“Dru?” asked Spike.  “Is that you, love?”

“And who else would be here, searching and seeking for my William in the dark and the fog?” she answered.

The mists parted to reveal her, standing in the gown she’d worn when they first met.  She looked beautiful as always, but there was something else about her… something deeper that he couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“Hullo, Dru.  What brings you here?” Spike asked.  Why not, after all.  It was only a dream.

“Looking for you, of course,” she said.  “And now I’ve found you.  Hello, William.”

“Aren’t you meant to be dead?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“’Course I am,” said Drusilla.  “Dead and dusted, some time ago now – and dead and turned before that.  Over two hundred years it’s been, since…”

“I know that, love,” he said.  “But I still don’t understand what you’d be doing in my dream.  No offense,” he added.

“None taken, my sweet,” she replied.  A smile on her face he’d never quite seen before.  What was it about her that was different?  “But what makes you think this is a dream?”

“Hmm, well,” the corner of his mouth quirked up, “if I were awake things would be a mite less pleasant, from what I remember.”

“Yes, the old demon,” said Drusilla.  “Poor thing.  He’s quite mad, you know. Lost his mind the day he lost his flock in that terrible fire.  Burned all up, poor little lambs.”

“I s’pose you’d be able to tell, wouldn’t you, love?” he asked.  Takes one nutter to recognize another, yeah?  Except… “Except you’re not,” breathed Spike.  “That’s it, isn’t it? There’s something different about you.  You’re… you’re sane, aren’t you?  You’re really all here?”  He tipped his head, looking at her in wonder.

“I am,” she said, “and I’m not.  Maybe I’m the Drusilla your heart always saw.  Or p’raps I’m the soul Angelus tried to destroy before he killed me, all those decades ago.”  She paused, smiled thoughtfully.  “Do you know, I’m not sure which it is… but it hardly matters now, does it?”

“S’pose not,” said Spike.  “Maybe it would, if I knew why you were here.”

“No,” she said.  “I’ve only come to keep you company.  Give you hope.  It doesn’t matter for that – does it?  It only matters that all of me be with you?”

“Might be right, love,” he said.  “But if you’re dead, how is it you’re meant to give me hope, then?”

“In the same way I gave you messages, my dear,” said Drusilla.  “Speak to you in the way you can hear, if I can.  If you’ll listen.”   She reached out, nearly touched his face, didn’t quite connect.  “I wasn’t sure if you would, at first.  Listen, I mean.”

“No? And why’s that?” he asked.  Humoring her a little.

“Your heart,” she said.  “It’s been wounded and worn, my William.  Almost worn out, you were.  Weary, body and soul, before ever you stumbled across the trouble you’re in now; I wasn’t sure you’d be able to hear what I wanted to tell you.”

“’She needs you, go to her’ – that was you, then?” he asked.

“Is that how my little birds sang to you?” she smiled, amused.  “I didn’t think it would be wise to be too specific, trying to reach you across the divide.  So long as their song led you to love.”

“Very sweet of you,” said Spike.

“Don’t patronize,” she laughed.  “You think this is all just a dream and you can ignore me when you wake up.  Don’t you?”  she said, and Spike shrugged.  “But you mustn’t, William.  She does need you, you see.  Her heart is as sore as yours, and she misses you terribly.”

Spike – William – blinked back tears; stepped back from her, pained.  “Buffy?  Misses me?”  He couldn’t help but scoff.  She couldn’t miss him; she didn’t love him, after all.  Her heart was only ever given to Angel, he was sure of it; and even if he was wrong, at the very least Spike knew it was never about him, with her.  They’d had trysts, nothing more.

It was cruel of Drusilla to suggest otherwise.

“Do you doubt so deeply?” she asked.  “Doubt yourself so? My poor William.  Do you really think your heart is such a poor second to Angel’s?”

“I know what I saw,” said William bitterly.  “You may think I need to go to her, and I’ll even do it if I can, but she won’t want me there no matter what you believe.”  Endure, survive this ordeal, go to Buffy, make sure she was all right – that was Spike’s plan all along.  Having Buffy love him back didn’t enter into it.

“You’re wrong, dear heart,” said Drusilla.  “I see her heart as clearly as ever I saw yours.  Little flickering flames, weeping tears enough to put them out, fssh!”  She spread her fingers suddenly, dancing them through the air. “She needs you.  She mourned you, you know.”

