Splinters by Lilachigh

Chapter 9 The final gift


Two women stood unobserved, watching as Spike walked through the mist towards them. ‘William the Bloody, saviour of the world - it’s hard to believe,’ said the younger one.

The older woman smiled gently. ‘I’m not that surprised. I always knew he was - reliable.’

‘That’s not a word I’ve heard associated with Spike before. He’ll never do what you want, you know. He’s died twice now - why should he make it three times?’

Her companion smiled gently. ‘For love, perhaps?‘

‘Love! That’s a very tricky emotion to control.‘

‘You died for love.’

`If I’d known how things were going to work out, I would have stayed alive somehow.’

‘He’s nearly here. All we can do is explain the options to him. Yours or mine. It’s up to Spike to choose.’

The young woman frowned. ‘He’ll take the easy route. I know him too well.’

‘Perhaps. We’ll see.’
................

He was aware that Tara had vanished some time ago. Faded away into the mists that had brought her. Spike walked on. She’d said he was going to a meeting. Great! First day dead and they had him at a sodding conference. He’d always suspected that the Powers that Be were all a load of wanking bureaucrats.

He reckoned there’d be forms and lists and probably some sort of test. He sighed. The last test had been when he’d gone to Africa to get his soul and he didn’t know whether he was quite up to another one of those right now.

He wondered why he felt so weary. Surely being dead, not having an actual body that he could see, should have left him free of all those feelings?

God he could do with a drink. ‘Bet they don’t do a decent Scotch in limbo or hell, or wherever I bleeding well am!’ he muttered.

‘Your demise certainly hasn’t improved your language, Spike. I hope you haven’t been using words like that around Dawn.’

Spike skidded to a halt, scuffing up great clouds of mist in all directions. ‘Joyce?’

A light gleamed in the clouds and they thinned to allow Joyce Summers to be there, smiling at him. ‘Good to see you again, Spike. But I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.’

‘Joyce! Oh, this is great.... I never thought, never imagined - Joyce!’ He reached out, then dropped the hands he couldn’t see, only feel, as he realised she wasn’t there for him to touch.

He laughed, properly, for the first time in months, joyous and young. ‘Whatever happens now, this is a plus. Hey, hang on, there’s no way you’re not in Heaven. No way! And I know I’m not. So what the heck’s going on?’

Joyce smiled gravely. ‘You should be - elsewhere - Spike, that’s true. But you saved the world. All those millions and millions of people are alive because of you.’

Spike pulled a face. ‘Hey, your daughter played a big part in all that, Joyce. You should have seen her, bloody marvellous she was - dirty great scythe thingy, slash and bash and - oh - reckon you did see it.’

‘I never ever doubted Buffy’s ability and with you at her side, Spike, well, let’s just say I wasn’t too worried. I’ve always trusted her with you.’

Spike was silent for a long moment. ‘So, this meeting is what - my reward before I toddle off to somewhere a little hotter? How long do we get to chat?’

‘You always were such an impatient boy, William.’

Spike took a step backwards and felt his game face flash out for a second on a face that he no longer had. That voice was imprinted on primeval memory banks that were buried deep inside his invisible brain. The voice of the woman who held the key to his very existence as a vampire. Sire of the sire of his sire. Blonde and beautiful, deadly, dangerous, cruel and pitiless. Darla.

‘You might look just a little pleased to see me, William.’

Spike looked from one woman to the other, puzzled and alert. Joyce and Darla. As weird combinations went, this one travelled miles. ‘I don’t think pleased is the right word.’

Darla pouted. ‘Now, now, William, be a good boy and play nicely with me and Mrs Summers.‘

Spike gazed around, peering into the mist. ‘Is this the end of the Friends Reunited day?’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got Dru and Peaches tucked away up here now as well?’

Darla shook her blonde head and smiled. ‘No, just us two.’

‘We’re here to offer you a choice,’ Joyce said softly.

Spike groaned. ‘Why is there always a sodding choice when anything mystical or magical is concerned? Why couldn’t it be - just for once - straightforward?’

‘We don’t question,’ Darla snapped. ‘Be quiet and listen.’ She rolled her eyes at Joyce. ‘He used to drive me to despair when the four of us were travelling together. Chat, chat, chat. Natter, natter, natter. Angel and I could always hear him - whatever we were doing!’

Joyce nodded. ‘I must admit I did notice that tendency myself. He’d call round for hot chocolate and we’d talk for hours about TV programmes and rock music and - ’

‘When you two ladies have quite finished dissecting my character, can we get back to the choices bit?’

Joyce stood next to Darla and, together, they each opened a portal in the mist. Spike gasped. There, next to Joyce, he could see a school bus, driving along an empty road. Now the picture changed, and there were Buffy and Dawn, sitting with their arms round each other. Not speaking, not crying, just living, moving on.

‘She looks - tired,’ Spike said hoarsely, fighting back a stupid desire to cry.

‘She is,’ Joyce replied. ‘And she doesn’t know what lies ahead.’

‘Not more trouble!’

Joyce didn’t reply. Darla beckoned him over and he stared down through the portal she’d made. And there was Angel, his grandsire, her ex lover. Sitting in a chair in front of a desk littered with papers. But he wasn’t reading; he was gazing into space, his dark eyes troubled and heavy.

Spike winced. ‘Peaches brooding something wicked down there. What’s up with him?’

‘They both need your help, Spike,’ Joyce said. ‘That is the choice you have to make. We can send you back, I to Buffy, Darla to Angel - but only to one of them.’

Spike felt a thrill run through him. He could go back! See her again. Touch her again. Love her - find out if what she’d said to him as he burnt to his death had any truth in it at all.

But - there was an irritating question in his head that wouldn’t go away. ‘You never told me why Liam is sitting looking like a lemon that’s just been squeezed?’

Darla shrugged. ‘I can’t, William. You’ll only discover that if you go back to him.’

‘He’s never needed me before.’

Darla looked at him gravely. ‘There are all sorts of need. He has friends, good ones, but at the end of the day, he is alone. And if you don’t go - ’ She stopped, scared of saying too much.

Spike fought against the hesitation that was threatening to ruin his happiness. He had a chance to go back to Buffy. No one could ask him to give that up. He’d saved the world, for heaven’s sake. Didn’t that deserve some little prize? He stared down through the two portals. Buffy had been joined by Willow and Faith now. They were smiling, talking.

And Angel was still sitting, gazing in horror at thoughts Spike couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Then, suddenly, he knew. There was no choice. He’d given up his life so that Buffy could live, could become as near to an ordinary girl as possible.

Did she still love Angel? He didn’t know. But in case she did, this would be his final gift of love to her. If Angel needed his help, even if he never asked for it, for Buffy’s sake, Spike knew he had to give it. If he let Angel die, then he would hurt Buffy so much it was unthinkable.

He turned to look at Joyce, to explain, to apologise. But there was no need. She was smiling, her face radiant and he knew she understood and that he’d finally made the right decision.

to be continued.