Author’s Note: No warnings on this chapter—except for excessive talky bits. Title is not in reference to the First Evil or Season 7.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Betaed by Phuriedae and Science

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Chapter 71
Beneath You


The TV is on in the living room when we finally make it downstairs and I can hear the droning voice of the weatherman predicting snow, again, sometime in the next forty-eight hours. There are voices in the kitchen, and the smell of coffee makes my mouth water.

The others look up as we come in. "Morning," I say, then squint at the clock. "Or... mid-afternoon, I guess."

"We thought you guys could use some sleep," Willow says, glancing back and forth between me and Spike, her eyes wide with surprise. "You... wow. How... how do you feel?"

Anya is... Anya. "You no longer look like you’re about to keel over. I guess it's true. A good night's sleep fixes everything."

I'd say it wasn't that bad, but... I saw my reflection last night, and what I look like this morning. It's a big improvement. Maybe I got a little of Spike's healing powers, too. Or maybe my Slayer healing was taking care of things big time. Either way, at least I don’t look like death warmed over, and Spike no longer looks like Skeletor.

"Thanks," I say, and reach for a donut. Spike hands me a cup of coffee, then moves toward the fridge.

"There still blood left from last night?" he asks.

"Second drawer on the bottom," Willow says, looking at Spike's filled out frame questioningly.

"Cheers," he says, and gets out his blood to heat up.

“What’s that?” Xander says, staring at me.

“What’s what?” I ask, confused by more than just his question. I’m hungry... or, not me exactly. Spike’s hungry, I think. Somehow I can feel it. It’s not the horrible pangs he suffered the night he crawled out of his grave, when I got to piggyback in his head. It’s more like my morning stomach rumblies. My stomach lurches a little at what he's hungry for, though. That’s gonna take some getting used to.

“That!” Xander says, leaning over the counter top to pull my hair out of the way.

“Hey,” I say, stepping back at the same time as Spike whips around, snarling. “It’s no big,” I say.

“No big? He bit you!” Xander says, standing, holding himself up using the counter instead of his crutch. He whirls on Spike. “You bit her!”

Spike rolls his eyes and drinks his blood. “Of course I did, you git. What did you think that ritual entailed? Jumping in and out of a circle and shaking gourds?”

“But... but... chip!” Xander said.

“It didn’t hurt,” I say. “Really.”

“Yeah, and setting my leg didn’t hurt, either, did it? Figures if you could ignore the chip long enough to do that you could stand it long enough to take a bite out of Buffy, huh, Mr. Masochist? I thought you said you weren't going to bite her,” Xander snarls, rounding the counter.

“It wasn’t like that, you pillock,” Spike says, but he doesn’t get a chance to explain. Xander slugs him, hard, in the jaw. Spike drops his mug, splashing blood down the front of his shirt and on the floor. When he looks back up at Xander he’s in game face.

“Spike—” I say, but he growls low.

“Feel better?” he asks Xander.

“You’re still here, so, no,” Xander says, bristling. “You don’t get to hurt Buffy.”

I grab his fist before he can punch Spike again. “You don’t get to make that decision for me,” I tell him.

“What? Buffy—” Xander says, blinking at me.

“I love you, Xander. I do. You’re my family and my friend, but what Spike and I do is none of your business. He didn’t hurt me, and he didn’t do anything that I wasn’t okay with. This was my choice, and you need to respect that,” I tell him, staring him in the eyes so he gets what I mean.

I feel him sag slightly. “I just... I care, Buff. And... and when Angel...”

“Spike isn’t Angel,” I tell him. “Believe me, no one knows that better than I do. I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, but he’s on our side now. He’s been on our side for a long damn time, but we were all too blind to see it. He doesn’t deserve your anger, or your resentment,” I say, glancing at the others who have all slowly trickled into the kitchen. “I made my decision, and I chose Spike. When you hurt Spike, you hurt me, too. So, please, don't do this. We have more important things to deal with right now than petty insecurities and old grudges.”

There’s a noise from the doorway, and when I look up, Giles is standing there. “Am I to assume that all this male posturing means th-that it’s done, then?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s done.”

