Written for 2014 Noel of Spike.
 

A Better Thing I Do….

 

By  Lilachigh

 

 

  In life a lot can happen, people move on, the world changes. You get older, dreams are sometimes unobtainable. How would Buffy cope with getting older -  and what about happiness for her and Spike?  Is that still just out of reach this Christmas?

 

 

 

Chapter One:  

 

The sky over London was dark grey, sullen: snow had been falling for three days now.  Between adverts for Christmas food and Christmas presents, the TV weather forecasters were excitedly announcing it would be a White Christmas. But as usual in England, the population and authorities had been astounded at the sight of snow and the country had already almost ground to a halt.

 

“Buffy, there’s no use telling us that in the States this is considered a light covering,” Giles had said last night, laughing. “This is England. We don’t do snow well.”

 

“And you’re saying I should cancel the Winchester Slayers' Christmas conference tomorrow night?”

 

Her Watcher had sipped his hot chocolate, gazed out at the silently falling flakes that gleamed white against the dark windows of Buffy's apartment in Wimbledon and wondered if the trains down to Bath would still be running.  “I doubt if many Slayers will attend, Buffy.  It isn’t urgent, is it? More of a courtesy call, really. With Christmas so close, I expect they’ll all be busy and you know vampires are always very reluctant to show themselves at this time of the year. If you'll take my advice, I should re-schedule it for the New Year, and concentrate on your last minute present buying. And change your mind about coming down to Bath. I would love you to spend Christmas with me and my friends.” 

 

........

 

“At the next roundabout, take the third exit…”

 

“OK! OK! You’ve told me that already.”  Buffy Summers quelled an overwhelming desire to disconnect the GPS or as Giles called it, the sat-nav - and hurl it out of the window.  The woman’s voice was grating on every wriggling nerve-ending she possessed. But these days she was in control of all her actions and emotions and not a flicker of irritation crossed her face.  

 

“In one hundred metres, turn left…”

 

She tried to relax: after all, the days of not being able to drive well had long gone. Here in England she’d learned all over again, passed her tests and traveled up and down the country without any problems. She could even deal with roundabouts! She often thought that learning in Sunnydale when you were the only Slayer around had been so hard.  It hadn’t been easy concentrating on driving when you could see a demon crossing the road or a vampire looming out of the dark, about to attack some poor, unsuspecting pedestrian.

 

“If possible, do a U turn…”

 

Buffy frowned. She’d been doing exactly what the wretched woman had told her all the way from London. She’d ignored Giles’ advice because she had nothing else to do - all her presents had been bought, wrapped and sent weeks ago - and keeping busy was always good. You didn't think as much when you were busy. The snow on the motorways hadn’t been bad. The gritters, those vast lorries that threw sand and grit over the road surface, had been out all day and it was only now when she’d turned off into the countryside that things had become difficult. But the road wasn’t impassable, just tricky, so why did she have to turn round and go back the way she’d come?

 

Wearily, she pulled over into a gateway, competently reversed back and forward and drove on again: it was still snowing and her headlights cut through the sparkling shards into an English countryside that gleamed white even in the dark night.  She smiled to herself, wondering what Spike would have said if he could have seen her, driving on an icy road without turning a hair. Something complimentary? She doubted it. 

 

"Bloody hell, pet, keep your eyes on the road. You'll have us in the sodding ditch. I'm still too young to die all over again."

 

Pushing the thought away, she frowned at her lapse of concentration:  at the moment she allowed herself to think about Spike twice a week: it was the way she’d learned to cope with the loss all those years before - the only way.  She’d schooled herself severely – at first thinking all the time, then twice a day, once a day, now she was up to twice a week.  Perhaps the time would even come when she could get to once a month, once a year?  Pain lanced through her body and she fought to keep her mind clear, to retreat behind the wall of ice that she'd built around her heart.  There were now three days to go before she was allowed to think about him again and the future she had lost all those years ago.

 

“At least I do think about him,” she muttered out loud. “I think about all of them – and what we did, what we achieved. Seems like everyone else has forgotten that Spike, Angel and Sunnydale even existed.”

 

She tried to remember when Willow or Giles had mentioned Sunnydale recently and guessed it had been months and months ago.  The last time she had been out in Australia, visiting Dawn, her sister had smiled and spoken affectionately about Spike – but there was no sense of pain, grief, wild despair. 

