! Buffy! This is gorgeous! What about shoes?”

“My strappy black heels are in good shape. I think I've only worn them twice.”

“I've got a pair of patent leathers, buried in the bottom drawer.” Spike waved toward the dresser.

Dawn was still staring at the outfits. “I wish I could go to the Bronze with you. I miss all the fun.”

Buffy glanced at Spike. “Now? It feels like now.”

“Bit, have a seat.” Spike patted the bed beside him until she sat. “You aren't gonna miss all the fun.”

“I know, everyone's going to have dinner here, and get ready for the party.”

“Something before that.” Spike leaned toward her. “How well can you keep a secret?”

“Is that a trick question?” Buffy muttered.

Dawn slapped her sister's knee. “Hey! I can do it! ...For how long?”

Spike shrugged. “Could be months.”

He had her attention. “Oooh! This sounds big. What is it?”

“Before we tell you anything, Dawnie, we need your solemn word that you will not mention it or discuss it around anyone but us, Mom, and Tara until we tell you it's ok.”

“Um, sure.”

Buffy shook her head. “Not good enough.”

“Ok, ok! I promise. I won't say a word about it outside the house, and never when we have guests. Tara is the only exception. I got it. Cross my heart. Now tell me, already!”

“Tomorrow, we're getting dressed up before everyone else gets here, to do something we're pretty sure would cause a serious Scooby wiggins if they knew about it.”

Spike pointed to the bags on the wardrobe door. “Nibblet, those are our wedding clothes.”

A few seconds later, Joyce came running downstairs. “Dawn! Is everyone alright? I heard a scream.”

“We just told her about tomorrow.”

Dawn looked from Joyce's nod of understanding to Buffy's calm demeanor, and then to Spike, who was clearly fighting back the urge to grin. “You're serious? You two? The same you two who fight like cats and dogs, pretty much constantly? And Mom? You're ok with this?”

Buffy took her sister's hand. “One day, we'll explain to you why this happened so fast, I promise.”

Dawn narrowed her eyes on Spike. “You definitely can't get her pregnant, right?”

Buffy laughed and pointed at him. “You totally called it!”


Spike tipped the officiant generously as he was seeing him out. He shook his hand. “You have our gratitude, Mr. Carrouthers. Know it was short notice.”

The kindly old man patted his hand before releasing it. “Still nervous, son? Your hands are stone cold.”

“Poor circulation, is all.” Spike withdrew his hand quickly.

“Take good care of your new wife, William.” He took his hat and coat from their hooks and stepped onto the porch. “And congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Spike nearly whispered as he watched the man depart, the words echoing through his mind. He returned to the living room after shaking off his thoughts. “Good bloke, that one. Didn't even blink at being asked for an atheist ceremony.”

“Yeah, I liked it. Straight, simple, and to the point. Also, no one had to fight back a laugh at the phrase 'holy matrimony,' which I'm sure would have happened with the standard version. 'Til death us do part' was hard enough to get through with a straight face.” Buffy glanced out the window. “I'm starved. When is the food getting here?”

“The pizza guy is due in about 30 minutes,” Tara answered. “Everyone else will be here in about 15. And fair warning, I think Xander invited Giles.”

“Seems like he's around more now than when he was Watcher On Duty,” Spike grumbled.

“Because he's their family, too,” Buffy said quietly. “I may be the original link between them, but they have their own ties to him now, after all these years together. I'm ok with it. I'm not going to cause problems if they want to hang out with both of us at the same time.”

“That's a very mature attitude, Buffy,” Joyce said approvingly.

She shrugged and held up her left hand. “I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be a grown up now.”

Dawn snorted. “I'm not holding my breath. For either of you.”

“Speaking of...” Tara wiggled her own fingers. “What are you guys going to do about those?”

Spike looked at the band on his left ring finger. “Guess we have to put them away,” he said reluctantly.

Buffy slipped her matching band off and held out a hand for his. “Gimme. I'll take them downstairs.”

He slowly slid off his ring and handed it to her, watching as she put them back in their boxes. “Wouldn't mind us wearing them.”

“We will eventually.” Buffy grabbed her black clutch purse and walked out of the room.

Spike jumped up as something occurred to him. “Hold it right there, Slayer.” He met her at the doorway as she stepped back into his line of sight.


“As long as we're living here, that basement's home, love.”



“Oh, hell, no.” She caught the look in his eyes and rolled hers. “Someone should have married you when you were human, so you'd have all this stupid wedding crap out of your system already. ...Fine. Go ahead. But just this once.”

Spike scooped her up and carried her down to the basement, leaving behind three snickering women.

“'Stupid wedding crap'?” Joyce repeated. “That's no daughter of mine.

“My sister, the great romantic!”

Tara shook her head. “He says he knows what he's getting into. I hope he's right.”

“I raised a sweet little girl who dreamed of a big, princess wedding, but somewhere along the line...” Joyce shrugged, still chuckling.

“She turned into a slayer,” Tara finished. “It's not your fault she grew up, um...”

“Cold and borderline heartless?” Dawn offered.

I was going to say 'practical.' ...Oops! They left some evidence behind.” She grabbed the copy of the marriage license off the coffee table and hurried out of the living room. She knocked on the basement door frame. “Guys? You forgot something.”

“It's alright, Glinda. Come on down.”

Tara came down the stairs to find the bride opening the lock box while she argued with her groom. “I can so dance!”

“Shaking your ass in a club isn't the same thing.” Spike turned to Tara, accepting the license. “Thanks, pet. Tell me, have you ever heard of a figure skater who doesn't know how to dance?”

Buffy took the paper from him and added it to the lock box with the ring boxes. “Club dancing is a kind of dancing. Hence the name.”

“It's sexy as hell, but it's not exactly a proper waltz.”

“Haven't we already had enough 'old Victorian fogey' for tonight?”

“Carrying the bride across the threshold is still done! Even by you bloody Americans!”

“Hey!” Tara pointed to the new additions to the box. “Remember those? You've only been married for about ten minutes. I think calling a truce for one night might be a nice wedding gift... for the rest of us.”

The newlyweds exchanged smiles, and fell silent. Buffy locked the box and Spike took it from her, sliding under the bed to return it to its hiding spot. She put her keys back in her clutch. When Spike came out from under the bed, she offered her hand to pull him up. “Alright, fine. Teach me.”

Spike pulled the portable stereo out from under the stairs while Buffy rifled through the CDs stacked on the lower shelf of his nightstand. Tara watched them, confused. “Ok, I give. What did I say that made you go all quiet and smiley?”

His smile returned. “That's how all this started, you know. How we went from wanting to kill each other to ...this. I asked her for a truce, just for one night.”

Buffy shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I should have known better.”

A minute later, the sound of music brought Dawn down the stairs. “Am I interrupting the first dance?”

“More like the first dancing lesson.” Tara answered with a crooked smile.

Buffy looked up at Spike. “And here I thought we'd always been dancing.”

He gave her a warm smile. “All we've ever done, love. All we've ever-- Ow! Bloody hell, woman! Would you watch your feet?”


Willow, Xander, and Anya came into the living room to find it decorated with silver streamers and a 'Happy New year' banner, but no people. Joyce closed the front door behind them and followed them into the room. “I think I decorated the wrong room. The party has ended up downstairs.”

They left their dress clothes in the living room and Xander led them to the basement stairs, the sounds of music and laughter growing louder as they approached. They were met with the sight of Dawn being led by Tara, and Buffy being led by Spike, in an attempt at a waltz that was hindered by the fact that all three women were watching Spike's feet.

Dawn threw up her hands. “I give! This isn't working.” She went back into the bedroom area and flopped onto the bed to watch the action.

“You'll never learn that way, Bit. Glinda, come here.” Spike pulled Tara to take his place and stayed behind her, guiding her movements.

Dawn looked up to see their audience on the stairs. “Hi, guys! Welcome to the Hellmouth's weirdest dance studio.”

Xander shrugged. “Why not?” He led Anya into the open area beyond the bedroom rugs that was serving as a dance floor.

Willow sank into one of the club chairs and turned to watch the dancers. “You guys got dressed up early. I thought we were getting ready together.”

“Had a date with my girl,” Spike answered casually.

“I got here a little early, and wanted to be free to help you and Anya with your hair and make up,” Tara lied, just as Giles came down the stairs.

“For a couple of brawlers, they clean up pretty nice,” Xander commented as he attempted to give Anya a dip, between other improvised dance moves. “Tara always looks good, but Spike and Buffy are usually covered in dirt and bruises.”

“Bruises mostly inflicted by each other,” Dawn snorted. “Hey, Giles.”

“Good evening, Dawn, everyone.” Giles looked around the room, studying the mismatched furnishings and personal touches, the little signs of shared habitation scattered around freely, openly. “Dear lord.”

Willow followed his gaze, landing on two distinctly different pairs of black boots on the floor by the dresser. “They look pretty... settled, don't they?” she asked, thinking back to her conversation with Joyce a week earlier.

“Yes, I suppose that's one way of putting it.”

“If all this can happen in just a couple of months, I'm afraid of how much things will change while I'm gone.” She looked over at the dancers again. Tara looked happy and at ease with Spike's hand on her back and her own hand at Buffy's waist. She was laughing at the instructions from behind her being countered with sarcasm from in front of her. Willow sighed. “I feel like I've already been replaced.”

Dawn turned her attention from the dancers, and gave away that she'd been listening. “Yeah, like you would ever be where Tara is now, dancing between the 'brawlers,' laughing it up.” She shook her head. “Tara's not replacing you. She's taking a place you wouldn't want to take.” She rolled off the bed and went to the stereo, hitting the Stop button. “Let's go upstairs, guys. I smell pizza.”

Buffy and Spike watched everyone else file up the stairs. When they were alone, he whispered, “Did you hear all that?”

“What? The latest round of the Willow Pout Festival? I caught some of it.”

“Red still wants to be chums, love. Maybe you shouldn't be trying so hard to shut her out.”

“I'm not, not really. It's just that... It's easy to do. Tara knows us better, and can work with us. Anya is way more fun to go shopping with than pretty much anyone. Xander is almost to the point of being cool with us. He's clearly trying. Willow just wants me to be year 2000 Buffy, and I think I've proven I totally suck at that.”

“Few more hours, it'll be year 2001 Buffy.”

“Oh goody. 2001. A year so awful, I missed almost half of it, and it still royally sucked.”

“Should be better this time around. We've at least gotten a good start on it.” Spike touched the silver chain around her neck. “That's not actually a girlfriend necklace, Mrs. Pratt.”


At midnight, Joyce looked up from the letter she was writing to watch the ball drop on the television screen. After watching the cheering crowd for a couple of minutes, she finished her letter, tucked it inside a greeting card, and slid both into an envelope.

She took the envelope upstairs to the blue bedroom and looked around. It was beginning to take on the feeling of a museum, a neglected shrine to teen hood. Forgotten photographs and posters graced the walls. Little-used make up and costume jewelry filled the vanity. Rarely worn, brightly colored clothes hung in the closet. The bed was used so infrequently, the linens hadn't needed changing in weeks. Even Mr. Gordo had abandoned the room, having recently taken up a post on top of the new wardrobe downstairs, standing guard over the basement.

“You put it right out there for me to see, didn't you?” Joyce whispered to the room. “This was your way of warning me you haven't been nineteen for a long time.” She took the envelope to the only frequently used item left in the room, and placed it where she'd found a tarnished ring, less than two weeks before.


“Aaaand Buffy's officially drunk,” Xander said, laughing.

She tugged on his arm. “Come on, Xan! Dance with me!”

“Isn't that what your own date is for?”

“He was giving me shit about my club dancing, so to hell with him. This is just the right song for it. Let's go.”