“Then, you’re absolutely right,” he says. “We’ve more important things to discuss. If you two are quite through?”

Xander and Spike regard one another warily.

“I don’t like you,” Xander says. “But if you don’t hurt her, I won’t hurt you.”

“Same to you,” Spike says, straightening. His eyes flash gold and I can tell that it’s only his promise to me that keeps him from proving his strength to Xander. “That was your last free shot at me, Harris. And I won’t hurt her. Not for the world.” Then he smirks. “Well... not unless she asks real nice.”

“Spike,” I warn, rolling my eyes. “Other things, remember?”

“Right,” he says. “You want to tell them about our trip through the lookin’ glass last night, ducks, or would you rather wait until after I change my...uh, bloody shirt?”

***

We gather in the living room again. Together, Spike and I fill in the others on the dream from last night.

“It was a Slayer dream?” Giles asks. “You’re sure.”

“Positive,” I say.

“And... and you say Spike experienced it as well? How extraordinary. This connection you two share—” Giles says.

“Yeah, fascinating,” I say. “You can put us in separate rooms and do experiments on us another time, Giles. Right now I think we need to figure out what it all meant.”

Giles blinks. “Right. Of course. Right. Ah... you said the Olaf note didn’t seem to fit the rest of the pattern. In what way?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t like it was a picture or anything. Just... it didn’t seem to go,” I say.

“Yeah,” Spike said. “Every time I tried to stick it down it wouldn’t stay put.”

“So perhaps there was something about Olaf that was different from the other demons you’ve fought this year,” Giles says.

“Well, there was the purple crystal thing,” I point out. “We never did figure out what the sitch was with it.”

“Do we still have it?” Giles asks.

Willow nods, pulling out a small velvet bag. “Here,” she says, dumping the crystal out of the bag into her hand. “I thought I’d hold on to it. I-I’ve still got all our notes on it, too.” Tara pulls a notebook out of the stack on the table and starts flipping through it. “They’re coded in purple and blue,” Willow says.

“Here,” Tara says. “Um... it—the crystal was used as a prison. There was a coven of witches, about nine hundred years ago. They bound Olaf to the crystal, and then kept it in a safe place for several hundred years. Then it vanished.”

“And turned up here,” I say.

“An’ I still think it’s weird that a crystal that housed Anya’s ex just happened to show up in the shop where she works, nine hundred years later,” Spike says.

“It’s almost like someone put it there,” I say. “But why?”

“You say they kept it in a safe place?” Giles says. “Aside from the obvious reason, why?”

“According to Willow’s notes they didn’t have the means to destroy it,” Tara reads. “It says that it ‘housed the power of a god, and could not be destroyed by mortal hand.’”

“Mortal hand,” I say, thinking back. “Louhi can’t be harmed by a mortal weapon.”

“You think they’re connected?” Xander asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, frowning. I feel like I have two puzzle pieces that ought to fit together but I can’t figure out which way to turn them to get them to work. “Maybe. What about the other dream stuff? The Leia demons? The map? Riley pretending to be a vampire?”

“Lei-Ach,” Spike mutters. “Felt like it was trying to point us at something, pet. We—” he stops, lifting his head and staring at the TV. “Turn it up,” he says.

We glance at the TV. We’d left it on, but turned the sound down low. With Spike’s vamp hearing, however, he must have picked up on something. Anya is sitting closest, so she leans over and turns up the volume.

“—The storm is located directly over the small town of Sunnydale, California and it continues to build. Meteorologists claim that they’ve never seen anything like it before,” a reporter says. The view switches to a scientist guy.

“We’re looking at a major blizzard, building directly over the city. We expect it to hit sometime in the next forty-eight hours. It’s sending out a cold wave that is affecting most of central and northern California, as well as nearby states. This storm defies all known weather patterns...”

The scene switches back to the reporter, who is standing somewhere downtown, with massive stormclouds looming ominously overhead. “Local officials are preparing for what they’re calling ‘The Storm of the Millenium.’ Citizens of Sunnydale are being urged to take all possible precautions in preparation for the storm, including stocking up on food supplies, wood, and water. Many are being evacuated to local shelters in anticipation of widespread power outages. Sunnydale utilities say they’re simply not prepared for the kind of burden the ongoing cold weather has been putting on the system.”