 

Sometimes Buffy wondered if she’d dreamt it all – dreamt she’d loved and lost everything that made life worth living.  “I have to go on living, so that one of us is living!” she sang under her breath, wishing she wasn’t dry-eyed: tears would help soothe the burning but she had none. 

 

“In two hundred metres, take the next turning on your right…”

 

“Oh, come on!  This is stupid. What’s wrong with you?”  Buffy braked hard, the wheels sliding a little on the slush  - thanking all her lucky stars that the road was empty behind her - and stared into the dark entrance to a narrow, snow-covered path. Trees drooped branches heavy with snow, almost touching the ground.  “That can’t be the road to Winchester.”

 

She fiddled with the settings but the woman, with implacable politeness, kept insisting that she drive down the lane.

 

“Perhaps it’s a short cut. Maybe there’s an accident somewhere and it’s sending me around.”

 

Buffy tried her cell to see if Willow could help, but there was no signal. Easing the car into the side of the road, under the shelter of the trees, she turned off the engine and sat for a long minute with her eyes shut. She was tired. Ridiculous – she was a Slayer, she shouldn’t feel so bone weary.

 

“Maybe it’s part of getting old,” she muttered.  She was thirty-three, soon she'd be thirty-four:  how weird was that?  Guilt crept into her mind as she remembered back to Dawn making a fuss about having a huge party for her thirtieth birthday, inviting all her old friends – those who were still alive, of course. Giles, Willow, Xander, married to Kennedy’s sister, Giselle, living a life of luxury in Washington; Faith and Robin, still together, which was a minor miracle in itself. Dawn had even announced that she’d invited Andrew to fly in from Rome.  Buffy had left the country the day before the party, even though she knew Dawn would be upset. She was sure they’d all had a great time discussing her absence.

 

Still, if anyone had told her in Sunnydale when she was nineteen that she’d live to become thirty-three, she wouldn’t have believed them. So – “Yay for me! Wonder what I’ll be doing when I’m forty?”

 

It was odd; Slayers in the past had never lived this long so there were no notes or guidelines to follow. Giles had done endless research on the subject, which fascinated him.  She’d wondered if her Slayer powers would fade as the years passed, but had to admit she could still fight effortlessly, kill vamps, even save the world when called to – although the younger girls usually rushed forward, eagerly pushing and shoving to get to the front when the word Apocalypse was mentioned.

 

So instead she lectured, advised, warned, travelled the world dealing with all the administrative problems that had arisen when the myriad Slayers had been called all those years ago.  She wasn’t complaining:  it was a worthwhile life, one her Mom would have been delighted she was living; she was useful, respected and – in no great danger. Yes, there was nothing wrong with her life, except – almost any other Slayer with a few years’ experience could have done the same thing.

 

On the plus side, she had homes in two countries, a sister who’d not only become a Watcher in her own right but had married another Watcher, Australian, Mark Mardell. Buffy had watched as Dawn fell in love at first sight - tall, brown-haired, thin, hazel-eyed Mark whom, to his ever-lasting credit had not batted an eyelash at the information about his beloved’s peculiar beginnings in life.

 

Now they were ridiculously happy with their baby boy, Stephen: a tight, exclusive little family who finished each other’s sentences.  And Buffy was fiercely pleased for them. She wanted Dawn to know a love like that: one she herself had, once upon a time when a slight, blue-eyed man had looked at her with a passion that knew no bounds…

 

So at last Dawn was no longer her responsibility. That felt weird and sort of – lonely. For so many years what Dawn was doing, where she was, whom she was with – all these factors had shaped Buffy’s life. She was as conditioned to look after her sister as she was to being the Slayer and now, in both parts of her life, she was redundant.

 

Buffy could tell by the polite expressions on the new Slayer girls’ faces when she gave her lectures that they had moved on from her.  They listened to stories of past Apocalypses with interest – as if she was talking about things that had happened in historical times!  And to make matters worse, in the last meeting she’d spotted several of them not listening but texting – no doubt to each other - probably commenting on how boring she was.

 

She had to admit, she sounded boring to herself. Listing the type of demons they might meet one dark day seemed a little old-fashioned now that modern day human demons could fly planes into buildings and kill people in numbers that most self respecting vampires and demons could only dream about. Of course, she didn't want another First to arise - but in her heart of hearts, she knew that was because she'd fought the last one with Spike at her side and she couldn't cope with those memories every day. 