Xander looked at Spike and Anya, who were at the table with them. “Guys? A little help?”

Anya pointed to the sling she'd been forced to put back on. “I need a break. And I think Spike is still a little too sober for all this.”

“Got that right.” Spike waved them on. “Go. Get Twitchy Toes out of our hair.” He watched as Buffy and Xander found a place on the crowded dance floor near the end of the bar and lost themselves in the music, moving together and apart again, drifting to various partners around them and back to each other in the easy rhythm of long time dance partners.

“Don't get jealous,” Anya said, watching with him. “The three of them -those two and Willow- have been able to do that since I met them. I can almost do it with Xander now, but it's taken a lot of practice. And one of us still sometimes ends up dancing alone for a few seconds before the other notices. I can't seem to get the timing. He says he doesn't mind, but I know it's just not the same for him as dancing with Willow and Buffy.”

“It's not that,” Spike murmured. “Was just thinking, that's almost the same place they were dancing the first time I saw her.”

Anya studied his expression. “Wow. You're really head over heels and goo-goo eyed, aren't you?”

“Hilariously so,” Tara said as she delivered their drinks and sat down to join them. She pointed to the end of the bar, where Willow had made her way through the throng to join her friends on the dance floor. “There they are, the original Scoobies, doing what they do.”

While the three at the table watched, Willow fell into the rhythm with Buffy and Xander, cycling between them and other nearby people with incredible ease. They had just come back together again when Buffy's head jerked in the direction of a man passing by them, leading a woman toward the door. She mouthed one syllable to her friends. She and Willow split up, taking different routes to the exit, so they wouldn't be noticed following the couple. Xander made a beeline for the table, grabbed Buffy's clutch without a word, and hurried out.

Spike took a sip of his drink. “Now, that's the original Scoobies, doing what they do.”

Anya frowned. “Should we follow them?”

“Nah, it's one vamp. How much trouble could he be?”

Tara laughed. “Yeah... That's not ironic.”


“So much for the first vamp of 2001,” Xander said.

“So much for the first buzz of 2001. Stupid slayer metabolism. One little fight, and I'm already starting to sober up. I'm going to have to fix that.” Buffy tossed her stake back to him and began brushing off her dress. “Wils, check my back.”

Willow swiped at the back of the skirt. “You're a little dusty, but it's not too bad.”

“Good. I really like this dress, and dresses I like tend to get ruined.”

Xander looked around the alley. “Man, this is just like when we were in high school. The three of us, the Bronze, and a little slayage action between dances.”

“Except for the formal wear and alcohol, yeah.” Buffy shrugged.

Willow's eyes grew wide. “And except that we all left dates in there. Together.”

“Oh god. They're probably talking about us.” Buffy hurried toward the door, her friends on her heels.

“Anybody seen the G-man, lately? What if he's with them?”

“The last time I saw him, he was hanging out on the catwalk, doing the watcher thing,” Willow said.

“Xan, get me some cash out of my bag.”


Xander and Willow returned to the table, taking seats beside their dates. Xander put Buffy's clutch back on the table. “I really should not be used to carrying her purses around.”

“It was good training,” Anya said. “You've been very good at carrying mine for the last six weeks.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “You two forget to bring something back with you?”

Xander grabbed the purse again. “Stake's in there. We're good. ...Oh! You must mean your girlfriend.” He grinned. “I'm just messing with you. She's talking to Giles.”

“Shame. I'm ready to head back out there.” Spike looked around the table. “Who's game?”

Tara gave Willow a nudge under the table, prompting her to speak. “Um, I guess I can.”

Spike stood up and offered his hand. “Come on, then. I don't bite... lately.”

Willow wrinkled her nose as she placed her hand in his. “That's not funny.”

“Sure it is.” They made their way out to the dance floor at the beginning of a slower song. “Sway or dance, Red?”

“I can follow pretty well, and I know a few steps.”

“Dance it is.” About thirty seconds into the dance, a grin spread over his face. “You're pretty good. Lots of Bar and Bat Mitzvahs when you were young?”

She rolled her eyes as she came up from a dip. “Tons. By the time mine came around, I was beginning to think my parents knew every Jewish family in California. After mine, I was sure of it.”

Spike chuckled. “How do they feel about you going to England?”

“Well, they don't know it's a witchy studies thing. They just think I'm going to explore around and play intellectual tourist. I hope I can get out enough to build a believable photo album.”

They stepped back from each other and close again. “Sure, you will. You're not going to prison, Red.”

“It feels like it, leaving Tara and everyone for a whole semester. The worst part is, I feel like I should go, even let Althenea lock me up if she has to. If Giles really thinks I'm in danger of going the way he went when he was young...” She shuddered. “I know he got to a pretty dark place. People died because he lost control of his magic, and he has to live with that. ...But then, look who I'm talking to. You wouldn't get it.”

Spike was slightly too slow in responding, and tried to cover it by focusing on his steps. But the pause caught her attention. “Maybe I do,” he murmured in the direction of his shoes.

Her eyes lit up with realization, but she managed to hide her surprise before he looked up again.

“It'll be worth it, Red. Make good use of the time. Get every bit of training and discipline you can get from those old birds, and come home a better witch, with no regrets.”

They danced in silence for a minute, while she turned some thoughts over in her head. Finally, she asked, “Will you still be here when I get back?”

“Where would I go?”

“You could go anywhere in the world, Spike. Spain, Los Angeles, Central America...”

Spike gave her another dip and stole a glance up at the catwalk, where Buffy and Giles were deep in conversation. “I'm not gonna leave her, if that's what you're asking.”

“Not even 'for her own good'? That was Angel's reasoning.”

He fought back the urge to growl. “What's better for her than having Big Bad watching her back?”

“I don't want to see her hurt, Spike. We may have drifted apart lately, but that doesn't mean I don't care about her. I'm just not sure what to say, and she doesn't say much at all. But she's still one of my best friends.”

“I know.” They stepped back from each other and came close again. “She still cares about you, too.”

“I know she does. She tried to give me all of Sunnydale -in travel size- for Hanukkah. But she's changed, and I don't know how to get through the walls around her.”

“Been there,” Spike mumbled as he gave Willow another spin.

“What did you say?” she asked when they were facing each other again.

“If we're lucky, this Glory thing will be over by the time you come home, and the slayer will be less stressed and distracted.”

“I hope so... But Spike, you're one of the walls, too.”

“You asking me to stay or get gone, Red? Make up your mind.”

“That's not what I meant. She talks to you. She's been getting closer to Anya and Tara, but you're the one who's replaced me. These days, she acts like you are her best friend.”

“Some days, maybe. But who's she gonna bitch about me to when I'm not? She still needs you.”

“I'm not so sure.”


Buffy brought two glasses up to the catwalk. She handed one to the man who was already standing there. “Scotch on the rocks. Top shelf.”

Giles accepted the glass. “Thank you. That wasn't necessary.”

She shrugged and sipped her rum and Coke. “I was at the bar, anyway.” She leaned on the railing and looked out across the dance floor below. “Do you remember the first time we ever stood up here?”

“Of course I do. I asked you to use your senses to locate any vampires present.”

“And I'm still not very good at it. I think I got a little gypped on that superpower.”

“How many can you sense right now?”

She closed her eyes. “Well, there's the signature I know better than I know my own name, below and about four yards in front of us... And that's all I got. Just the one.” She opened her eyes. “ The one who is dancing with Willow. Would you look at that!” She shook her head. “There was another signature hovering on the edge of my senses for a little while. It was weak, and I had trouble pinpointing the source until he got close.” She brushed at her dress. “I think I'm still wearing a little of him.”

“I'm not surprised you can easily identify Spike. He's around you so consistently. And if my math is correct, you've known him more than six years.”

“Something like that. I've kind of given up on the math. It gives me a headache.” Buffy fell silent for a moment, watching Spike and Willow dancing below. “Six years. It feels like a lifetime,” she whispered. “It's funny, our PTB handler gave us a memory boost to help us out, but I guess it doesn't cover emotions. I have trouble remembering how scared I was when I met him, and what it felt like the first time we fought, when he came so close to killing me.”

“That's a dangerous condition, Buffy. Fear is a slayer's best defense. It keeps you on your guard.”

“No,” she said quietly. “Trust is the best defense. It's misleading sometimes, but then, so is fear. Trust builds relationships, teams of people to help keep a slayer alive. I trust him, Giles, with my life. More importantly, I trust him with the lives of the people I love. A slayer is disposable--”

He sucked in a breath.

“It's ok. I accepted it a long time ago. But trustworthy people who will band together and risk their lives for the greater good, when they don't even have to? That's not disposable. That's the best kind of family a slayer could ask for.” Buffy gestured to the dance floor. “I trust him with her. And that trust isn't misplaced. I'd like to think what we're watching right now is her realizing it. I'd chain his ass up in the basement again if he was a danger to them, and he'd probably end up asking me to kill him. We've been there before.”

“That sounds like an interesting story.”

“I think I mentioned the First had Spike under some kind of mind control? Well, when things were really bad, he tried to talk me into dusting him, to protect the girls from him. And when it seemed like he was finally ok, and I wanted to take the chains off, he asked me not to. He wanted to be sure it was safe, that he wouldn't hurt any of them. That's the man you think is inhibiting my judgment.”

“The girls?”

“We had a houseful of Potentials at the time, refugees turned soldiers. And by houseful, I mean full. Between the girls, the Scoobies, and the few who were neither, the place was packed to the rafters. I eventually gave up on having a bedroom to call my own and moved down to the basement with Spike.”

“No wonder you're so comfortable down there.”

She shook her head. “It wasn't like it is now. Now, it's a bedroom. Then, it was a cell. Chains and shackles on the wall, a camp cot, my alarm clock on the floor, and not much else.”

“And yet you speak of it as though you miss it. You seem almost homesick.”

“I miss some things,” she whispered, taking another sip of her drink. “Stupid, little stuff. Waking up to the kitchen swarming with people. Drill Sergeant Kennedy shouting in the backyard. The look on Vi's face when Spike would get the jump on her in training. Rona catching us sneaking out for Thai food after we brought them home from patrol. Dawnie being mature enough to be mad at me quietly, but still make her point. Andrew, driving us all crazy with his video camera, looking for happy endings and hero stories in a place and time where they didn't exist.” Buffy's eyes drifted back to Spike with a smile. “Andrew would have paid to film this night. He'd be on his third camera battery by now.”

He followed her gaze. “The reliable supporter you said I conspired against ...was Spike, wasn't it?”

“My loyal lieutenant,” she said, her voice still low. “The only person who had my back, no matter what. He kept me alive, Giles, kept me from curling into a ball and letting the First walk all over me. Every general should have someone just like him. It's the only way to survive the battles when you already know you're going to lose the war.”

Giles sipped his Scotch. “You said hero stories didn't exist then. You just told me one.”

“There are a lot more stories with no heroes at all.” She finally turned to look at him. “Like you and Robin trying to take out my lieutenant when I needed him most.”

“And who was Robin?”

“Nikki Wood's son.”

Giles immediately made the connection. “He was looking for revenge?”

“He was being stupid! Nikki went out like a slayer should: Clean and simple, a straight fight with a demon worthy of taking a slayer. She and I are among the lucky ones. We got taken out by badass Aurelians on a mission, not by nameless fledges who happened to have a good day. Robin may have been raised by a watcher, but he didn't still get it.”

“He didn't understand that Spike had reformed.”
“My point is that it shouldn't have mattered. She was a slayer. She ran into an annoyingly tenacious master vamp with a slayer fixation when she'd already reached the death wish stage. It ended predictably. It really is that simple. I've been there. I know. Once you reach that point, the only question left is 'when.' Robin didn't get it, and couldn't move past it.”

