The battle. In Spike's dream, there was a battle raging around him, but he wasn't in it. Why wasn't he – ? Oh, right. Wounded. He'd gotten himself hurt badly, could barely walk, and now he was hiding, struggling to remember how he'd gotten there. He was a couple blocks away from the meeting point; Illyria had brought him here, that was it. Illyria had brought him, now he remembered, only…

Only something wasn't right. This place didn't look familiar; it was too light out to be night, and the rain… it was supposed to be raining. Here there was only fog, turning everything gray and shapeless. Making the buildings all but invisible. Muting the sounds of the fighting, the screams of enraged demonkind pulled out of Hell to face them – Angel and his crew.

But Angel and the rest, they were all dead. All except for him.

There was a tug at his shoulder, and he looked round to see Figg, humming cheerfully and wrapping him in rusty chain. Spike tried to protest, to stop him, but when he reached up he saw that his hands were bound in barbed wire. No, they were missing, cut off. No, they were only tied with cord. It was one of those. Or all of them, maybe. He couldn't tell for sure. Perhaps it was all of them.

Illyria stood before him while Figg walked in circles around him, again and again, pulling the chains tight. Getting harder to breathe – not that he needed to, but the air was important if he wanted to speak. Illyria's head was tipped in that way she had when he'd done something to confuse her, or when she was irritated with him – and she'd been irritated with him often enough, God knew. Her mouth moved but he couldn't make out what she was saying. He thought he remembered something about her leaving.

Leaving him behind.

Angel shook his head, disappointed in Spike the way he always was. Kissed Spike on the forehead where he sat in his wheelchair, and smirked, and disappeared into the rain. Only it wasn't raining here. It was fog, nothing but fog and mist everywhere he looked. Everything gray and shapeless. Figg pulled the chains tighter across his chest.

Illyria walked away, never once looking back, took a step sideways and vanished as he watched. Even in his dream Spike knew that wasn't right. She hadn't done that in Los Angeles, he was sure of it. She'd had more to say before she left him, hadn't she? Hadn't there been more to it?

Had she really just gone?

Spike tried to ask Figg about it, but the old demon had vanished too, some time while he was watching Illyria go. Tried to call out, see if anybody could hear him, but the chains were too tight. Couldn't get the air he needed, couldn't make a sound.

He was standing in the gray void and he couldn't move. There was no one as far as the eye could see, and there was only silence within the fog. Everything gray, and shapeless.

He was helpless, again.

He was alone.

A gong sounded in the distance, once, twice. Women's voices. Women… Buffy.

Spike startled awake with a pained gasp.

---

In Buffy's dream, she was jogging. No, she was fleeing from the collapsing Hellmouth. No, she was patrolling. It was a pleasant day, and the sun shone brightly on the vampires as she staked them. Giles watched her from atop a tombstone. No, he was in the bleachers, sitting behind his desk as she ran around the track, again and again. It was for her own good, he explained, as he pulled out a crossbow and took aim at her forehead.

She ducked, and under the water she found herself staring at Spike. He didn't see her, his eyes cloudy and gray, a drowned corpse weighted in chains and wound about in silk cord. No, it was a cocoon. He was struggling to break free, but his wings were stuck. "I shouldn't be here," he said. She reached out to help pull him free but her grip slipped and he vanished, leaving her holding only the diamond amulet.

Buffy put it on, because she had to close the Hellmouth. It was up to her. Her friends were counting on her. A beam of sunlight shot from her chest as the caverns collapsed into rubble. Spike smiled at her sadly, and shook his head, and walked back up the stairs.

Giles smiled at her sadly, and shook his head, and walked back up the stairs.

A hand at her shoulder. Xander stood behind her, holding a stack of fresh towels and bedsheets, asking her not to use up all the fabric softener when she did her laundry. Buffy sat in the passenger seat of the van and promised him she wouldn't.