 

“Even magic seems less aggressive these days,” she murmured, wanting to rub her eyes, but worried that she would smear her mascara and end up attending the meeting looking like a panda.

 

Willow, together with her current girlfriend or boyfriend – she didn’t seem to care these days – was never to be found in the same country for long. She zoomed around the world, connecting Slayers with witches in their local area, forming close-knit groups that flourished because they were based on so many of the ideas she and Buffy had experimented with when they were young.  Since Kennedy had died – and Buffy felt a wave of annoyance at the girl for being killed, not by a vampire but through riding a motor bike that everyone, rightly, had told her was far too big and heavy for her to control – Willow had seemed released from all restraints, both physical and emotional. 

 

So yes, Buffy's life was very worthwhile – Giles, living in semi-retirement unless wanted – thought it all marvellous.  He rang Buffy every week from his apartment in a row of Regency houses in Bath, extolling the virtues of constant vigilance, reminding her to keep up with the practicing because you never knew what was going to happen, checking – his voice wistful - that she had both his correct cell phone number and land line in case he was suddenly needed and reminding her that he was free to drop everything and come at once in an emergency. And, like this week, suddenly appearing at her doorway, just to check that she was OK and repeat his invitation for her to spend the Christmas holiday with him.

 

“But you do know what’s going to happen, Giles,” Buffy muttered angrily to herself, trying to make the car’s CD player work.  “We both know that tomorrow is going to be the same as today and today was the same as yesterday.  Enough evil to keep us busy in a nice ‘I can finish everything by tea-time’ type of busy, but not enough to make everything – “

 

She stopped and laughed out loud. She’d always wanted to be a normal girl, lead an ordinary life. Some people would say she now had the best of both worlds and she still wasn’t content. She’d had men who loved her. Once or twice she’d been tempted to have a relationship that lasted longer than a few months. A Watcher she’d met in Australia when visiting Dawn – he’d been great but somehow when that dreaded word commitment had been spoken – followed by the even more dreadful word, marriage - she’d found herself on a plane flying back to England, trying to push away memories of other lips, other hands, a voice that still echoed in her head.

 

She checked now to make certain that her neat, elegant hair-style wasn’t escaping from its clips.  She liked to look business-like and efficient when she was on Slayer duties. Even when she was home, she never slouched around in comfortable old clothes anymore, her hair down around her shoulders; silly, fluffy slippers on her feet. That Buffy, so young, so idealistic, had gone for good, buried behind a wall of ice. She was Miss Summers now: thirty-three years old, a cool, blonde, professional woman whose modern, streamlined apartment, decorated in grey, beige and cream, was a perfect background for her passionless approach to the world these days.  Yes, that was the word - passionless.

 

When had she last felt anything deeply?  She'd been worried about Dawn giving birth, but not unduly. She was concerned about Willow's unhappiness, but not so much that she would ever tackle her about it. No, passion had gone a long time ago: most of it on a sunny road in California, looking at the vast pit that was all that remained of Sunnydale, gazing at the clouds of dust that contained all that remained of the man she loved.  And any tiny remnant left from that day had vanished when she'd learned that Spike had been alive and living in Los Angeles until his death alongside Angel. 

 

Today was a perfect example of her life: breakfast, e-mail to Dawn to check that Stephen’s cold was better, work out at the gym, lunch sitting looking out at snowy London, and now this evening a meeting in Winchester with the Hampshire Slayers to discuss – jeez, she couldn’t remember what they wanted, but no doubt she’d find out when she got there. If she got there! The meeting would be followed by coffee and cake, which would give individual girls the ”chance to speak privately to Miss Summers, but please keep your questions short as her time is limited”.

 

And that was the lie that burnt her soul. She had all the time in the world. Days drifted into weeks, months, years. Was this what getting old meant? Why couldn’t she feel any enthusiasm for anything she did? When had she started weighing up all the pros and cons before she made a decision? What had happened to taking a chance?

 

She could hear Spike inside her head.  "Getting scared in your old age, Slayer? You'll turn into a female Giles if you're not careful."

 

"Be quiet! You're dead and gone and you obviously couldn't have cared less about me when you were busy playing detective boy with Angel. So go away now."