“I've never spoken to you about that, about slayers tending to develop the urge to... let go.”

“No, but Mr. Annoyingly Tenacious has had some watcherly moments over the years. He figured out I'd reached that stage before you did.” Buffy shrugged. “He'd seen it before with Nikki.”

“So what happened to her son?”

“He tried to get his revenge on Spike, in a pretty underhanded way. Spike beat the hell out of him for it, even gave him a nice bite scar, but wouldn't kill him. I nearly finished the job myself, I was so pissed off at Robin for chasing a vendetta in the middle of a war.” She took a deep breath. “You helped him plan it, and were in charge of keeping me from stopping it. That night was the final straw with you and me. There was a lot leading up to it, but trying to kill my lieutenant, my lifeline, and telling me it was for my own good? I couldn't forgive that. I still can't.”

“You almost talk like you're still that war. Maybe that's why you can't let go of those events.”

“We are still in that war, Giles. We're taking a different tack, going the preventative route, but we're still in it. ...And I think we might finally stand a chance of winning it.”

Giles studied her eyes, shining not with the glee of a young woman at a fun party, but with the rising hope of a seasoned veteran, seeing tides of battle begin to turn. “I'd like to ask you something, General. Do you need this soldier in your ranks?”

“You're thinking of going home to Bath.” It was stated as a simple, emotionless fact.

“I gave my word to a certain lieutenant that I wouldn't go if you needed me.”

Buffy smiled. “See? I told you he was always watching my back.” The smile faded. “No. I don't need you. But I think you should stay.” She gestured to her friends below. “They need you. Do you think Willow would have agreed to go to Devon without your input? Do you think Anya is in any condition to run the shop by herself right now? Do you think Xan invited you tonight out of politeness? No. He wanted you here. This is your family, Giles. They need you. They want you around.”

“And you?”

“I'd love to fix things between us, but I'm not sure we even can. The older you broke the faith, and the repercussions rippled back through time on my memories. I can't have a soldier I don't trust to walk behind my lieutenant, whose advice is suspect. I had to allow it before, a little. But I'm not that desperate anymore. I think... I think our relationship is still a casualty of that war, one of the costs of making this trip back. …Magic always has consequences, and the piper must be paid.”

“I planned to escort Willow to Devon, to get her settled in.”

“You didn't buy a round trip ticket, did you?”

Giles shook his head. “I had every intention of talking to you before leaving. I just didn't expect it to be tonight. You may think me an untrustworthy git, Buffy, but I keep my word.”

“Then make one more promise,” she whispered. “Remember the feelings I've forgotten. Remember what it was like, when you were the person who always had my back.”

“I will.” Giles drew her into a hug. “Dear girl. I never wanted to disappoint you.”

She swallowed hard, then pulled out of the hug, her ability to make eye contact with him failing again.

“If you find you need me, I'm a phone call away. Althenea--”

“Will teleport you in an emergency. I know.”

“When you're ready to start dropping your war baggage, Buffy...”

“I'll let you know.”

She watched him go down the spiral stairs, headed for the exit, before she followed him down. She turned away from the Scoobies' table as she neared it, but intentionally caught Spike's eye. He excused himself and went in the same direction, finding her near the far end of the bar, leaning against a pillar, waiting on him. He took one look at the familiar expression and pulled her into his arms.

“When's he going?”

“With Willow. One way ticket.”

“Was too much to hope for, wasn't it? One perfect night?”

She sniffled against his shoulder. “I knew it was too close to my birthday. Only this time, I'm the monster who ruined it.”

“No, you didn't.”

“I did.” She pulled away from him. “I finally told him the story. He knows why I don't trust him.”

“Crosses on the walls?”

She nodded.

He studied her as she tried to regain her composure. “Wanna go find something to kill?”

“I'd ruin my dress.”

“Alright, we'll find something to do that gets you out of the dress, then.”

She wiped her eyes. “Spike!”

“Love, there are some traditions you really should respect.” He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “Come on, Slayer. You know you wanna dance.”

He could tell by the way she grabbed his hand that he would get his way.

Chapter #20 - Connective Issues

Chapter 20: Connective Issues

January, 2001

“Shouldn't you be scampering off by now?” Spike mumbled against his pillow. “Sun's been up for a while.”

“New Year's resolution,” Buffy mumbled back, not opening her eyes. “No more scampering.”

“Not holding my breath. ...Not that it matters.”

She opened one eye to glare at him. “It's way too early for vampire humor, Sparky. Shut up and let me sleep.”

“Nope. Time to scamper.” He shoved her out of the bed. “Go.”

She barely managed to land on her feet. “Hey! What the hell?”

“Had a chat with Red last night, while you were with Rupert.”

“I know. I saw you guys dancing and talking. So? What's that got to do with you being a jackass first thing in the morning?”

“You should be there today. Make the effort.” Spike pushed back against her attempts to get back into bed. “I mean it, Slayer.”

She threw a pillow at his face. “I'd love to know why you've gotten so pro-Willow all of a sudden.”

He threw it back. “Maybe 'cause I've spent a lot of time where she is, on the other side of your walls.”

Buffy withdrew, frowning. After a moment's thought, she put on her robe and started for the stairs. “I really hate you sometimes.”

He rolled over, settling back to sleep. “I hear you.”


“So do I need to ask why you two disappeared last night?”

“The wedding night had to start sometime.” Buffy looked around the dorm room. “Where's Amy the rat?”

Tara added another book to the box she was packing. “She's already been teleported to Devon, to be de-ratted and rehabbed. If we ever see her again, it will probably be a while.”

“Good. She's a list of Willow magic problems all by herself. Thank god for Althenea.”

“Elsa, actually. Amy's going to be her -pardon the pun- pet project. So about the wedding night...?”

“Geez, Tara. I thought Anya was bad about pushing for details.”

“You know what I'm asking, Buffy. You guys did have that talk beforehand, right? Like before you actually signed the marriage license?” Tara closed the box and picked it up, struggling with the weight. “Ok, this is a slayer box.”

Buffy took the carton of books from her with ease. “I told him I wasn't ready, and it turns out, he already knew. It felt good to say it, though. And he appreciated hearing it. Which pile?”

“Those are moving in with me. Right side of the door.” Tara began pulling the candle holders from the top of the bookcase. “Count that as a lesson, Buffy. Saying stuff is a good thing.”

“You're as bad as he is,” Buffy said as she tore pages of newspaper to wrap the candle holders. “Wanting me to be all talky and stuff. I apparently only get talky when I'm tipsy.”

“How's that?”

“I spilled a lot of thoughts out on Giles last night. Heavy thoughts. Slayer stuff, mostly. And the stuff that breaks a slayer from her watcher. ...He's leaving tomorrow, too.”

“I suspected that would happen.”

The tearing stopped. “You aren't surprised?”

“Buffy, you don't need a watcher. You know that. You've said that. It was only a matter of time...”

“Isn't everything?”

Tara rolled her eyes at the interjection. “If you aren't going to keep him around as a watcher, even in a limited, advisory capacity, he has no reason to stay.”

“I asked him to stay, for the others. He didn't seem to even consider it.”

“He doesn't look at the rest of us as his kids, Buffy, even if some us of think of him in that role. You were the assignment that brought him to the States. You were the person he got fired for, and that he stayed for after. It's not about the group for him. It's about the slayer at the center of it.”

Buffy began tearing paper again. “And I'm the one breaking up the group, sending them both away.”

“You're the only one who could. The only one who could make those decisions, and the only one who could make them willing to go.” Tara climbed onto Willow's desk chair to reach the last of the candle holders. “That doesn't make it wrong to do it. He'd stay for you if you asked him to. You know he would. It's not like the first time around. And Willow wouldn't have even considered leaving if she thought you couldn't get by without her.”

“That's about you, Tara, not me. She knows I have you for witchy stuff.”

“That's not the only way she thought she was needed.”

Buffy was opening her mouth to reply when the dorm room door opened. “Hey, baby. Would you like to break for-- Buffy. I didn't expect you to be here.”

“I thought you guys might want a hand packing up. Your books are heavy.”

Willow shifted her weight. “Well, thanks. I was going to take Tara to lunch before I took the next load of stuff to my parents' house. ...Will you join us?”

“I wouldn't want to be the third wheel at your last date before you leave.”

Tara stepped off the chair. “You wouldn't be. I'm taking my girl out tonight. Why don't you guys go ahead? I can have this finished by the time you get back.”

“Are you sure, baby?”

She waved them toward the door. “Bring me back a sandwich or something.”

With another look at her girlfriend, Willow shrugged. “Ok, we'll be back in an hour or so.”

Buffy shook her finger at Tara as they headed out the door. “Don't lift anything that can wait for me.”


Willow unlocked the passenger's side door, and Buffy climbed into the car. “How did you talk Xander into loaning you his car?”

“I told him he could either let me have the car for the day, or have to haul all my stuff to my parents' house himself after work. He practically threw the keys at me.”

Buffy laughed. “I wonder when his lunch break is?”

Willow started the car and looked at the clock on the dash. “Now-ish, actually. We should have time to catch him. What did you have in mind?”

“Traditional Scooby lunch, with dessert.”

The driver grinned. “The deli next door to the bakery.”

“I've had daydreams about pastrami on rye with a lemon filled doughnut. It's been forever.”

“Why haven't you gotten them?”

“I don't know. I guess it doesn't seem right without you and Xan.”

Willow tried to look solemn and spoke in a slow, serious tone. “I hereby officially grant you two permission to have pastrami in my absence.”

Buffy bowed her head over the dash. “Thank you, my liege. We shall fill your chair with only the worthy.”

“My beautiful proxy?”

Buffy bowed again. “We shall endeavor to teach your lady the wondrous ways of the doughnut.”

They broke into giggles.

“I'm glad you and Tara are finally starting to get to know each other, you know. I guess I haven't been acting like it. ...And I'm actually impressed that you've started hanging out with Anya. How do you put up with her?”

Buffy shrugged. “I try to appreciate her perspective. It's pretty different.”

“I'll say. Sometimes, it's like she's not even trying to fit in with the group... or with humanity.”

“That's the best thing about her, Wils. She's her own woman, playing the social game by her own rules. Honestly? It's kind of fun. You never know what's going to spill out of her mouth next.”

Willow glanced at her passenger. “You don't mind hearing random tidbits about Xander's sex life?”

“And she doesn't mind hearing stuff about Spike's in trade.” Buffy laughed at a memory. “Now, when we went Christmas shopping with Dawnie, that was a challenge. Anya's lack of filter between mind and mouth versus a teenager who is just old enough to be super curious.”

“How did you survive that?”

“I just kept telling myself, 'Mom doesn't have to know, Mom doesn't have to know.' Of course Dawnie dropped the ball, gave Mom a hint as to the line of conversation. I tried to cover it, make it sound like a passing comment instead of a long conversation, but I know Mom saw right through it.”

“I would have loved to have seen the look on her face.”

“She shifted into denial mode. You know, 'my kids are innocent little children,' that sort of thing. Then Spike came to her rescue, got her out of the conversation. I think she wanted to kiss him for his great timing.”

Willow pulled into the parking area near Xander's work site. “I asked her about you two. I don't know if she told you.” Buffy shook her head. “I wanted to know what made her ok with the whole 'you and Spike' thing. She's happy that you're happy.”

“I'm just glad she puts up with the arguing.”

“I should have been, too. I should have seen that you're happy. But can you blame me for freaking out a little? You're--” Willow gulped. “--sleeping with Spike.” Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but Willow held up a hand to stop her. “I'm working past it. Really. I'm even starting to get it. But I should have been hearing about it from you, from minute one. I should have been sitting at the Espresso Pump, drinking a latte and listening to you spill your guts about the guy you were interested in, before the first date ever even happened. I might have had to pretend not to be horrified, but I should have had the chance to listen. ...There hasn't been any gut-spilling, haven't been any lattes. And now I'm leaving, and I don't know what to do about it.”