The First Slayer looked at her from the driver's seat, all caked mud and dreadlocked hair. "You were not listening," she said. "Check again." Buffy pulled the tracking talisman out of her pocket, Spike's ring swinging on its chain. Where are you, Spike, she asked it. Then she was holding his hand, the skull ring on his finger, back in the caverns beneath Sunnydale as the flames began to take hold. "They're all dead," he said. "I shouldn't be here. But thanks for saying it."

"I did not say death is your gift," said the First Slayer. No, it was her mom. No, it was Tara. Maybe it was all of them. She kept changing as she said, "The dead. His death was your gift. He is your gift, my gift. He is for you. Go to him. He needs you."

"No, Buffy," said Giles, "you can't open your present until you cut the cake." He handed her a knife - a sword - a pair of scissors - the blade crawling with runes and sigils that made her eyes hurt to look at. "Cut the white ribbon first," he said. "Like this," and she watched as he pushed the sword gently through her breast until she could feel it come out her back. Her blood made pretty patterns on the sidewalk. She was standing in a patch of red flowers, a bank of them on a table in Figg's greenhouse.

She reached behind her and pulled the stake free. It didn't hurt. It slid easily into her hand. "This is for Spike, right?" she asked.

"The help never stays," said Figg. "I wanted to keep him."

"He belongs to me," said Buffy. She handed him the stake. No, it was a shovel. No, it was a sickle. She handed him the red flower. "I'll trade you. You can have this."

"He's your present," said Figg.

"No, I'm not," said Spike. "But thanks for saying it."

"You have to unwrap him first," said Giles. He swung the sickle in slow motion, cutting off Spike's head. "But you can't have him because you didn't eat my cake."

Spike sat on the cot smiling. He thought Giles was funny. The head he held in his lap was sad. "I shouldn't be here," it said.

"How bad is it?" Buffy asked it.

"Bad enough that I feel cold," Spike's head said. Spike was lying on the cot. He was leaning back against her as she held his arms behind him. He was leaning into her touch as she stroked his cheek. "The tape's good. 'S helping."

"Yes," said Zer Moduz, blinking at them both with her orange eyes. "The Auspicious Body. You must go to him."

A hand on her shoulder. "Just as long as you clean up afterward," said Xander. "I'm ordering a pizza."

The doorbell rang.

Buffy woke up.

She opened her eyes, and blinked sleepily, confused when she heard the doorbell ring again. Looking at the clock on her bedside table, Buffy was shocked to see that it was nearly lunchtime. Had Xander really let her sleep that long? She sat up, yawning, wondering if he was still home… but no, he would've answered the door.

Oh, right. The door.

Shuffled to the door still in her jammies, opened it to the sight of the witch who had helped them make the tracking talisman out of Spike's ring. Squinted, trying to remember… oh, right.

"Cathy?"

"Hi," she said, "I'm so sorry – Xander, I mean, Mr. Harris, he warned me you might still be asleep if I came by earlier, so I waited till my lunch break. I hope I didn't wake you."

"You did," mumbled Buffy, "but it's… fine. Um. Yeah, fine. I can't believe I slept this late." Must have been more tired than she thought. "Um, why are you – I mean…"

Cathy grinned. "You haven't had your morning coffee yet, have you?" she said. Her smile softened, warm and friendly. "Would it be all right if I came in? You can take your time, wake up – I'm not in a hurry, or anything."

"Yeah, okay," said Buffy. "Your lunch break?"

"I take long lunches," said the witch. She was dressed business casual, flowy skirt and sensible shoes, blouse, purse. Hair pulled back with a neat little clip. "Xander – I mean, Mr. Harris – he asked me to come by and look at that binding spell your friend was under. Something about writing? On your friend's skin?"

"Yeah," said Buffy, "Spike, yeah." She needed to check on him… no. She needed to get coffee so she didn't trip and land on him. Definitely of the bad, crashing onto someone's broken ribs. Of the rude, crashing onto them at all. Coffee. Where was the… right, on the counter. "The spell," she said, "I, we got all the other stuff off of him – at least, I think we did it right, Spike said last night that he was pretty sure we got everything else. But he made it sound like we'd need to hurt him to get the last part. The, uh, the writing."