 

Angrily, she turned the key and drove into the snowy lane. She was in no hurry; it was just another conference with girls whom, she was quite certain, considered her old and past it. She sighed -  maybe tonight she would feel that spark of excitement that made everything worthwhile.

 

“In one hundred metres turn right…”

 

“What the heck – “

 

The headlights slashed through close-packed trees as the lane swung sharply and the car bumped and slid as Buffy fought with the wheel. But what she’d thought was the track was just a snow-crusted layer that gave way beneath the wheels and the car slid slowly into a ditch, then crashed and jolted for another twenty yards before bouncing back onto the track and coming to an abrupt halt.

 

“You have reached your destination,” the words came echoing through the silence as Buffy unclipped her seatbelt - thankful that the airbag hadn’t engaged - and checked to see if she was still in one piece

 

The sat-nav crackled again loudly, probably broken, Buffy thought.  Then suddenly a voice sounded and she realized the woman’s voice had vanished and a man was now speaking. A man whose voice she’d thought she would never hear aloud again. A shudder of fire zipped fiercely across her body and deep inside her a tiny crack appeared in the ice around her heart as all the hairs on the back of her neck rippled.

 

“Can you hear me, Buffy? Hurry up, I haven't got much time left." There was a metallic screeching, then, "Is this bloody thing working?”  Then silence.

 

Buffy flung open the door and half stepped, half fell onto the snowy ground. She cracked her head against something sharp, unaware of blood trickling down her face.  The ditch sloped away steeply into the darkness where the car’s headlights had been pointing seconds before. Kicking off her high heels, oblivious to the cold, she slid and stumbled through the snow, pushing her way past hedges and brambles that tore at her arms and legs, pulled her hair from its neat style and sent it cascading down her back.

 

Then she was on her backside, sliding through wet slush, little stones trickling down past her head as she finally thumped down into a damp, wet cave, hidden deep in the Hampshire hillside.  Almost too scared to raise her head, Buffy waited for him to speak again, but apart from the sound of water dripping there was silence. At last she forced herself to look up, expecting a thin faced man in leather coat to be standing there, waiting for her.

 

But the cave was empty and in a world divided from Buffy by time and space, Spike stood staring angrily at a small metal device for which he'd paid a great price.  "Sodding thing won't work! I'll kill that bloody demon ten times over when I get my hands on him."

 

He was tempted to throw the gadget across the room, would enjoy breaking something, someone, because he'd been so certain it would work. OK, he hadn't been looking forward to speaking to Buffy - Liar! his brain shouted, but he ignored it - but they were desperate and she was needed - badly. Surely the Slayer wouldn't ignore a request like this, even if it was from a vamp for whom she'd obviously had no more than a passing affection.

 

Sudden screams shrieked from the dark outside and with a sigh, Spike pocketed the device and headed for the door. Until he could contact the Slayer, there was just him on the front line and he was quite certain he alone was not enough.

 

……..  

 

"Buffy, listen to me. Spike's gone. I won't say dead because he was already, but gone, years ago, with Angel."

 

"Giles, I heard him! It was his voice. I'm not stupid. I wasn't dreaming."

 

Willow, who'd been passing through London between flights when Giles reached her, ran her fingers through the rough red hair, now flecked with early grey, and stared at her friend who was pacing ceaselessly back and forth across the living-room. She hadn't seen Buffy so animated for oh, years and years. She'd forgotten this person, all excitement and energy. She wasn't sure she liked the transformation.  "Perhaps not dreaming, but you said you were tired and driving in snow can make you giddy. Maybe it was a sort of wish fulfilment. You wanted to hear him, so you did. But you admit there was no one there. You were lucky you managed to get the car to start again."

 

Buffy clenched her fists and tried to keep her temper under control. "As Giles keeps saying, it's been years and years since Spike and Angel supposedly died again!  In that Los Angeles battle. Why didn't I hear his voice any time since then?  Why now?  Why in the middle of the countryside?"

 

Giles and Willow shared a swift glance. "Buffy…perhaps you've been working too hard. When was the last time you took a holiday?  You've even said you're going to cover patrolling for the local Slayers over Christmas and the New Year so they can be with their families.  You're probably exhausted."