“I do.” Buffy opened her car door. “On your second day back, after you've had a day with Tara, the three of us will have pastrami and doughnuts. Then we'll send Xander away, and go get some lattes.”

“And in the meantime?” Willow asked, stepping out with her.

“I have the sanctuary's phone number, Wils. We'll do some old-fashioned, high school style gut-spilling, talking all night.”

Willow wrinkled her nose as they headed for the foreman's trailer. “How's that going to work with an eight hour time difference? As it is, Tara and I are struggling to plan a phone date schedule.”

“I'm a slayer, which is mostly a night job, living with a nocturnal creature who thinks he can also pull off being a day-walker, and ends up napping a lot. And I have friends and family who are mostly on 'nine to five' type schedules, for whom seeing 2am is reserved for special cases. Do you think I have any understanding of day or n--” Buffy was drowned out by the electronic beeps blasting through the speaker attached to the outside of the trailer. She leaned against the structure, waiting on the noise to stop. “--Of day or night anymore? My sleep schedule is so far gone, I've taken up napping, too. Trust me, we'll still be able to have occasional binge bedtime phone calls.”

Willow leaned with her, watching the group of men entering the trailer and exiting through the door nearest them. “Won't that be expensive?”

“Not to us. If Spike's going to rag on me for napping like he does, he can pay for international calls at weird hours.”

“I'm not sure I follow the Buffy logic.”

“Buffy has logic?” Xander asked as he came down the trailer steps. He jumped over the bottom of the railing to join them beside the building. “That's new. Where'd you get it?”

“Spike's wallet, apparently,” Willow answered.

“Thanks, guys. I love you, too.” Buffy feigned a pout.

“Are you done with the car already, Wils? I thought you said you'd need it all afternoon.”

“We're here for an official Scooby lunch date.”

“Oooh! Pastrami and Bavarian cream!”

Willow shook her head as they walked back toward the car. “You two are never going to learn. The perfect combination is pastrami and a strawberry jelly, powdered.”


Buffy looked up from the notepad in her lap. “Hey, Mom. What's it like to be back amongst the employed people?”

Joyce dropped into a chair and kicked off her shoes. “Exhausting. It's going to take me a little while to get back into the swing of things.”

“They offered you two months of part time, to ease back in. You should take it.”

“No, I need to get some more money flowing into this house.”

Buffy tapped her notepad. “I'm working on helping you with that, right this minute. And there is another source, you know.”

“Another source who is likely to outlive us all. He'll need that money later.”

“Mom, a master vamp can get whatever he needs, handed to him on a silver platter, if he plays his cards right. Don't worry about Spike. Also, you aren't going to -excuse the phrase- drain him dry.”

“Buffy, if I may ask, how much is there?”

“Well... There's been some pretty heavy real estate investing over the last hundred years or so... Um, let's just say that if you wanted the rest of the mortgage to disappear overnight, it wouldn't hurt him to make it happen.”

“Us, love,” came a voice from the kitchen. “Wouldn't hurt us.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Stop eavesdropping, Super Ears!”

Joyce called toward the kitchen. “Hi, Spike! What smells so good?”

“Enchiladas Verde. Should be alright if Nibblet didn't under season the chicken again.”

“Hey!” came another voice from the kitchen. “Not everyone thinks food should require a fire extinguisher.”

“Eh, maybe I'll just throw some chile powder into a mug of that swine venom to make up for it.”

“Eeeewww! Buffy! Make him stop talking!”

“I'm pretty sure that's impossible,” Buffy called back.

Joyce leaned back in her chair, a relaxed smile spreading across her face. “It's good to be home.”

“I thought you hating the arguing?” Buffy asked.

“Sometimes, you and Spike get a little too crude and loud. But this--” she waved a hand toward the kitchen. “--This is normal family bickering. I like it.”

“Except that there's a serious lack of normal in this family. You're the only one who qualifies.”

“The normal part isn't what matters, Buffy.” She closed her eyes. “Just listen.”

Buffy stopped fidgeting with her pen and listened for a couple of minutes. “Cooking noises,” she whispered. “Something about roasting tomatillos... And a guy in her art class. He's giving her advice on talking to the boy.”

Joyce nodded slowly. “And she's listening. And learning more about cooking than I've managed to impart on either of you.”

“We just like to eat.”

“I noticed that.” Her smile ended in a sigh. “At least I know my girls won't starve.”

“What do you mean?”

Joyce lowered her voice until it was barely audible, in case Dawn overheard. “Spike told me a little about how things... become. He never mentioned me, even in passing. He did refer to Dawn in a way that implied he was used to playing the role you hear him playing now, that you both were. You know all the details of my finances and insurance plans. The household ran perfectly smooth while I was in the hospital. I'm not a fool, Buffy. I can add up the obvious. ...How long do I have?”

Buffy gulped. “You're making a big assumption,” she whispered back.

“That sounds a lot like confirmation.”

“I'm going to try to stop it.”

Joyce opened her eyes and reached for her daughter's hand. “If you can't, it's ok. I'll know you tried.” She saw tears forming and moved to sit beside her. Buffy grabbed her in a hug. “Oh, honey.”

The sudden lack of conversation from the living room brought Spike out of the kitchen. He found the two women embracing, both of them teary-eyed. “Buffy? Everything alright?”

She nodded as she pulled away. “Mom... Mom figured it out.”

“Oh.” He sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of them. “Gave it away, did I?”

Joyce wiped her eyes. “Sort of. You both did. You're both a little too fond of spending time with me, and a little too good at keeping things in order around here without me.” She looked him in the eye. “You'll take good care of my girls?”

“'Til the end of the world.”

“Spike!” came Dawn's voice from the kitchen. “I'm not ready to fly solo in here!”

“Which might be tonight, if you don't get back to the kitchen,” Buffy said with a sly smirk. “She'll try to set the house on fire.”

“Bloody hell. Not again.”

Joyce watched him hurry out of the room. “I'm going to do myself a huge favor and not ask.”

Buffy patted her hand. “Smart move.”


Dear Mr. Travers,

It has come to my attention that I am an anomaly among slayers beyond the age of majority, in that I am not being compensated for my guardianship of the Hellmouth financially. In my research, I have found no fewer than five adult slayers in the twentieth century alone that have received a generous monthly stipend from the Council of Watchers, to allow them to support themselves in practical ways, because the calling inhibits attempts to do so through normal human methods.

I cite for you specifically the case of Slayer Nikki Wood (1974-1977), as I see many similarities in her situation to what mine is and may soon become. While I do not have a child, my mother has recently suffered a bout of ill health, and her future health is not assured. She has a minor child, my sister Dawn, who would fall under my exclusive care should the worst happen, and who is partially under my care now, with my mother's health still in question. Like Miss Wood, I am in need of support for myself and a minor who does not deserve to suffer because I was called as a slayer.

As an aside, I thought you would be interested to receive an update on the current status of the Sunnydale Hellmouth. Of late, there have been no attempts to open the Hellmouth. Vampire and demon populations are manageable, slightly lower than usual, owing to some highly productive extra patrols. However, it is worthy of note that the Hellgod Glorificus is in town, and would like to see me dead.

I look forward to hearing from you regarding the monthly stipend.


Buffy Summers, Slayer


Miss Lydia Chalmers-

Would love to talk about your thesis in person. There might be a chance for you to come to the Hellmouth in California sometime soon. Take it. Offer to be the Council's representative. You show up without those wankers in tow, I guarantee you an interview. Contact the Slayer. She knows where to find me, and will assure your safety for the duration of our meeting. Hope to see you soon.

-William the Bloody


Dawn nudged her sister awake. “You guys must have had a doozy of a fight last night. How did I not hear it?”

“Huh?” Buffy rolled onto her back and squinted at the sunlight streaming through the window. Her hand instinctively went to the unoccupied space beside her, and a surge of panic shot through her. She relaxed just as suddenly. “Oh, yeah. He's downstairs.”

“Yeah, I figured he would be. The question is, what are you doing upstairs?”

“There wasn't room for all three of us, and it's too bright for Spike up here.” Buffy waved toward the window as she yawned. “Hell, it's too bright for me.”

“Three? Is this like one of those conversations you try to make Anya stop when I'm around?”

“Dawn!” Buffy rolled out of bed. “Nothing like that!

She went into the bathroom. Dawn was waiting in the hall when she came out. “Ok then, like what?”

“Like Tara having a bad night. She came to us to talk, and fell asleep in our bed. She was so tired, I didn't have the heart to wake her up and send her upstairs, so I went myself. No big deal.”

Dawn followed her down to the kitchen. “You left another woman in bed with Spike. On purpose.”

“It's Tara, Dawnie. They aren't exactly each other's types.” Buffy started the coffeemaker and filled a mug with pig's blood. When she turned around from putting it in the microwave, she added, “I'm just glad she isn't alone, that she has us to come to.”

“Willow's been gone for a week. Even I know Tara being so upset she needs to come see you freaks in the middle of the night isn't healthy.”

“It's hard being apart, even when it's for a good reason. A bad night now and again is totally understandable.”

“How would you know?”

“Um, I'm just guessing. You know, based on what Tara was talking about.”

Dawn pointed to the microwave. “So you're going down to wake him up?

“No, he's awake now.”

“How do you know?”

“Just a feeling.”

The microwave beeped as the basement door opened. Spike came into the kitchen, still looking sleepy. He dropped onto a stool. “Morning, love. Morning, Bit.”

Buffy filled a second mug with coffee and put both on the counter in front of him. “Pick your poison.”

He took them both, and gave Buffy a grateful smile. “Keep that up, and I might have a different woman in my bed tomorrow morning.”

“I hope so. If for no other reason than it will mean Tara's not so upset. I don't know how to help her.”

“Ok, how did you do that?” Dawn asked her sister.

“What'd she do?”

“Buffy knew you were awake. That's why the blood was warmed by the time you got up here.”

“It's not a big deal, Dawnie. I just knew, that's all.”

Dawn glanced at Spike, who looked tense. “Well, somebody thinks it's a big deal.”

“Nah, Bit. Was just thinking 'bout Glinda. Had to wait a while on a girl to come home to me once, too.”

“Dru?” Dawn asked.

He flicked his eyes at Buffy, who was pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Someone else. Bloody long wait. Spent some nights at the bottom of a bottle. The nights between, what kept me going was having something else to do, someone besides myself to worry over.”

“You're saying Tara needs a new hobby? Or maybe a puppy?”

“He's saying it's time to put our witch to work.” Buffy grinned. “Operation Decoy?”

“ And stocking the bunker. Maybe working on some defenses, see if she can do Red's bubble thing.”

“Yeah, that would be good. It's not Glory proof, but it's knight proof. An extra batch of mini spheres could be handy, too. They're all scattered around. What we need are some we can have on us.”

“Make it two batches, and we could get a golf ball launcher.”

“Ooh! I like that! They're just the right size for it, too. But priorities first. We need better protection on the house, something we can have prepped, then put up in a hurry.”

“Ah, I see what you're thinking. Don't want to tip your hand, love?”

“And I don't want to use the bunker until it's necessary. I'm sorry, Spike, but-- ”

“It's a one-shot deal, most likely. I know.”

“Wait. What? Decoys, bunkers, bubbles, knights, and golf balls? Are you guys even speaking English?”

“Not exactly, Dawnie. We're just warming up our battle plans.”

Spike raised one of his mugs. “Welcome back, General.”

Buffy raised her mug. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“How was your honeymoon?”

“Pretty good, but it's time to get back to work.”