“No.”

“My William…”

“Stop calling me that.”  Spike turned his back, faced the formless gray rather than let Dru see the hurt on his face.

“Spike, then,” she said.  “Do you remember your friends, the witches, from Sunnydale?”  There she was in front of him again, without either of them having moved.  He looked away from her stubbornly. “If I had lived, and never met Angelus – if I had kept my sanity – I would have been something like them.  An oracle, William.  Angelus created a seer in me, and then squandered me rather than use me as he could have. They call us psychic, nowadays.”  She stepped in, close enough to kiss, but never quite touched him.  “I can see her heart, William.  Spike.  And I can see yours.  You need each other.”

“I wish I could believe that as strongly as you do,” he said quietly.  Not quite able to meet her gaze.

“They’re not my messages,” she said quietly, forcefully.  “I can hear your hearts, calling out, weeping even though you don’t know it yourselves.  Little flickering flames…  All I’ve done is send your calls, yours and hers, to one another.”  She reached out for his hands, clenched into fists at his sides, never quite touching.

“What you heard, my William, was the Slayer’s need for you.  To have you, by her side.  She does need you, as you need her.”

Slowly, painfully, Spike forced himself to look into Drusilla’s eyes.  Instead of a vampire touched by madness, he saw the woman Drusilla could have become; instead of the power of her thrall, he saw only compassion… and honesty.  Tears welled up, and he swallowed once, twice.

“Now your journey can take you no further,” she said.  “Now it’s her turn to hear your call.  And she does, William.  Spike.  She hears your need, and she is coming.”

“Going to have a bit of a time finding me, then,” he said.  Hated the way his voice wavered.  Bloody ponce.

“No,” smiled Drusilla.  “She will find you.  Love always does.  All you need do is endure, while she searches.”

Unable to fight the tears anymore, he shut his eyes tight and bent his head, meaning to touch his forehead to hers, but nothing touched him.  He looked up, turned around; there was no one there.  Faintly, he heard her voice in the fog.

“It won’t be long now,” Drusilla said softly.  “You must bear your burden, my Spike, but only a little longer.  She will come for you…”

Memories of the First Evil tugged at his heart.  “I hope you’re right, Dru,” he whispered.

---

  
 
“Oh, God,” said Buffy.  Her throat was closing up and her eyes burned.  Buffy-scraps, fraying and shredding, any second now.  “He’s really alive?  I mean – you’re sure?”

Moduz touched the cloth along one edge.  “My flashes are certain, yes.  Also the stones.  They say that there was a battle, recently.  He was wounded, but recovered.”

Buffy hid her face in her hands for a long moment, before she pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up.  Caught Xander watching them from across the room.  “What else do you see?” she asked.  “Tell me everything. Please.”

“Yes, of course,” said Moduz.  “The stones and your… decorating… they form patterns and shapes here on the velvet.  We call it the map among my people.”  She gestured toward a cluster of pebbles.  “Each stone has meaning on its own, and each decoration you placed also.  When the pieces are set beside one another, the shapes – the patterns – they create together have meaning also, and the… relationships? The way they respond to each other?  And then, where they rest on the map also carries meaning.  There are many layers to this kind of reading, and much insight to be gained.”  She took a sip of coffee, flicked her tongue across her lips.  “It can take a long time to read everything on the map, and I can see already that this will be a powerful reading.  If you truly wish me to tell you everything, you will need to be patient.  Can you do this?”

Xander slid an armchair over to the other side of the coffee table. “Buffy? Are you okay for this?”  He looked her over, concern on his face.  “It’s just – you’ve had a really rough couple of days, and it’s late already.  If you wanted, I could get the reading from Moduz and you could go, get some rest.”

Both the women shook their heads.  “No,” said Buffy.  “They’re my messages, Xan.  They’ve been coming to me, and it looks like there’s something I’ll need to do about them – I mean, me-myself,” she said.  “Thanks, but I think I need to see this through.”

“She is right,” said Moduz.  “We will talk together as I read the stones and the map, and the things you ask of me will help to direct my reading.”  She glanced up shyly.  “I am sorry, boss-sir, but you can not do this for her.”

“I figured you’d say that,” said Xander.  “Both of you.  I had to ask, though.” He reached across and squeezed Buffy’s shoulder.  “Anything you need – you know that, right?”