 

Somewhere a door-bell rang: Giles stood up and clapped his hands together briskly. "That's my taxi! Yes, Buffy, a holiday, somewhere warm, will do you the world of good. The last thing you want to do is start having nightmares about Spike.  Now, I have to hurry if I'm going to catch my train. Willow, can I give you a lift to the station? Have a wonderful Christmas, both of you. My love to Dawn and little Stephen when you speak to them. I do wish Australia wasn't such a long way away. They have such unusual demons out there. Perhaps we'll visit next year. That will cheer you up."

 

There was a flurry of activity and then they were both gone, out into the dull, snow filled day.  Buffy was left, standing gazing out of the window as the taxi drove away. She was alone and, according to her two best friends, apparently going out of her mind. 

 

Christmas Day in London and the snow was still falling.  At 2am. Buffy was Skyping Dawn in Australia, laughing at little Stephen's babble about Father Christmas and joking with Mark about eating Christmas lunch on the beach. But just as she was about to sign off, Dawn came closer to the camera and said, "What's up, Buffy?  You look - sort of weird."

 

Buffy hesitated. She'd spent the last two days forcing herself to forget what had happened, but thoughts and memories of Spike flooded through her mind now at every hour of the day and her dreams were so vivid that she woke, hot and sweaty and unfulfilled with longing. But if she told her sister, would she, too, think that Buffy was going mad? "Nothing. I'm OK."

 

Dawn frowned, then her eyes widened. "You've got your Spike face back."

 

"My what?"

 

"That's the expression you had when you were sleeping with Spike all those years ago." She shrieked across the thousands of miles. "Buffy! Is he back? Is he alive?"

 

"No - of course not!  Well, I don't know…I so do not have a Spike face!"

 

By the time the short afternoon had ended and an evening heavy with snow had settled over London, Buffy was standing, gazing out at the dark. Lights in windows opposite her apartment showed parties, families laughing, eating, having fun.  She'd patrolled earlier, come back, showered, changed, and was wondering whether she could be bothered to put her frozen turkey dinner in the microwave.  And all the time she could hear Dawn's words - "Buffy, if you think there's even a tiny chance that he's back, you have to take it. You'll never have a day's peace again if you don't. Weirder things have happened to us. Do what you must and don't look back - whatever happens."

 

And then she was running, down the stairs, not waiting for the elevator, out to her car - driving too fast, unable to think clearly, a strange heat sweeping over her body, not daring to hope, cursing herself for being a love-sick fool who was throwing away all the years of carefully constructed protection from this endless, burning passion.

 

The cave in the hillside was just as as she had left it - cold, dark and damp. Buffy could hear water trickling somewhere as she shivered, hugging herself to keep warm, wondering how she could possibly have been so stupid to run out of the apartment without a jacket. She stared down at the luminous dial of her watch.  It was almost the exact time she'd been here before: for some reason she felt that was important.

 

But as the minutes ticked away, she began to wonder just what kind of fool she was being. All she could hear was the trickle of water and the sound of the wind…..but she was inside the cave! She shouldn't be able to hear the wind at all.  Suddenly she realised it was getting colder and colder, her breath formed clouds in the air, little ice particles clung to her eyelashes and she could no longer feel her hands and feet.

 

"Buffy?"

 

"Spike?"  The sound of his voice cut like a sword through the dark and she felt herself begin to tremble. It couldn't possibly be him, she had waited and longed and….  "Is that you? Where are you?"

 

"Well, pet, that's sort of complicated to explain."

 

"I can't see you!"

 

"Bloody magic!  You know I don't trust it.  Hang on a minute - "  

 

There was a loud crackling sound and Spike's swearing viciously and for one glorious moment, Buffy was back in his Sunnydale crypt, lying naked on the red velvet bed in the lower crypt on an evening when he'd been trying to get one particular channel on his stolen television.

 

Then there was a rumbling and in the rock wall opposite, a small glowing silver circle appeared and spread in waves until it covered several feet. And standing there, gazing at her, was Spike.

 

His gaze ate her up, remembering their last days together, the disbelief that he couldn't go to her when he'd come back to life in L.A., the stupid sense of betrayal at her actions in Italy. And there she was, looking slim, elegant and - different in some way. But still his Buffy, his Slayer, the girl for whom he would cheerfully dust himself if she asked. But he couldn't tell her that now. Their relationship had to be equal.  He had to find some pride, some protection against her power otherwise he'd be lost forever again. And so….  "Bloody hell, Slayer, you look frozen half to death! And what the heck have you done to your hair?"