Dawn looked from one to the other as they sipped their coffee, waiting on one of them to laugh, or at least say that ridiculous conversation was only a joke. They didn't. Instead their eyes drifted away from each other, as they lost themselves in thought.

Spike broke the silence. “Told you so, Slayer, but you wouldn't listen.”

Buffy looked up from her coffee. “Huh? Told me what?”

“Weren't you just saying you think there's a chance-- Bloody hell. Never mind.” Spike stood up and drained his mugs, one after the other. “Gonna go wake up Glinda. Got an idea for her first project.”


Dear Miss Summers,

In the case of Miss Wood, and in the other cases you referenced, the Slayer in question worked with the Council, and under the direction of a watcher. Neither is the case for you. In fact, it has come to our attention that Rupert Giles, who has been acting in a watcher capacity at the California Hellmouth since the termination of his employment with the Council two years ago, has relocated to his home on our side of the proverbial pond.

Now, if you would consider accepting a new watcher, and resuming your position as the Council's active Slayer, the conversation about a monthly stipend may progress. Until those circumstances are met, you are not an employee of the Council, and not entitled to monetary compensation.

In the meantime, we intend to dispatch a team to check your fitness for the duty to which you are called, and would appreciate updates about your encounters with Glorificus.

Quentin Travers

Chairman, The Council of Watchers


“Whistler!” Tara called toward the ceiling. “I need to talk to you!”

A flash of blue announced Whistler's arrival in the dorm room. “Not the most elegant way to summon me, but I guess it will do.” He looked at the boxes stacked in the corner. “Going someplace, Maclay?”

She stopped pacing. “Those are Willow's. I'm so glad you showed up.”

He sat in her desk chair. “Wow. That's not something I'm used to hearing around here. Summers and Pratt don't exactly welcome me with open arms. But they're why I'm here, aren't they?”

“How did you know? Better question: How did I not know the bond between them was more than just an emotional connection? And why didn't anyone tell me? Buffy's never said a word about it, and Spike didn't either... until yesterday.”

“It's called denial, kiddo. She's a pro at it. And he's damned good at playing along to keep the peace.”

“He's not playing along anymore. He asked me for a bonding suppressant, and recommended a book.” Tara pointed to the volume laying open on the bed. “But I'm confused by a couple of things.”

“Ok, so the gist of it is, some pairs of demons -if they're well-matched- will choose to mate, to bind their fates together. As in, one dies, the other dies. Meantime, they gain each other's strengths and are connected more or less at the brain and nervous system. You know, feeling what each other feels, sensing each other's thoughts, stuff like that. The details vary by species, of course, but--”

Tara held up a hand. “That much, I'm clear on. I get fuzzy on the cross-species aspect of the situation.” She sat on the edge of the bed and held up the book. “Sixty two pages of bonding suppressant spell variants, covering all kinds of demons, but not one word about different species choosing each other.”

“Because they don't.” Whistler gestured to the book. “The vampire version is all you'll need. A slayer's demon is in the same general family, descended from the same Turok Hans.”

“The ancient vampires they told me about?” She frowned. “Buffy's related to them?”

“Ever wonder why slayers can sense vampires, but no other demons? We can all sense our own kind, kid. And since all of the modern descendants of the Turoks are human hybrids of one type or another, they have less control over the mating than a lot of other species. Basically, the demon within chooses, and takes the rest of the person along for the ride. Driven by instinct, that sort of thing.”

“Fuzzy point number two: The bond is supposed to take a long time to develop, right? And even longer in hybrids? Time traveling or not, they haven't been together nearly enough years to reach the point of...” She fidgeted uncomfortably. “You know.”

“The inner demon asserting itself, and having to deal with the instinct to make a claim?”

Tara nodded and flipped to a bookmarked page. “According to this section on delayed claims, the bond isn't strong enough for accidental telepathy until right before the instincts start to take over, but it's rarely a problem, because by that time, a pair has had many years to either agree to mate or begin taking suppressants.” She looked up. “You and I both know that Spike and Buffy haven't been together long enough. By even the most generous definition, it's been less than three years.”

No one, not even the bosses, expected it to go this fast, not until your little girlfriend -the 2003 version, that is- used their bond to keep them together as she moved them through time.”

“I saw the magic wrapped around it... Was that not supposed to be there?” Her frown returned. “Did Willow do this to them?”

“She sped up the bond's development. Big time.” He took off his hat and turned it in his hands. “It was bound to happen, yeah, but not right now. Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Denial would have been in this situation, anyway, if they kept putting it off. You know, assuming...”

“They both survived their war with the First,” Tara finished. She studied the expression on the demon's face. “They weren't expected to, were they? One of them was going to die.”

“Probably. Their best chance of winning the battle that was coming was a weapon Angel had brought them. Either one of them could have used it, but the plan was for it to be Pratt. It was a suicide run, but they both knew it was the best odds for winning the war.”

Tara rubbed her forehead. “So what they call 'Plan A' would have broken the bond.”

“Not necessarily. You know as well as anyone, death can be undone.”

“But there's always a price to pay, like with any magic. I'm still waiting to see what mine is.”

“You're paying it, kiddo.” Whistler nodded to the boxes in the corner. “Consider that your down payment. The price for Pratt would have been a short term assignment to helping Angel. He'd have gotten back to her in a few years. The idea was, he'd pay the debt off before the bosses put the two of them to work.”

“I'm sure he would have loved that. Just talking about Angel makes him crazy. Wait. What? Put them to work? What Althenea told them about a possible agent assignment for two immortals... She was right?”

He shook his head. “That crazy old witch knows too much. But no claim, no follow up. Summers is still mortal without it, and that's not exactly what the bosses want.”

“So what if it went the other way? What if Buffy changed the plan and took the weapon for herself?”

“Her price would have been a change within herself. She would have come back with her demon way more evolved, strong enough to influence her personality and make her cross the line from 'mostly human' to 'mostly demon.' They'd likely mate quickly if it went that way, with her demon all charged up like that, and we'd be looking at a totally different ballgame.”

“Changing her like that, though... Buffy would never accept it.”

Whistler chuckled. “It's amazing what dropping a prophecy or two into the distant past can make people willing to accept. The bosses even pulled that stunt on me once, with that Angel and Acathla business. That's how I got tangled up with Summers in the first place.”

“So this was going to happen, no matter what.”

“Most likely. When they decided to go with their Plan B, the bosses were surprised, but thought it was for the best. Among other perks, it would buy them a few years to get their act together and stop pretending their demons hadn't already chosen. No one counted on Rosenberg pushing the schedule by taking a magical short cut.” He shook his head. “Man, I'm glad she's finally getting some training.”

“Me, too. It's hard, though.”

“It'll be worth it, kid. You already know that. So, anyway, the Great Procrastinators have run their Rosenberg Special Six Hour clock out, ignoring the bond until it can't be ignored anymore.”

“Spike says she isn't ready. As in, they haven't even had a real conversation about it, just a few sideways mentions here and there. I thought we were talking about the human marriage when we had that 'not ready' conversation, but apparently, the demon marriage is what she was worried about most.”

“The human marriage is a footnote by comparison. This is bigger, and she knows it.” Whistler put his hat back on. “It's not her own commitment that scares her, though. It's his.”

“Buffy's afraid a claim would be a death sentence for Spike.”

“That's about the size of it.”

“I guess I should go ahead and order supplies for the suppressant spell, then. As much as they argue about her death contingency planning, he's not likely to be able to change her mind on that.”

Whistler grinned. “Maybe not right now, but he will. Give it time, kiddo. They'll give in eventually.”

“And in the meantime?” Tara held up the book again. “Is it ok to do this to them? You know, if he can't talk her into not needing it?”

“The spell is safe. Those two geniuses can hang out by a river in Egypt a little longer, if they insist.”

Chapter #21 - Unwilling Witness

Chapter 21: Unwilling Witness

January, 2001

Buffy's words came in time with the motion of her fists. “What. The hell. Is wrong. With. You?”

The skinny vampire growled through his fangs. “I'm hungry!”

She kicked him to the ground. “I'm not talking to you.”

He tried to trip her as she came toward him, wielding a stake. She stepped back to avoid it, simultaneously giving him a chance to regain his feet. He threw a glance around. “Then who? You're not some kind of nut, are you? I've heard this town's got a lot of crazy these days.”

“Welcome to the Hellmouth,” she replied with an eye roll, slipping her stake back into her waistband and attacking him with her fists again. When he tried to back away from her, she let him. “Feel that?”

“What?” The vampire frowned. “Oh, that. Man, Slayer, I think you've got bigger problems than me. If you want to go deal with it, I can just get out of your hair.”

“Sorry, bub. We have to finish this.”

“It's Eddie, actually.” He threw a jab at her face, that she easily blocked. “And you're willing to prioritize me over that? Thanks. That means a lot, coming from a slayer.”

She kicked him in the gut, sending him back a few steps. “You're welcome.”

He called out to their unseen audience as he moved in for another attack. “I don't know who you are, but you should know: I'm not sharing my first slayer.”

Buffy closed her eyes, giving herself a small challenge as she blocked the young vampire's onslaught of weak punches. “Eddie, that master signature is William the Bloody.”

“Whoa. The Slayer of Slayers? He's famous.” He called out again: “Am I being scouted for something? He's watching, right?” He attacked Buffy with renewed vigor. “No offense, Slayer, but I'd rather have you be my first than his third.”

She laughed. “He's not here to steal your spoils, either before or after you kill me.” She grabbed his wrist as his fist came toward her again, giving it a pull as she raised one knee to lift his body weight, flipping him over her shoulder. He landed on the ground with a grunt. “Because I have news for you, Eddie: You're not going to kill me, and neither is he.”

“You sure 'bout that?” came a voice. “Some days, it's tempting.”

“Yeah, Slayer, are you sure?” Eddie jumped to his feet behind her and lunged for her throat.

She turned around just as he was about to grab her shoulders and gave him a hard punch to the chest, sending him flying. “Oh, I'm pretty sure. In fact, if he doesn't spit out what's on his mind, I might just kill him.”

“Would you just dust the poor git already?” asked the voice. “Starting to feel sorry for him.”

Buffy opened her eyes and moved toward where Eddie had landed. His darting eyes gave away that he was looking for a way out. “Please don't run,” she requested. “I'm really not in the mood for it.”

He scrambled to his feet as she neared him, and began to back away, matching her slow pace. “You know, Slayer, you really don't want to waste your energy on me, not if you have to deal with William the Bloody next. Save your strength. I'll just go.”

“He's right, love. Don't wanna wear yourself out before I have a chance at you.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at the innuendo. “Eddie, a vamp with bravado that has a thirty second shelf-life won't last very long. You have to be able to take a few punches, and still come up smiling. You've already shifted into full-on Chicken Mode, complete with lack of fangs.”

Eddie stopped backing up and touched his own face. “Huh. When did that happen?”

“Bloody fledges.”

“Hey!” Eddie called to the voice. “I'm no fledge! I was turned three years ago, thank you!”

“You're still a fledge,” Buffy said. She was now standing in front of him, not moving any closer. “And I'm genuinely surprised you've lasted this long. Three years, huh?”

Eddie nodded and tried to back up another step, before realizing why she'd stopped pursuing him. He hit the wall of a crypt with a whimper. “Uh-oh.”

“What were we doing three years ago, Slayer?” The voice sounded very close.

“That's a matter of perspective. You were either trying to kill me, or trying to help me.”

Eddie looked confused. “Ok, so you two definitely know each other.”

“Well enough.” Spike jumped off the top of the crypt, landing right next to Eddie, still cowering against the wall. Spike gave him a look of disappointment. “You're an insult to the species, Fledge. Slayer, if you don't stake him soon, I'm gonna do it.”

“I don't know. The longer I let him live, the more you'll talk. You've said more in the last five minutes than you have in almost two days.”