This time the view switches to city hall, and some officially-looking guy at a podium. “All residents are being urged to move to one of the three emergency shelters. Sunnydale Elementary and UC Sunnydale are both accepting evacuees. Anyone who may need medical attention, or who is accompanying someone who needs medical attention, should go to Sunnydale Memorial. We’re looking for volunteers to help staff each of the evacuation centers. Right now, Sunnydale Memorial is anticipating at least a thousand evacuees..."

In my head, something clicks.

"Giles," I say, "do you have a map of Sunnydale?"

"I do," he says, digging into a pile of research paper and handing me a folded map. I recognize it immediately. It's the one from my dream, the one that Riley and I used months ago to try to figure out where to find Toth. I open it up and lay it flat on the coffee table.

"I know where Louhi's going to get her power center," I say, staring at the spot on the map that was hidden by the shadow. "The dream..."

Anya sitting on a hospital bed, arm in a sling. "Now I'm stuck in this stupidly breakable human body. I could die, you know! This hurts!"

Xander, in his casts. "Does it hurt?" I ask.

"Mostly just my pride. Do you think next time Riley can wear the dress? I'm getting a little tired of being the damsel."

Riley, being patched up by the doctor, the vampire feeding from his arm. "It's okay," he says. "It's just blood work. She needs it. It's supposed to hurt."

"I hurt him," I say.

"He hurt himself," Spike says. "C'mon."

Giles, Willow and Tara, in the waiting room. Giles with ice on the back of his head. Wills and Tara are crying. "What do you wear when it hurts so much?" Willow says.

So many different kinds of pain. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual—all in one place.

Spike looks over my shoulder, frowning, then, "The hospital," he says, connecting the dots.

"That TV guy said they're expecting several thousand evacuees. All those sick and dying people. All that pain. It'll be like a buffet," I say.

"You're certain, Buffy?" Giles asks.

"It makes sense. Most of the dream kept leading us back to the hospital, and the shadow on the map was right about here," I say, pointing at the map.

"Then we need to get there first," Xander says. "Figure out how to stop her."

"What if her army is already there?" Anya says.

"Then we'll have ourselves a real good time," Spike says, a grin on his face.

"But... she's practically a god," Anya says, looking panicked. "We can't fight a god. And being near that much pain is only going to make her more powerful. We're all going to die. I don't want to die. I'm still waiting on my tax return."

We all pause for a moment, absorbing that.

"Well," Spike drawls. "So long as we have our priorities straight..."

"We're not going to die," I tell her. "No one is going to die tonight. And we don't know that she's a god. From what I've seen she's just a sadistic bitch who is badly in need of a day at the tanning salon. And even if she is a god, that doesn't mean she can't be defeated, right? Olaf was pretty hard to beat, but we just had to... you know, hit him hard enough. Find his weakness. Same with the Mayor—"

"Oh!" Willow says. "Oh!"

"What?"

"The—the crystal!" she says, picking her notebook up off the table and flipping back to the section Tara was reading from a little bit ago. "It says... ‘ it housed the power of a god, and could not be destroyed by mortal hand.' Olaf! Anya... how exactly did you curse Olaf? I mean, did you make him just a regular troll?"

Anya looks confused, then suddenly brightens. "No! I... I... I was so angry, and he... he was so disgusting. He thought he was some kind of god among men, and I said that the best he could ever be was a god among trolls..."

"Anya...," Xander says, looking at his girlfriend with a strange expression on his face. "You... you made a god? As in... made one?"

"It would explain why he was so strong, and why we couldn't kill him," she says, then she looks at Xander. "Are you going to lecture me now?"

"What?" Xander asks. "No. I—"

"Because I'm feeling really very good about myself right now, which is much better than feeling fatalistic and panicked. So if you don't mind, would it be okay if we saved the lecture for after the big battle? I promise to be properly ashamed of my actions, even if they did happen more than a thousand years ago. Provided we both survive, of course," she says. "I can even wear the school girl out—"

Xander carefully puts his hand over Anya's mouth, thankfully muffling the rest of that sentence. He waits until she stops trying to talk. "It's just... you made a GOD," he explains. "I'm...so very, very proud of you."