"That's what Xa – Mr. Harris said," nodded Cathy. "He asked if I would mind coming over and taking a look at – you said his name was Spike? If it's okay with him."

"Sure," said Buffy. "I mean, I'll ask him, but it should be fine. I think. Just – let me wake up, 'kay?"

"No problem," said Cathy.

Small talk about the weather. How do you like Toledo so far. That kind of thing. Coffee. Coffee good.

Buffy dressed and splashed water on her face, pulled her hair back into a tail. Didn't want to keep Cathy waiting. She was nice. Buffy debated asking her about Xander, decided to play nice for the time being. It's one thing to tease your friends; this woman, even if it was obvious she was totally into Xander, was still mostly a stranger. She felt, though, like someone who could easily become a friend with just a little time.

Maybe it was a witch thing; they all just seemed so together. Well, they did once they had a handle on their power, anyway.

New friends were a good thing if you were trying to start a new life, right?

"Thanks for being so patient," Buffy said as she came back out to the living room. "Here, this way. I'm… you should let me go first. He's been pretty out of it when he first wakes up, these past couple days."

"Mr. Harris said Spike… wasn't human?" asked Cathy tentatively. "Is that why he's in the garage?"

"Um." Buffy blushed. Yeah, they really needed to get him inside soon. "That's part of it," she said. "He's a vampire… will that be a problem?"

Cathy stopped. "I – well, it – I mean, for the spell, it shouldn't make a difference. Although there's probably a few extra parts to it to take care of that… um… that side of his personality?" She bit her lip. "Is he… does he hunt anymore?"

"I only bite if you ask nicely, pet," said Spike through the open garage door. Husky voice, like he'd just woken up himself. Buffy always liked that voice… no. Focus. Nervous witch, pesky vampire.

"Behave, Spike," Buffy yawned. Stepped into the garage to see him struggling to sit upright, trying not to show the pain on his face. No belts. Thermos on the little camp table by his cot. "Did you – did you sleep okay?" And wow, look at that, boy did she feel shy all of a sudden.

"Dreams," said Spike. "And I don't get to move around with these soddin' ribs. Mostly okay, though." Paused. "How about you?" He looked up at her through his lashes… shy? Spike, tentative and shy?

Nah.

"Dreams," said Buffy. "But I was asleep for more than twelve hours, so… you know." She shrugged, looked away. Noticed Cathy standing in the doorway and slapped herself mentally. Get a grip, Buffy.

"Well, anyway, it's good that you're awake now," she said. "Do you – are you hungry?" She pulled the camp chair around nearer to his head. Her fingers itched to touch his hair, but Spike wasn't the only one who needed to behave in front of company.

"Hard to sleep with you two birds nattering on," he said. Buffy rolled her eyes; she could hear the bullshit behind his words even if Cathy couldn't. He nodded toward the thermos. "And I just finished mine, thanks."

Cathy hung back by the door, but she must have seen something in the way Buffy acted around Spike, helping him to move, bracing him as he settled, because after a moment she stepped down into the garage. "No offense, but is it okay if I don't introduce myself?" she asked. She shrugged shyly. "Names, power, all that good stuff."

He cocked his head at her, a half-smile on his face. "My mum didn't name me 'Spike,' if it makes you feel any better," he said. "Who're you, then?"

"I helped Buffy and, uh, Xander – to find you," she said. "They used a tracking talisman I made." She glanced at Buffy, leaning against Xander's workbench. "I meant to ask – did it…?"

"Worked great," said Buffy. "Right up till we got so close that the chain snapped, and the ring flew into the… um. Well, it landed right where he was hidden," she finished. Carefully not looking at him as she said it. Spike's ordeal was private, she thought. Not her story to tell. It should stay that way.

"That's good," said Cathy. She kept looking at Spike, then glancing away like she was nervous, or shy, or… "That is one nasty spell," she said. "When you said writing I thought you meant with ink or something, not... cut into him like that." She shuddered. "And then the sigils themselves – just the parts I can see on… on your chest. The writing makes my eyes hurt."

Yeah, or that.