“Dust him, then we'll talk.”

She looked Eddie over. “I want insurance. If Eddie makes you stop brooding, Eddie lives.”

“I don't brood!” Spike looked from one to the other with a sigh. “Alright, then. Have it your way.” He started to walk away. “Fledge, come with me.”

Eddie's eyes widened. “Really?” He looked at Buffy, who waved him on. “Ok! Great!” He scrambled away from the wall, hurrying to catch up to the master vampire. Buffy followed them at a slower pace, taking the time to enjoy the quiet, starry night.


“This isn't what I had in mind,” Eddie said, as he was tied to a metal folding chair. "I thought we were going to hang out. Maybe trade slayer stories?”

“I've already seen yours. It was depressing.”

The hatch opened, and Buffy came down the ladder. “Hey! What's she doing here?”

“She thinks having you around will make me talk. I'm humoring her.” He nodded toward the open drawer below the bed. “Love?”

Buffy found a bandana in the drawer and tossed it to Spike. “Sorry, Eddie.” She kicked the drawer closed and sat on the bed.

“For what? What exactly is going-- Mmm!” The young vampire's words were cut off as he was gagged.

“The lady requested your presence. She said fuck all about your conversation.”

“So what's on your mind?”

Spike sat on the bed beside her. “Mostly the conversation you've been avoiding.”

“Let me guess: You want to talk about it.”

“I want you to stop pretending we have a choice. The conversation's officially overdue, Buffy, and you know it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I can't seem to suss out how that happened so fast.”

Buffy shrugged. “We're involved. Weirdness must follow.”

Her casual attitude caused him to raise an eyebrow. “You know what's happening to us, don't you?”

She looked at her hands, her flippancy fading. “Yeah. I thought we'd have a few more years, at least. But it's already starting. ...I didn't realize it until we were filling out the marriage license, but you never actually told me your middle name. I just knew what initials to have engraved on the pen. The information was already in my head. …And then there's the apple juice thing. Tell me what you know.”

“You used to drink apple juice from a rocks glass at your parents' parties when you were little. Thought it made you look like a grown up.” He shrugged. “What of it?”

“Spike, I didn't tell you that story. I've never told anyone that, and I doubt Mom told you. But when we were at Willy's on Christmas Eve, you made a joke about it. And then yesterday morning...”

“You felt me waking up, didn't you?” She nodded. “And I could've sworn I heard you say something to me, but you never opened your mouth.”

A blue flash drew their eyes away from each other. “Do you two geniuses really think it just started manifesting in the last few weeks?”

Buffy's brow furrowed, and she started to stand up, but Spike held a hand in front of her. “It's alright, love. Think we might want him around this time.”

Whistler smiled. “This is great. I like this. You're the second person today to be happy to see me. You guys are starting to like me, aren't you?”

Buffy raised her hand. “I still hate you.”

“Well, two out of three ain't bad.” He jerked a thumb at Eddie. “What's with the hostage?”

“He's a...” Buffy wrinkled her nose. “He's kind of a conversation starter.”

“What? Like an art piece?” Whistler took an empty chair from the table and put it near the bed. He straddled it, facing the couple. “You guys are a little weird. You know that, right?”

“Nibblet tells us that all the time.”

“Man, if she knew half the story... So anyway, no, it didn't start manifesting Christmas Eve. That was just the first time it was obvious enough for you two thick heads to make note of it. It started manifesting as soon as you came back in time. Thank your other witch for that.”

“Willow screwed up a spell? Gee, I never could have seen it coming.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “What did she do to us?”

“She used a binding spell around your auras and -by extension- your bond, so she only actually had to move one of you through time, and the other would be dragged along without her having to worry about keeping you together.”

“Me,” Spike whispered. “She must've focused it on me. That's why you were late arriving on the last bounce, love. You landed--”

“A few steps behind. As usual.”

“And that binding spell sped up the maturity of your bond, big time. I came to see you when you'd been settled into this time for what? A day? And it was already manifesting.” He noted the confusion on Buffy's face. “You don't actually think it's normal that you two have entire conversations that aren't much more than eye contact and a nod, do you?”

Buffy looked uncomfortable. “We just know each other really well...”

“You mean you can get a feel for what each other is thinking when you focus on each other. Face it, kiddo, you two have the whole telepathic bond thing, prepped and ready. It's just waiting on you to open the door.”

“I'm not ready for this,” she whispered.

There was a bright blue flash, and Buffy found herself in a small, cluttered bedroom, sitting on the edge of a very different bed. She looked around. “I know this place.”

Whistler sat on the overstuffed recliner near the bed. “You ought to. You two had a pretty big moment in this ugly little room.”

“The abandoned bungalow on Hillcrest.” She frowned. “Where's Spike?”

“Still in your bunker, and doesn't even know you're gone. Same with the hostage. But this place isn't abandoned, kid.” He jerked a thumb toward the hallway beyond the bedroom door. “The owner's watching TV in the living room.”

“And why exactly are we in his house?”

“To talk.” Whistler leaned forward in the recliner. “You said you're not ready for the claim.”

“I'm not. Whistler, it's been less than a year since I visited the Shadow Men, since I found out exactly what it is...”

“What? That you're part demon? Pfft! You suspected it for years before that. It's the only explanation that makes sense. What else explains a slayer's power? A slayer's senses?” He gestured to the bed behind her. “Snuggling up with the undead for comfort when your world is crashing down around you?”

“'Drawn to the dark,'” Buffy quoted with a shake of her head. “I hate it when he's right.”

“Tough cookies, Summers. That's your life, and you've known it for a while now. As for not being ready, I call bullshit. On both of you. Your vampire is sneaking around, trying to support your idiotic hesitation by talking to your witch about suppressant spells to buy you some time, but that just makes you both fools, wasting time and energy putting off the inevitable.”

She nodded slowly, rising to her feet. “Yeah. Sure. Inevitable. And I'm supposed to believe it's necessary?” Her fists clenched at her side.

The demon stood up to face her. “Come on. Just hit me and get it out of your system. You've been wanting to do it since we met. May as well stop waiting on this, too.” He dodged the first punch, barely. “Hell, why not take him as your mate? You've already married the man once! Make it count this time.” He ducked again, and glanced behind him, making sure he wasn't about to fall over the recliner.

Buffy jumped at the opportunity. Whistler hit the floor before he'd even turned around, “No.” she looked down at him. “I'm not going to be the one to kill him. There's got to be another way.”

Whistler vanished, leaving Buffy standing alone in a stranger's bedroom. She started to walk out of the room, but found the doorway blocked by an invisible barrier. “You've made your point,” she whispered. “You're in charge... for the moment. Now let me go back to him.”

There was another flash, and Whistler was again sitting in the recliner, wearing no evidence of their altercation. “It wasn't my doing. It wasn't the bosses, either,” he said quietly. “Some demon couples are just good matches. The bosses want to make use of it in your case. That's all there is to it.”

“The timing's fishy as hell, Whistler. Willow and Giles -the two people who would freak out the most- are barely gone. We've been married less than two weeks. I'm not buying that this is a coincidence.”

“Well...” Whistler hesitated. “I may as well come clean on that. I put an emergency telepathic block on you at Christmas, trying to buy you just a little extra time. You'd just decided to get married, and I was hoping for a rapid leap to round two. So much for that daydream. Instead of letting the human marriage lead to something, you used it as an opportunity to declare you still won't talk about the claim. A few of the more obvious exchanges made it through before I put the block in. I guess I wasn't fast enough. I got lucky, though. You two talk to each other so much, you didn't immediately notice the information wasn't passed verbally, and just assumed you'd forgotten mentioning it.”

“Like the apple juice thing. And that he was christened William Henry.” Buffy sighed and returned to her seat on the edge of the bed. “I've known this was coming for a while now. He's probably known it a lot longer. Spike's always a little ahead of me on the relationship stuff.”

“Then do something about it, already.”

“No. Just because I've got enough demon in me for it to choose a mate doesn't make taking that mate a good idea. If you haven't noticed what I do for a living...”

“Save the world? With your lieutenant?”

“I die. A lot. Whistler, I could deal with becoming an immortal. I think I could adjust to that, eventually. But I need another method. A claim puts Spike in too much jeopardy.”

Whistler choked back a laugh. “Pratt's going to fight beside you, no matter what. Even if he didn't, you and I both know living a safe life isn't his style. Even by vampire standards, that one courts danger on a professional level. You have that in common. Summers, you're a vampire slayer. You know better than most that even immortals have to kick it eventually.”

“I refuse to be the cause for Spike,” she whispered. “I've read some stuff. I know demon mates have some advantages, but the 'the death of one is the death of the other' clause is a major drawback.”

“Take the risk, Summers. This is the path you're on. You just have to come out of your denial and walk the damn thing. So you don't have the time you thought you had to get settled into the idea, since this stuff usually takes a lot more years to get to a critical point.” He shrugged. “It is what it is. Rosenberg yanked your time cushion by sending you back. Ironic, huh?”

Buffy exhaled a long breath with a shake of her head. “Freakin' Willow. Again.

“Yeah, but only the timing is her fault. You were going to have to make this decision eventually.”

“I was hoping we could at least get through May of 2003 before I had to deal with this. Hell, May of this year might be good enough. If I knew for certain I wouldn't have to jump, wouldn't have to worry that I'd either kill him or...” She fell back on the bed and addressed the ceiling. “I know he blamed himself for it. I think he still does, still thinks it was his fault I jumped. But it was my fault, really. I should have gotten to the platform soon enough to help him with Doc. I was too late.”

“Newsflash, Summers: Shit happens. That's just the way it went down. You aren't responsible for it coming down to a choice between you and your sister, and neither is Pratt. As much as he might think you're Slayer Number Three on his body count sheet, you aren't. And as much as you might think that was a suicide jump, it wasn't. You both played it out as best you could, and that's how the cards fell.”

“Luck. Not fate,” she whispered, sitting back up to face him. “But it was when I came back that things changed between us. Was that luck, too? I'm still not buying it.”

“You were a little more in touch with the inner demon when you came back,” he said. “A little more aware of it. That's all.”

“My inner demon should not have chosen a mate, Whistler. Ever. I'm a slayer. Born to die young.”

“That crazy old English witch you brought out here? She was right about you. You haven't been a true slayer since before you even met your chosen mate. Your record may be pretty awful, but past isn't prologue for everything, kid. Things can change. Luck can change.”

“Yeah. It can get worse. And here I was hoping that wasn't possible.”

Whistler stood up and pulled her to her feet, putting them face to face. “I know you think of me as the messenger of doom, but you need to listen to me, for once: That vampire is desperate to offer you immortality, and he'll ask the second you even hint you might say yes. The bosses aren't going to stand in your way. But they aren't going to offer you an alternative, either. Either you take him up on the offer he wants to make, or you're a short term asset, who gets the award for shooting herself in the foot.”

“For choosing not to risk dusting Spike with my bad luck?”

“For choosing to spend your life doped up on suppressant potions instead of letting your instincts lead you to greater strength, and a chance at some serious longevity. What was it you said to the watcher? That Pratt kept you alive when you were facing the First Evil? Let him stay on that job for another century or two. See how it shakes out.”

“Stupid demons,” she grumbled. “A slayer and a vampire, choosing each other? It's a disaster story.”

“No, genius. It's a natural fit. You've been listening to Watcher's Council garbage too long.”

She shook her head. “I should have shooed him out of town years ago. He'd have been safer that way.”

“You can keep talking yourself in circles of denial and regret if you want to, but it's not going to go away. Have the conversation, Summers. Make a decision.”