Anya's eyes widen with shock, then she melts. "Mmmeemmy?" she says into Xander's palm.

"Really," he tells her.

Oh. That's so sweet.

I feel Spike shift restlessly beside me. Then his hand tentatively strokes the small of my back, just under the hem of my sweater. Through the magic that binds us, I can feel his insecurity. I give him a smile, and his mouth quirks, then his eyes heat in a way that makes me shiver.

"Okay," Willow says. "So, if Anya made a god, and...he was trapped in this crystal, doesn't that sort of mean that we might be able to trap Louhi in it, whether she is a god or not?"

"Giles?" I ask, turning to face him.

"It... certainly seems possible," he says. "If the crystal is strong enough to contain a bound demon god, it might be strong enough to hold her. At least for a time."

"Can we trap her in it?" I ask. "Do we know how?"

Willow looks excited. "Remember when I mentioned that I'd emailed the coven that originally had the crystal? Well, they sent me a copy of the spell that was used to trap Olaf. I-I didn't think much of it, except, you know, cool spell, 'cause we'd already sent Olaf on his one way cruise to Troll land but... I think maybe if we tweaked it...?"

"God!" Anya suddenly exclaims. "I made a god!"

"Yes, I do believe we've established that," Giles says.

"Nobody likes a bragger," Willow mutters.

"No," Anya says. "I mean, yes... I mean. He's a god, right? Well, doesn't that mean his hammer isn't, you know, mortal? Louhi can't be beaten with a mortal weapon. Well, what better to hit on a maybe-god with than an actual god's weapon?"

"No mortal weapon," I say. "In my dream, when I took the note that said Olaf on it, and... that Jack guy was there. That's what he said, when I was holding the crystal. Maybe Anya's on to something?"

"Smart girls are so hot," Xander says.

"Here to help," Anya says. "Don't want to die."

A glimmer of a plan starts to form, but it's going to need some work.

Time to get down to business. I can feel myself settling in, letting the Slayer part of my mind take over. Surprisingly I can also feel Spike hovering at my side, his demon pacing and impatient for what is promising to be a ton of violence and destruction. I should be weirded out, but instead it's energizing, feeding that part of me that thrives on the fight as much as he does.

And even though we're not magically connected, I feel my friends around me, doing what they do best. I've got the best backup team a Slayer ever had. Witches, Watchers, people and even demons who are dedicated to the same cause: protecting the world.

"Alright, gang," I say, standing up and looking down at the map of Sunnydale on the table. "We need a plan..."



***

"That's the plan?" Spike looks at the page of notes Willow lays in the middle of the coffee table, several hours later.

Okay, so... it's short.

Really short.

It was longer but... we sort of ended up crossing some stuff off when we realized it wouldn't work.

"At least it'll be easy to remember," I say, defensively.

"And it's better than yours was, Blood Breath," Xander adds. "What was yours again? Oh. Right. 'Let's just go kill the bitch.' Good plan. Solid. Workable."

"This coming from the glorified bricklayer," Spike snarks. "Too bad I won't get to watch you beat off the demon hordes with your crutch there, Rear Window."

"Hey, I can beat them off just fine," Xander says. Then he blushes. "And I mean that in a completely non-sexual way."

"If you two are done?" I say.

Xander and Spike look at each other, then shrug. "We can pick it up again later," Xander says.

"I'll put you down for next Tuesday, shall I?" Spike says.

"Works for me," Xander says.

At least they're not trying to kill each other.

"Everyone's clear on what we're going to do?" I say, standing up and looking around at all the people I care most about in the world. And Whistler. And Lydia. "All right. Remember, we need to keep the human casualties down. This bitch is gunning for pain, we're going to bring it. She might be powerful, but she’s not unbeatable. If a bunch of... magic-y guys back in the Stone Age could banish her, we can, too."