 

Buffy swallowed back the words of love she'd been about to blurt out, forced her voice to be cool and off-hand. But it was Spike! The man she'd dreamed about, ached for, cried out for in the dark of the night when it seemed she could not go on alone.  Apart from another scar across his other eyebrow, he looked just the same; black leather coat, platinum hair, heavy boots. But of course, he would, she realised: it was only her who'd aged. To a vampire the time that had passed since they last met was nothing but a blink of an eye.

 

"Nice to see you, too, Spike. Thought you were long dead and everything."

 

"A few poxy months?  And you've been busy with the Immortal and all your Italian friends. Didn't like to interrupt the dolce vita."

 

Buffy wondered vaguely why he was talking about cheese but then the impact of what he was saying shot home. "Spike, you've been gone years, not months! I'm nearly thirty-four. It's Christmas Day in England. I should be patrolling. Oh, by the way, Dawn's married; remember my sister, tall girl, long dark hair? Cried when you died. Well, she's got a little boy. You obviously didn't care enough to keep in touch."

 

"Christmas?  Thirty-four?"  Spike tried to take a step forward, but the silver circle held him fast.  So that was why she looked different. His Slayer was no longer a girl; she was a woman, a cold-voiced, cold-eyed one at that. And he'd pulled her away from her Christmas celebrations.

 

For a moment Buffy could have sworn he looked shocked, devastated, unsure of his next words. She forced herself not to feel sorry for him. Wherever he'd been, he hadn't cared enough to get in contact with her. So much for love that would never die! So much for her being a hell of a woman. His woman.

 

"I'm sorry about it being Christmas. So Dawn's got a sprog?  How?  Who?"

 

"How was the usual way, I imagine," Buffy replied dryly. "And the father is her husband. A very nice Watcher called Mark.  They live out in Australia."

 

"Dawn married an Aussie!  Does he play cricket?"

 

Buffy waved a hand impatiently. "I don't know - yes, I think he does  but Spike, that's not important. Why did you call me here?  And, are you alive or just a ghost? And is Angel with you?"

 

This time she could tell that her words had found their mark. "Oh great, Slayer. Don't bother asking how I survived the Apocalypse - and, let me tell you, I ended up saving your former lover from being eaten by a sodding great dragon thing - just worry about him, like always."

 

"I never worried about Angel, you clown!  I worried about you. You died. You were gone and then, oh look, you're back, living in L.A. and then oh look, you're gone again!" Buffy realised she was shouting, her anger bubbling to the surface. It was odd but in all the dreams and fantasies she'd had over the past years about meeting Spike again, she'd never shouted at him, never lost her temper. There had been passionate kisses and mad, wonderful sex and words of love and tenderness.  But in reality, of course, he'd managed to annoy her effortlessly in several different ways in about five minutes flat.

 

Spike frowned. "Had no choice, Buffy, about the last going. End of the world, demons, dragons, we saved humanity. And then…."

 

"Not interested! I so have been there before you. You're talking to someone who's died more than once, remember."

 

"I remember helping you recover the last time. We were - I thought we were - close."

 

Buffy shut her eyes as a wave of pain and frustration and plain anger swept over her again. Close!  Was that what he called it, that feeling of completing a circle, being a partner in a relationship that defied logic, sense and every Slayer principle under the sun?  And before she could stop herself, the question that had haunted her over all these years, the words that she thought of last thing at night and first thing in the morning, blurted out. "Why did you tell me I didn't love you?"

 

They were back in another cave, this time one of death and fire, demons and fear, their hands bound by flames.

 

"Thought you didn't. Thought you were just pretending, to be nice to the vamp who was about to be dusted."

 

Buffy took a swift step forward, aching to punch him on the nose, to inflict pain in as many ways as she could.  "That's nonsense. I know what it was. You were going all Sydney Carton on me."

 

"Dickens, Buffy? Really, Dickens?"