“My name isn't Summers,” she whispered. “Not for long, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that means something.” Whistler studied her profile. “You two have gone through a lot of crap, together and apart. And time after time, you chose each other over other options. Other people. Other priorities. Give in to the recurring theme.”

“I'll think about it.” She sighed. “How much time do we have?”

“Ah, the eternal question...”

“I'm not in a joking mood, in case you haven't noticed.”

“Before it becomes a problem? Not much. Days, a couple of weeks at the outside. When I said I put in an emergency block, I meant 'emergency' in a very real sense. Rosenberg's magical shortcut really did a number on you two, and it's catching up, big time. The clock's ticking.” Whistler smirked. “Well, not this very second. I hit the pause button in here and your bunker as soon as you started on that 'not ready' bullshit. Stopped time. The only question I have for you now is, how much do you want him to know about this little chat?”

Buffy was silent for a moment. “All of it. Give him all of it.”

“And the hostage?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

A blue flash returned them to the bunker, standing between Spike and Eddie. They were both perfectly still. Another blue flash came, and Whistler was no longer standing with her. The vampires began to move. Buffy bit her lip, watching as Spike stood up, shaking his head. He looked at her for a long time, working through the memory he'd just been given, and hoping she'd speak. When it became obvious she was waiting on him, he broke the ice with “You could have let me have the first punch.”

“Sorry. I've known him longer. I called dibs years ahead of you.”

“So we're having this conversation, now? Finally?”

“The impossible conversation,” Buffy muttered. “Did you know the Council thinks the connections, the bond, the instincts -all of it, really- is total bull? Their literature says mating is just a long term relationship between demons, with that one dangerous little string attached.” She halfheartedly pumped a fist in the air. “Way to go, Council.”

“Could be less dangerous than you seem convinced it is. The upside of being bound straight through to the dusting is that it could be a long ways down the road.” He shifted his weight. “So your hope for another way to stay with me for the long haul...”

“Denied. Apparently, my only ticket to immortality comes with the caveat that staking you is suicide.” She gave him a playful shrug. “I guess that's one way to tone down our fights.”

Spike raised an eyebrow at her attitude. “Always when you're stressed,” he mumbled. “You either get sassy or silent. Haven't ever seen you find a middle ground.”

Her smile faded. “I'm trying not to freak out, you know. I'm trying to act like it's totally ok that I thought I had at least a few years to consider this, to see how things play out, and it turns out, it's a few days.” She took a long, slow breath, then straightened her shoulders, adopting the stern expression he knew as General Buffy. “Ok,” she said, her level voice masking any sign of emotion. “Let's talk this through. How does this play out over the next week or two?”

He followed her lead, matching her straight shoulders and crossed arm pose. “Say we do nothing: We could be driven to do it. It's animal level stuff we're talking about, love. Instincts.”

She shook her head. “The Guardian said I'd get to choose. This doesn't sound like a choice.”

“Three options: You say no, and we get Glinda to suppress the telepathy and mute the instincts, and plan to keep renewing it, likely every few months. You say yes, and let the chips fall where they may. Or we can put a hell of a lot of distance between ourselves and hope we don't eventually go mad.”

“I'm going to make a judgment call right now and take Plan C off the table.”

“Got my vote.”

“Tell me about the suppressant.”

“A good witch, like we got, can do it, easy enough. Risk is in if it's not strong enough. It wears off too fast, instincts take over, and we do it, anyway. Go overboard at the outset, trying to cover for that risk, Glinda could block more than she means to.”

“The basis of the bond. Fabulous. Ok, so Plan A is iffy.”

“You could accept me, love. Then it's you and me, looking at a few centuries or so of fighting, shagging, and talking, but with every awareness of each other heightened. I get hurt, you'll know it. You get a craving for drunken noodle, I'll know it. Wanna talk privately in a room full of people or from the other side of the world? All it takes is a little focus.”

“Unless I continue my lovely little habit of kicking the bucket. In which case, I take you with me.”

“You know I'm up for that risk. Have been for years.”

“Obviously. That's why you're still running around with the death prone slayer. That doesn't make it smart.” She shook her head at him. “I'm well aware that you and caution are loose acquaintances, at best, Spike. I was avoiding the conversation in part because I already knew there was no way I could talk you into seeing this my way, into agreeing that it's a stupid risk to take.” She looked him in the eye. “Plan B isn't perfect, either, no matter how cute that hopeful expression on your face is.”

“You gonna let me at least ask this time, make a proper proposal?”

“It might be better for you if you don't.”

“So that's a 'no,' then.” The hopeful expression was rapidly fading.

“I'd like to be asked, actually. I think I'd love it. But I haven't decided yet, and I might end up saying no. I'd... I want some time to think about it.” She gave him a demure smile. “Will you ask me later?”

“So you do want me to ask you?” Spike narrowed his gaze at her. “What the bleedin' hell goes on in that head of yours?” He paced the floor. “Half of what you say makes no sense at all, and the other half only a little. You treated getting married like it fell somewhere between a chore and a joke, and two weeks down the line, you decide you want ritual and tradition, and time to think about it?”

“Tell me how getting married changed things between us?”

He didn't have an answer.

“That's what I thought. This would actually change stuff. Big stuff. Big, permanent stuff.” She stepped closer to him. “And there are other factors at play here, Spike. This obviously isn't the end game with Whistler. If it was, he wouldn't have put a temporary block on us. Hell, he wouldn't have talked to me about it at all, just let the stupid instincts decide for us sometime in the next week or two. Althenea's right: He's looking at the long term with us. This is just a step on the road for him. Do we really want to help that little weasel?”

“We can take this step without signing on to be his dancing monkeys. We do this or not, it should be about us, not the bloody Powers and their Earthly Minion wish list.”

“And what if I still have to jump?” She fought to keep her emotions in check. “It's dangerous. I'm dangerous. To you. And I'm still not ready for you not to be here, even if I'm gone.”


“I don't know if I can go into this, putting you at that kind of risk. I'd rather make you a widower than a dust bunny.”

“I'm voting for neither.”

“Admit it, Sparky: I'm right about this. We both know you're a hell of a lot safer if you never ask the question, if we stay doped up on suppressants and never discuss this again.”

“So no, then. You don't really want to be asked. You've already decided to reject me.” He tensed his jaw. “So what was all that rigamarole 'bout not deciding yet?”

“What I want and what I need are two different things. I need to know you'll be here. No matter what happens, you have to survive me, Spike. That's how it works.”

“This about me or the mission, love?” Spike asked quietly.


The long silence that followed was broken when Eddie managed to knock over his chair. Buffy lifted it to set it upright. “Sorry, Eddie. I should have staked you an hour ago.”

“Mmm! Mmm!”

She took off the gag. “Again, please?”

“Please, let me go! I don't wanna be anywhere near an immortal slayer!” Eddie looked up at Spike, his eyes wide. “Oh, god. Could you walk in the day?”

Spike shrugged. “Suppose it's possible. Wouldn't count on it, though.”

“Huh. I hadn't thought of that,” Buffy murmured as she untied the knots of rope.

Eddie shook off his loosened restraints. “Thank you! Thank you! I promise, I'll get out of this town. You'll never see me again.”

She laughed. “I've heard that before.”

“I thought I meant it at the time, love.”

“No, really! I mean it! I'll never tell anyone I even visited the Hellmouth.” Eddie was on his feet, his hands raised in surrender.

Buffy dropped into his vacated chair. “Now I don't even want to stake you. You're kind of helpless. It wouldn't be right.”

“Heard that before,” Spike murmured. “Ends about as well as me staying gone.”

“Hey! We took care of you... sort of.”

“Sort of. And then you found new ways to torture me. Do yourself a favor, Fledge. Get gone before you look into her eyes one too many times.”

Buffy reached out to grab Eddie's narrow wrist before he could take the advice to run. “Hang on a second. Where are you going?”

“Out of town. Away. Far, far away.”

She studied at him for a moment, an idea dawning. “If I let you leave here, you can stay in town, safe from us. But there are two conditions. One: Humans are off the menu. Butcher's blood. Period. Non-negotiable. Two: You'll be around to take care of odd jobs in the demon world for us from time to time.” She gestured to Spike. “You can talk to the people he can't.”

Eddie seemed to be thinking about this. “But I like warm blood,” he whined.

“The mighty hunter.” Spike rolled his eyes. “He's never gonna behave, love. He may be a sad excuse for a vampire, but he still is one.”

“That's what they said about you after the chip.” Buffy looked at the young vampire again. “Doesn't he remind you of someone?”

“Andrew, a little.”

“Yeah. I think it's in the whine.” She addressed Eddie. “There's a microwave and a refrigerator, right over there. There's sewer access over there. You can come by to use them.”

He looked around with hungry eyes. “Can I stay here, too?”

Buffy looked to Spike for approval of the idea, but his focus was on Eddie. He seemed to be looking over the fledgling for the first time. “How old were you when you died, Fledge?”


“Just a kid, then. And living on the streets, were you?”

“How'd you know?”

“You got the look of a bloke hasn't known a home for a while.” Spike waved a hand. “Alright, then. But if you're going to nest down here, there are ground rules.”

“Like what?”

Spike pointed to the only bed that wasn't simply a mattress on the floor. “That's ours. I get even a whiff of you on that bed...”

“I gotcha.”

“And you take damned good care of this place. Bedding doesn't get mildewed. Food and blood don't sit around rotting. We need it to stay ready to house a group of humans in a pinch.”

“I can keep it clean.”

“One other thing: Me and the missus might like the place to ourselves once in a while. Some nights, you might have to settle someplace else.”

Eddie fought back a smirk. “I understand. No human blood. Clean... whatever this place is...”

“We call it the bunker, these days.”

“So no human blood, clean bunker, I sleep over there.” He pointed to the mattresses on the floor. “And I come and go when you need me to. Is that it?” His eyes started roving around the room again, taking in the size of the space, the bookcases full of supplies, the television, microwave, and refrigerator, the easy sewer access. “I'll do it.”

Buffy slowly released his wrist. “Ok. But the first body that can be associated with you will be the last. Are we very, very clear on that point?”

“Oh, yeah.” Eddie waved a hand casually as he moved to the kitchen area. “That's fine. As long as it's warm, I'm happy. Is this microwave new?”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Minion sire of a minion sire,” he mumbled.

“He's what?” Buffy wrinkled her nose.

“It's not just the body that's weak. It's the demon. Barely had enough blood to turn him, from a vamp who'd had the same. And there's something else... You notice anything about his signature?”

“Nothing special. Why?”

“Probably 'cause I'm here.” Spike headed for the sewers. “Answer again in a minute.” He walked out of the bunker, leaving Buffy studying the young vampire left behind.

She watched Eddie walk around the room, inspecting the makeshift kitchen, pushing against the plastic on the bookcases to touch the items inside, bending low to push his hands against the mattresses, testing their softness. She focused her senses, feeling Spike's distinctive signature growing distant, moving toward the edge of her range, leaving Eddie's the only one near her. Her eyes grew wide with realization. “Eddie, when exactly were you turned?”

“March of '98. In Ventura.” He sat down on the mattress nearest the corner, looking pleased with his choice. “That's where I'm from.”

“But your sire was from Sunnydale. That's the only way...”

“Really? Cool! How do you know?”

“Because you're descended from a clan whose only presence in the entire western US at that time was at the Hellmouth.”

“Hey! That's a pretty cool trick. Do you know my sire's name, too?”

“I was hoping you did.”

Eddie shook his head. “I just know she was kinda pretty.”

Spike reentered the bunker. “You sense it, love?”

“He seems like he's related, but that's definitely not a true Aurelian signature.”

“No, too weak for that. I couldn't even feel the connection 'til I focused on him. Suspect he was turned by an Aurelian's minion.”

“He doesn't know who his sire was, Spike. He only knows it was a woman, who made it down to Ventura in March of 1998. Which of the three of you had female minions back then?”