"Doesn't feel so great, either, pet," said Spike. "They burn."

Wait, they did? "They do?" asked Buffy.

"Not to worry," he reassured her. "Your friend here is going to tell us how to get them off, yeah?"

"You," Buffy began, swallowed, "you made it sound like we'd need to cut them."

"You will," said Cathy and Spike, simultaneously. He nodded at her to go ahead. "I'm really sorry, but the way they were put on makes a difference. You need to cross out the writing, draw a line through it. If it were just ink, I'd mix something up for you to just paint over them, but. Well, it's. There's really no way around it," she said. "I wish there was."

"S all right," said Spike, "about what I expected." Buffy folded her arms and squeezed at her shoulders. They were. Her suspicions were right; they were going to have to hurt him in order to take this last part of the spell off of him. "How do we go about it, then?" he asked.

"Well, in terms of tools, just a good sharp blade," said Cathy. "A scalpel would hurt less, I imagine – ordinarily I'd suggest blessing the blade as an extra step to help negate the spell, but… I'm not sure that would be best, considering that you're a – well – you're –"

"I'm a vampire, pet," said Spike, "you don't need to dance around it. And yeah, a blessed blade leaves a mark that takes a bit of extra time to heal." He reached up, touched his eyebrow with a glance at Buffy. Wow. She knew the Slayer in China had given that to him. He'd gotten it over a century ago and he still had a scar? He wasn't kidding.

"I'd still at least purify the blade, though," Cathy was saying. "It's not as strong as a blessing, but that way there won't be any negative energy to add to what's already in the sigils."

"Right," said Spike. "Anything else we should know?"

"Well, uh, the order they were put on you is important," said Cathy. "You need to go in the reverse order to remove the spell completely. Otherwise there would be a, a kind of residue. You'd never be able to get back to your full strength as long as it existed." She glanced at his torso again, looked away squinting. "From what I can read, those are for the demon… and a soul? That doesn't make sense… but they wouldn't be the final part of the spell," she said. "There should be a set of seals somewhere else – typically, if you're binding a person, you put them on the palms and the soles of the feet."

Spike held out a hand for her to see.

"Yes," she nodded decisively. She dropped into the camp chair and leaned forward, distracted from Spike's nature by the challenge in front of her. "Yes, those are the seals. Those absolutely must come off first before you do the rest of the writing." Cathy reached out a fingertip, not quite touching the marks on his forearm. "These are for earth," she said. Followed the line up to the inside of his bicep. "And these are for air," she said. "The demon sigils are here," she pointed, "those are for fire, and then the ones in this direction, the ones for the soul, they include water."

She sat back, looked Spike in the eye. "Do you remember the order in which the elements were placed?" she asked. "Each set of markings?"

"My memory's pretty clear on that, yeah," he said dryly.

"Then as long as you remember to treat them backwards, you'll be fine," she said. Looked up at Buffy. "If you pick out a knife from the kitchen, even, I can purify it for you before I go back to work. You can get started on these as soon as I'm done, if you want."

Buffy bit her lip. "Do we." Looked away, took a deep breath. You can do this, she told herself. "Do we have to do them all at once?" She met Cathy's gaze. Carefully didn't look at Spike. "I just – I mean, can we take breaks in between each element, or whatever? Give him…" She hugged herself tighter.

It was bad enough, everything else Spike had gone through. Now she had to do this to him, and Buffy wasn't sure she'd be able to get through it if she had to go straight from beginning to end – and she wasn't going to be the one on the receiving end. She wanted to give Spike time to at least catch his breath in between sections.

Or, you know, the undead equivalent. A break. Something.

Cathy thought about it. "I'd say… if you had to, you could probably stretch it out over a couple days," she said. "Give one set time to start healing before you start the next set. But you'd need to monitor the moon phase if you do that, and you couldn't take more than a week no matter what."

A couple days? That sounded good, thought Buffy…

"I'd rather just get it over with, love," said Spike. "All in one go. Rather not drag it out, if it's all the same to you."

…and that didn't.

Typical Spike.

---