Buffy nodded, swallowed hard.  “Thanks, Xan,” she said after a moment.  She nodded at Moduz, took a deep breath.  Let it out heavily.  “Okay, go ahead.”

So the little demon did; she pointed to clusters of stones, touched bits of grass and string, and gave them concepts like the Dark Warrior, the Minister, and the Lovers; Battle, Abandon and Betrayal; the Great Journey and Hardship, Sorrow, and the Wounded Heart.  She described two lonely souls who needed one another in order to heal from great grief; two wanderers in search of a home, who would only be able to find it together.  According to the stones, Buffy and Spike were two halves of something Moduz called “the Auspicious Body,” which could refer to a home, a business venture, a marriage, or any other unit that needed more than one person to be complete.

“In this case,” she explained, “I only see two halves to the Auspicious Body – sometimes there can be as many as a dozen people or elements involved in creating a Body, but here – even though others will support you – to make this Body there are only you and your companion, this Spike.”  She touched Buffy’s question stone and a cluster of objects a few inches away.  “You each are being compelled to seek out the other, for without the two halves the Auspicious Body cannot form.”

“Compelled,” said Buffy.  “You mean like my messages?”

Moduz nodded.  “Yours, and his,” she said.  “Here – the Messenger is placed very clearly, very precisely.  She speaks to you both in turn, beckoning to whichever partner is most able to answer her call.”

“So… if I didn’t do anything,” said Buffy, “if I ignored the messages and just stayed here… you’re saying that Spike would start getting messages instead?”

“Already he probably has received his own messages,” said the demon.  “But to put aside your own… I think that would be a bad idea, for many reasons.  Among my people, it is very bad luck to ignore the voice of destiny when it speaks to us.  For you not to answer this call could anger forces that shape your fate.”

“No surprise there,” muttered Xander, and despite everything, Buffy fought a snicker.

“But also,” said Moduz, “Spike may have traveled as far toward you as he is able.  Whether or not he receives more messages now is not important.  The messages are coming to you now, and look – your way is clear, while your partner’s Journey is blocked by Hardship, by… by…” Her eyelids fluttered, and she swayed in her seat.

“Are you okay?”  asked Buffy, at the same time Xander asked, “Moduz, what’s wrong?”

The demon sat up suddenly, her hands curled into claws and body rigid, her back arched so that her head pointed at the ceiling.  She began to gasp for breath and to shiver as she spoke.

“Ah!  He is bound,” she cried, “captured and bound – he is bound with silk and with bone, w-with steel and words… words of power hold him.  He cannot come to you – he needs – he is wounded…” She clawed at the air, panting.  “His foe – a thief – he is wounded – growing, grows weaker – the th-th-thief s-steals his strength – robs him of life – he cannot come.  H-he needs you – he is bound – ah!  You, you must go – must go to him.  Must save him – he dies, he d-dies – without you, he – afraid, in, in, in p-pain – he cannot escape – it is beyond him – the binding is too strong – too strong – he n-needs – ah!”

Moduz shuddered violently and collapsed backward; Xander, always ready for the crazy, caught her just before she hit the floor, and laid her down gently.  Stared at Buffy over her head, who stared back at him in shock.

After a moment, she sat up, blinking, her tongue flicking out nervously like a snake’s.  “I am sorry,” she said quietly.  Shaking hand, touching her forehead as she caught her breath. “I did not mean to frighten.  It was… I have flashes, sometimes.  I told you this, yes?”  When they nodded, she went on, “This was much stronger than I can usually see.  Less of a flash.  More of a true vision.”

“Can you tell us what it meant?” asked Xander.  Pulled her up to sit on the couch again.

“There is magic,” said Moduz.  “Your friend, your partner – Spike – he is held by a spell of some kind, something that weakens him, more each day.  If he is not found, the spell may kill him – I could not see for certain.  I saw only that he suffers, and that the spell holds him in a way that is impossible for him to fight.  He cannot escape on his own.  He can only endure, and hope to be found in time.”

Blinking rapidly, she picked up her mug and took a tentative sip.  Looked Buffy in the eye.  “He needs you,” she said.  “You must go to him.”

Buffy turned her face away, eyes closed and jaw tight.  Fought a sob – of pain or relief, she wasn’t sure.

“Tell me where,” she said.