Spike returned to his seat on the edge of the bed. “We all did, but Dru is out of the running. Only women she turned here, you and Kendra took care of.” He looked across the room to Eddie, who was lounging comfortably on his chosen mattress. “The kid is either from Peaches' minion line... or mine.”

“Fifty-fifty shot.”

He turned to find her also staring at the fledgling, but with her mouth set in a hard line. “Love, there were a lot of minion sires over the decades. This may not be the last time we run across the results. You gonna be able to make your peace with that?”

Buffy sighed. “It's not that. I don't expect 120 years of murder and mayhem to disappear into the ether.” She sat on the edge of the bed beside him. “But I just realized... We'll have to take care of him. Blood money, money for other stuff, checking in on him to make sure he behaves, playing his moral compass because his is all screwed up... I don't know if I can do it again. No offense, but you were exhausting.”

“Kinda hoping he won't wear you down the same way, Mrs. Pratt.”

“I'm being serious, William.”

“You want serious? How's this: That kid over there may not know his own history, but someone, sometime, told him some of mine. He respects me. Understands his place in the hierarchy. He also already knows I'm married to the slayer, and might eventually be her mate. He's not just looking at us as benefactors, Buffy. He's looking at us as leaders. His leaders. Last time you came here, you talked about me not taking advantage of being the master in town anymore. Well now I am, love, and you're in it with me. The current master of Sunnyhell's got a minion. And so does the mistress.”

She fell back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I couldn't have hooked up with nice, normal, human guy?”

Spike scoffed. “You tried that. And you were bored to tears.”

Chapter #22 - Power Shifts

Chapter 22: Power Shifts

January, 2001

Dawn marched out of the kitchen and into the living room. She thrust a piece of paper at Buffy. “Forge Mom's signature and deposit this, or I will.”

Buffy frowned at the cashier's check. “It's cold.”

“Because he put it in the freezer!”

“I guess that's fair. The last place she put it was in our mini-fridge downstairs.”

“And before that was the coffee canister.”

“And his sock drawer.”

“Her bathroom mirror.”

“The scythe case.”

“And before that was a solid week of coat pocket trades and the whole pillowcase fiasco.” Dawn threw her hands up in frustration. “Neither one of them will give in, so we're going to have to do something about it, before they drive us crazy.”

Buffy sighed and glanced up at the clock on the mantle. “I think I can make it to the bank before it closes.”


Spike rolled away from her with a frustrated growl. “I guess not, then. Your mind is elsewhere, love.”

“The telepathy again?”

“No need for it. Know that look a li'l too well. You're not with me right now.”

“I'm sorry.” Buffy sat up against her pillows and pulled up the quilt. “I'm just thinking about Willow.”

“Great timing for that. Changing teams on me?” He settled against the headboard beside her.

“Not like that... I'm thinking about her screwing up that spell.”

“Bloody hell. Which one?”

“The one that got us Olaf's hammer. We have no way of recreating the accident she and Anya had that brought him here. If we can't get him here, we can't get his weapon.”

“Can do without the hammer, Slayer.” Spike waved to the case on top of the dresser. “Got the twins with us this time around.”

“Do you think that will be enough?”

“Willing to bet they'll slice Doc up into a few dozen pieces pretty well. And they've got some power behind 'em. Should be good for taking on the bitch herself.”

She snuggled close to him. “You seem awfully sure we're going to make it through this.”

“All I know is, I'm not gonna let you jump.”

“I hear you.”


Buffy woke up from her dream with a start. She reached out for Spike, and shook him awake. “Sparky?” she whispered.


“Don't go back to that demon shaman. Please.”

He opened his eyes. “What? Where's this coming from?”

She shifted to her side to face him. “Don't go there for me.”

“And if I wanna go there for me?”

She bit her lip, her mind on the images in her dream. “Just promise it won't be for me. I don't think I can handle... Just don't. Please. Don't even go unless you really feel like you have to.”

He reached out to turn on the bedside lamp. “You gonna tell me what brought this on?”

“Um, I don't know. Maybe the thing with Eddie has got me thinking. No chip, no soul, and he's still a nice guy. Sort of.”

“If you're comparing me to some minion sire fledge, Slayer...” Spike's eyes flashed amber.

“This isn't about your ego.” Buffy fought back the urge to roll her eyes. “Eddie's choosing to behave himself.”

“So far. No doubt he'll bugger it up eventually.”

“Probably. But you chose to turn your life around, too. It was a little less of a free choice for you, though. ...And it wasn't right.”

He frowned, trying to piece together what she was saying. “The chip wasn't your fault, love.”

“The soul is. And some days? I'm not sure I can live with that.”

There was a long silence before Spike turned the lamp off again. He pulled her close. “One day, love,” he whispered. “Maybe we'll both be proud of it.”


Dear Mr. Travers,

I was called to a sacred duty as a teenager, given power beyond that of a normal human girl, upon the death of the last one to be called. I risk my life night after night to help rid the human world of the demons who would cause it harm. I stand guard over the mouth of Hell, and am willing to die to ensure it stays closed. I don't know what dictionary you're using, but I'm pretty sure that makes me the active Slayer.

Whether the Council claims me as its own or not, I am the Slayer. And you can afford to keep me in battle axes and cheeseburgers. Do you think I don't know you just blew millions on a new watcher training academy near the Bath Hellmouth? Or that your archive vault has more gold than paper in it? Come on, let's be honest with each other. It's not about money.

It's about power.

You see my request for a monthly stipend as an opportunity to exert some influence, retake the reins I've been holding more or less since I was called. But they aren't your reins to take. They belong to me. I fight the battles. I lead the soldiers into war. I have the essence of ancient demons, of the Turok Hans, running through my veins. (Yes, I know that, too.)

I have the power. I am the Slayer. You have money and books, mostly sitting around, gathering dust. Just like the watchers who handle them. And no Slayer to help. Don't you get bored? You guys are out of the game unless I let you in. Well, here's your chance.

If my financial needs are met, I'll consider allowing Council help. In the meantime, you can keep your team. I have my own.

Magic: I have a damn good witch on hand, and another one on call, as well as the entirety of the coven with whom the latter is currently cloistered, learning greater control of her already significant power.

Research: I have at my disposal the memories and experiences of a 150 year old vampire and an 1100 year old ex-demon, as well as a fairly vast library (both physical and virtual) of books on demons, prophecies, rituals, and history. I also have a certain ex-watcher on call, and connections to another. What I need to know, I can usually find out.

Muscle: In addition to the witches, the vampire, and the ex-demon, there's a human man who has clocked more field time than any dozen current employees of the Council combined could claim. Plus, there's me. And I'm kind of a bad ass.

Now, if you would like to send a single watcher to join my team, in an advisory capacity, I will accept one, on a probationary basis. I officially request Miss Chalmers, for her background as a researcher. If she is not available, at least send me someone who can handle a sword. I've got a Hellgod in town, gearing up for a fairly epic showdown. What I need most is good soldiers.

It really is this simple: Help me out, or stay out of my way. I don't have time to play political power games with you , Quentin. I've got a world to save.

Buffy Summers

The Slayer

“Uh, Buff,” Xander said, handing back the letter. “I'm pretty sure this is the official request form for another wet works team.”

She folded the letter and slid it into an envelope. “Let them come. I'll kill them, if I have to.”

“Whoa.” He stepped away from the desk.

“I mean it, Xan. There are some lines I have to be willing to cross, when it's necessary. If they stand between me and winning this war, they're the enemy. Species is a non-issue.”

Downstairs, Spike nearly dropped the boot he was putting on, as he felt a sudden wave of barely contained rage wash over him, with images of a wall covered in crosses, and a man slouched against it, bruised and beaten, bleeding from the neck. The point of view shifted, and he saw himself, standing just outside the door, with his back to the room. He shook away the images, put on his boots, and ran upstairs.

“I don't know, Buff. That seems like a pretty harsh way of looking at things.”

“What's harsh is knowing there's a chance some of us will die, not doing everything in my power to mitigate that risk, and having to look the survivors in the eye when its over. Let alone having to face myself. If Travers decides to send his wet works guys, or anyone, he's welcome to do so, provided they are here to help, not hinder. If they're going to get in my way, they'll be given two choices. They can leave under their own power, or leave via mine.”

Xander looked up to see Spike standing in the living room doorway. “You alright, man? You look like you've just seen a ghost.”

“Sort of. You ready to head to Willy's? Clem's joining us again, and there's a kid I want you to meet.”

“Yeah, whenever you are. I'm just hanging out, trying to keep the Buffster from turning into something scary, and apparently failing.”

“Be ready in a tick. Slayer, can I see you in the kitchen?”

Buffy followed him to the kitchen. “What's up? Are you worried about Xan and Eddie hitting it off?”

“You just slammed me with your memory of Wood's garage, complete with your impulse to kill him,” he whispered. “It's getting stronger, Buffy. We either put a stop to it, or we take control of it. Can't put it off much longer. I need a decision.”

“I'm working on it, ok?”

“Well, work faster. Anytime now, your mum's gonna start noticing the bitten through pillows in the rubbish bin, or catch you bringing home the replacements. Getting to the point I'm wondering if I need to move to the bunker.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Alright, alright.” She opened her eyes. “You'll have a decision by sun up.”


“Ok, guys, this is where I go my way.” Clem threw an arm around Spike's shoulders, pulling him into a half hug. “It's been fun.”

Spike pulled away, chuckling. “Sure you're alright to get home from here, mate?”

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. It's only another block, and the worst thing in this neighborhood is my cousin Tinker's wife. She's like a cross between a pitbull and Mack truck... with a lit stick of TNT in her hand. You think your woman is scary. She's just a slayer. You should hear some Rowena stories.”

Xander couldn't control his laughter. He struggled to breathe. “We're-- we're on for next week?”

“Sure! You guys want me to bring Tinker? He didn't get the brains in the family, but you'll like him.”

“Bring him!” Xander caught his breath. “Let's have some Rowena stories. I think I'll like not being the only guy with a crazy woman at home.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Harris, have you met Buffy Summers?”

Clem waved his goodbyes and turned down a side street while all three were still laughing.

Xander and Spike turned the other way, toward Xander's apartment. “Speaking of crazy Buffy, can I ask you something?”

There was a moment of hesitation. “What's on your mind?”

“Whatever it is that changed about her this past fall, that made her start getting all cozy with you and all quiet with everyone else... there was something else. The vocabulary changed. She started using words like 'war' and 'soldiers.' Do you know what's up with that? It's oddly... formal for Buffy.”

“It's appropriate, though.”

“Yeah, I'll give you that.”

“You ever think that what changed about her might have just been a little growing up? Slayer sees the job for what it is: a series of battlefields. It's not the romantic hero bollocks she tried to pretend it was when she was younger.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Xander fell silent, busy watching his slightly unsteady feet.

“What'd you think of Eddie?” Spike asked, as they neared Xander's apartment building.

“Eddie... Eddie's a new experience. I've never met a vamp who made me want to pat him on the head like a little puppy. Does he even know how to kill people?”

“The kid was turned three years ago, so I figure he's got some bodies behind him. Not all that many, considering he's already put on a bit of weight since he started getting his from the butcher.”

“He's put on weight? He's still so skinny... I'm not surprised Buffy didn't stake him. I think I might hesitate, too. He's just so.... so...”


“Yeah.” Xander frowned. “I kinda wonder how she even managed to fight him.”

“Wasn't much of a fight. I was watching, you know. The kid tried to act tough, but he's kinda terrible at it. Buffy was blocking him with her eyes closed, and did more pushing away than actual beating on him. And he was still so scared, he couldn't keep his fangs out.”

“Aw, poor kid.” Th