 

Buffy shrugged her shoulders reminding herself to be angry later at the incredulity in his voice. "I've had time to catch up on reading since - well, since." And she would never tell him that the Dickens book had been jammed under her computer table to steady it until recently when she'd read it out of boredom. "And I know exactly what I mean. You went all "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."  You were playing the hero, Spike. You thought telling me I didn't love you would, what?, help me move on?  Make losing you easier?  Well, it didn't.  It just made me sick to think you died believing that. But you didn't die, did you?"

 

Spike ignored the question; even in the darkness of the cave she could see his eyes gleaming. "So you did love me?"

 

Buffy bit back the one word that longed to escape, shrugged and said, "Oh Spike, that's a long time ago."

 

"Just a few months for me, Slayer. And no matter how many years pass, it wouldn't make any difference to the way I feel about you."

 

Buffy felt the first pulse of warmth zing through her body - heat she hadn't felt for such a long time. But she fought it. No way was she going down that road again. Admit to Spike that she still loved him and she'd be lost forever.

 

There was a silence, broken only by the sound of dripping water. Buffy realised her feet were freezing and wished she wasn't wearing smart, fashionable boots that were soaking up moisture like a sponge.  "So, why did you call me here, Spike?  I mean, you were trying to reach me the other evening but when I got here, you'd gone."

 

"It's complicated."

 

Buffy sighed: she could still feel the shock-waves of seeing him alive racing through her body. She wanted to touch him so badly she could taste it. "Spike, I'm freezing. Let's go sit in the car. It's dark outside; you'll be OK."

 

Spike shook his head. "I can't come any further, pet.  This is the threshold."

 

"Threshold of what?"

 

"Here and there, where you are."

 

Impulsively, she reached out to touch him but stopped as he shouted. "No, Slayer. Don't touch anything. Not till I've explained."

 

"OK, so not touching. It's obviously magic. Life might be a bit slow these days, but I recognise that when I see it."

 

"Is life that slow? Sounds bloody boring. And how many years have passed?  That's bollocks."

 

"It's fine. I lead a perfectly happy, fulfilled existence. I have friends, family and a useful job."

 

"Job?  Slaying isn't a job!  You mean Giles pays you now? Hey, is he still alive? Or have you got a new Watcher?"

 

"No, of course not. Giles is in very good health for his age. And he doesn't pay me,  not directly. But there's some sort of Watcher fund he uses to keep us afloat. Look, Spike, what the heck is going on? You've been gone for years and now you're using some sort of magic to come back."

 

Spike shook his head: he'd not realised until this second how difficult this meeting was going to be. What was harder - seeing her or not seeing her?  Both caused pain beyond belief.  "Not coming back, pet. Would if I could, but I can't. This - this border place is the best I can do.  Listen, Slayer, I didn't understand. I got my hands on this magic device - was told it could contact you. I thought just a few months had passed, guessed you might be angry with me but when I explained, you might have some ideas, some plan."

 

Buffy closed her eyes. Why couldn't he be more explicit?  "Spike! Keeping very calm here, but it isn't easy. What should I have ideas about? And why didn't you realise you've been gone for years?"

 

"Time must pass at a different rate where we are now."

 

"And that is?"

 

"Well, it's Sunnydale, of course, pet."

 

"Don't call me pet and - what!"  Buffy felt the cave whirl around her. "Sunnydale's long gone. They built a sort of amusement park on the remains. I hate it. Mom's grave buried under a water-ride. She hated rides."

 

"It is Sunnydale, well, one version of it. An alternate reality, I suppose. Angel understands all that crap, even if I don't."

 

"Angel's with you?"

 

Spike was silent for such a long time that she wondered if he'd heard her -  then,  "Well, he's here, but - look Slayer, I'm dealing with Angel, he's not the problem."

 

"Dealing…?  OK, moving on, what is the problem?"

 

Spike glanced over his shoulder, back into the silver mist that was still circling around him.  "We need a Slayer. We need you, Buffy."

 

She laughed, suddenly, harshly. "Jeez, Spike, two vampires, even ones with souls, so do not need a Slayer."

 

He shook his head. "Sunnydale's a different place in our world. No Slayer around and over-run with vamps and demons: and there's evil here, Buffy. Real, sick evil. I can taste it, but I can't find it."

 

"So - you do want me - but just to come and clean up for you? Oh, do I feel loved!"