There are a few faces that don't look so sure. Lydia, in particular, looks kind of green. Then again, this is her first apocalypse. But Willow has her determined face on, and I can tell Xander's ready to rock and roll. Beside me, Spike is practically twitching he's so impatient to go. Anya looks pale but she's holding it together, and Tara looks worried, but otherwise okay. There's a little bit of Ripper lurking in Giles' eyes, and Whistler just shrugs and adjusts his hat. At Spike's feet, Bear gets up, yawns and stretches, then sits and looks at me expectantly.

Time to go.

"Let's move," I say. "Be at the hospital, in position, in two hours."

With an almost audible pop, the power goes out.

For a moment, we all sit there in the dark room, listening to the sound of the wind picking up outside.

Time, I think, has just caught up with us.

"Be at the hospital, in position, in one hour," I say. "Less, if possible."



***

Giles drives Lydia, while Willow, Tara, and I pile into my mom's SUV with Spike at the wheel. Whistler, Xander and Anya pull out onto the street behind us, then turn and head in the other direction, on a mission of their own. Overhead, clouds are still building ominously. The streetlights reflect off them, they’re so low. The temperature has dropped noticeably. I crank the heat way up to compensate, and Willow and Tara huddle together in the backseat. Bear sits in the far back, staring out the window.

The streets of Sunnydale are mostly deserted, this long after midnight. There are only a few cars heading toward the evacuation shelters. Most of the power seems to be out all over town. Cops stand, shivering, at the intersections, trying to direct what little traffic there is, which makes Spike cranky since he can't speed. He spends a lot of time swearing and muttering about how human laws shouldn't apply in apocalypse situations.

It occurs to me, for the first time, that just because we did the ritual, it doesn't mean we're guaranteed to win. There's too much that could go wrong, too many people that could get hurt. Like Whistler said, the ritual just makes it harder to kill us, so we still could be killed. I could die tonight. Spike could die tonight.

Of course, I'm the Slayer. Everyday that I wake up is a day that I could die. I've lived with that knowledge for a long time now, and Spike's nasty little pep talk a few months back only drove it home.

But the idea of Spike dusting... He'd just be gone.

Spike glances at me. "I'm not gonna die, luv," he says. "Stop fretting."

"You don't know that," I say.

"I'm old and canny, and you know I don’t give up easy," Spike says. "You don't have to worry about me. Not gonna get taken down by this hellbitch again. And I'm not gonna let her harm you, either—not a single golden hair on your sweet head, Slayer. We'll take her down. Swear it. Thinkin' all morbid like that, just gives her more power."

A hard knot of determination coils in my stomach. He's right. I don't have to worry about him. He's got my back, and I've got his.

Together, we can do this.

***

At the Magic Box, Wills and Tara snatch spell ingredients off shelves, while Giles, Spike, Lydia, and I head for the weapons cache. I've already got my sword belted around my waist, and Spike's strapped a few knives on, and stuck the railroad spike through his belt.

"Can you shoot a crossbow?" I ask Lydia. She's looking a little freaked, her eyes huge behind her glasses.

"Uh... we—yes, I was trained, but... it's been a while," she says.

"It's easy," I tell her. "Aim the pointy end at the demon, shoot, reload. Lather, rinse, repeat."

"Easy," she murmurs, holding the crossbow at arm’s length.

"Iron weapons," Spike tells Giles, handing him a couple of axes and a mace. "Those goblin things practically disintegrated. Won't have to hit them hard, either."

"Hit them?" Lydia says, blanching. "I...you think we'll be that close?"

Spike smirks. "No worries, luv. Just give 'em a poke, and they'll fall right on over."

"A poke?" Giles says, lifting an eyebrow.

"You make it sound so dirty," Spike says, curling his tongue.

"Will you two be okay?" I ask. "It's a big job."

"We'll be fine, Buffy," Giles says. "You concentrate on Louhi and keeping her distracted long enough for the spell to work."

Willow and Tara come into the training room. "Okay, we've got everything," Willow says. "I hope."

"Should we do the other spell here?" I ask.

"At the hospital," Willow says. "I don't know if I can make it last more than a couple of hours, not for so many people."

Lydia looks worried. "But... won't we just be walking into her trap, then? She'll see us coming."

Spike smirks. "No worries, pet. I've got a better way in."

"How?"

Spike glances at me slyly. "Sometimes the thing you're looking for is right beneath your nose."