 

Spike stared across the cave at the woman who still held him in thrall. She looked so different - even thinner, if that was possible, but no longer a young woman. Her hair was scraped back from her face so tightly that the skin gleamed on her temples. He could see that her clothes were different, too: expensive, elegant, there was no way he could see her fighting vamps and demons in that tight skirt and boots with high heels. But none of that mattered. He still loved her, heart and nearly new soul.  She would never know what he'd promised to get his hands on this magic device so he could speak to her, beg her, if necessary.

 

"You are loved: you just won't admit it.  Look, Buffy, I'm sorry, I realise it's a big thing I'm asking. I didn't know about Christmas or Dawn having a baby or that so much bloody time has passed. I suppose I reckoned that with all the Potentials around, you might be bored."

 

"And would drop everything just to come and help you?"

 

Spike shook his head. "No, I'm not that big-headed, pet. But you're still the best Slayer I've ever known in all my unlife. And isn't that what Slayers do - battle demons, kill vamps, follow where the mission leads?"

 

"And your mission for me apparently leads to stepping into a silver circle in the wall of a cave!  Spike - this is ridiculous. Listen, you must have a Slayer in your new world. She probably just hasn't arrived in Sunnydale yet. Hey, she might be another Faith. You'll enjoy that."

 

"So you won't help?"

 

Buffy bit her lip at the surprise and sorrow in his voice, fighting against every instinct that was forcing her forward. Of course she wasn't going to leave her family, her friends and life here to travel to an alternate reality and become the only Slayer once more. How ridiculous of him to even ask. OK, he hadn't realised she had a life of her own, but now he did. She was a sensible, cool-headed woman of thirty-three. Not an impulsive teenager, ready to take a chance, leap into any emergency, stake in hand. 

 

"Spike - it's impossible. I can't just walk away from everything here. I have responsibilities."

 

The vampire shuddered as he felt the magic holding him in place begin to shift and quiver.  He gazed at Buffy, surprised to discover that he felt a surge of pity for her. She looked - cold, lonely, lost, but bloody hell, he had no right to put any more pressure on her. She'd said no and that was that; he'd just have to cope with Angel and Sunnydale on his own, and as she said, perhaps there was a nice new Slayer on her way at this very moment. But how could he say goodbye, knowing that this was the very last time he would see her, speak to her? The temptation was overwhelming - to step forward out of the circle, to hold her in his arms one more time, kiss her, pull her hair down out of that ridiculous style and run his fingers through it. But he knew even as he felt his feet shifting in that direction that there were too many lives depending on him returning and once he was through the circle, there would be no going back. 

 

"OK, Buffy. Don't worry about it. Look, I've got to go - I don't want to be spliced in several pieces by this portal shutting on me.  Say hi to Dawnie for me and Giles, if you think he'd want to hear!  Oh and Buffy - "

 

"Yes?"  She could hardly get the word out.

 

"Have a good Christmas, pet! Be happy." He forced a grin - "Hey, be happy, so that one of us is happy!"  And raising his hand in farewell, he stepped backwards into the silver mist that swirled around him until he vanished.

 

"Merry Christmas, Spike," she whispered, watching the shifting light playing across the cave wall.  And the heart she thought she'd mended and locked carefully away, woke up and broke all over again.  He'd gone and she hadn't even managed to touch him. Pain rocketed through her and she wrapped her arms tightly around her body to hold herself upright.

 

She headed towards the cave mouth, then hesitated - outside this cave life would go on as drearily as before. Despite what she'd said to Spike, if she walked away now, no one would care. She'd long ago faced the problem that she wasn't necessary to anyone any more. New Slayers controlled the vampire world, Dawn had Mark and Stephen, Giles and the rest of her friends would worry for a few days, then move on with their lives. What did she have?

 

The answer was there - bright and shining - she had only two certainties in her life - her love for Spike and her mission as a Slayer. And Spike wanted her. Whether he truly loved her or not, she still didn't know, but she loved him and that was all that mattered. And in a split second the cautious, older, careful Buffy who'd built wall upon wall of protection from her emotions vanished. She tugged the clips out of her hair and shook it down round her shoulders and grabbing the edge of her skirt, she tore it up past her knees.

 

This was Christmas Day, a time for new beginnings. Pulling a stake from her purse, she took a chance, a deep breath and leapt through the slowly fading silver circle, following her man and her mission.

 

 

 

ends.

 

    

Happy Christmas to you all!