~'~ Epilogue ~'~

It’s like trying to look at a flash of sunlight reflecting from a mirror when it’s up close and in your face. The light is so bright, it’s almost blinding. You’d squint instinctively, shielding your delicate eyes, but I’m unable to because the light is pouring through me and its burning. At first it was the golden glow of a campfire and then white hot heat, but there’s no pain, just warmth pulsating through like the rush of blood in your veins and the light, it shoots out from me, flowing through me and out into the amulet and then in all different directions, lasering through body after undead body, transmorphing them into an oily, chalky dust.


My body too, is burning. I can feel it. I watch as my once pale skin turns dark, and darker still, until it’s black and then powders into grey ash, falling lightly to the floor at my feet. And still, the light pours through me and the last thing I see is her, her eyes filled with tears as I tell her to go, just before my sight fades to white, laughing as the darkness overtakes me.

~'~ ~'~ ~'~ ~'~ ~'~ ~'~ ~'~ ~'~

Part I When a Stranger Calls

May 24, 2003 Los Angeles, CA

Sitting up and sucking in her breath, she looks around wildly; confused, panicked…lost. She was in a room she didn’t recognize and for a moment, the strangeness only made her panic more, making it difficult to breathe. Closing her eyes, she tries to calm her racing heart, her body heaving with deep, gasping breaths and she shakes her head, trying to clear the last vestiges of sleep clinging to her mind and erase the nightmare that had her in its grip. Opening her eyes just enough to look at the slender watch on her wrist, she takes note of the time before closing her eyes once more. It’s been 16 hours. The last thing she remembers before falling into bed is the smell of Angel as he pulled the blankets up around her and 16 hours later she is still so very tired. Lying back down on her side, Buffy takes a deep breath through her nose, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out through her mouth in a whoosh, opening my eyes again as she does so. Wide awake now, staring at the wall, her mind is racing, running, running, running, and she’s unable to stop her thoughts any more than she could stop the rush of water plummeting over Niagara Falls. Her eyes fill with tears as she is lost in her memories once more.


“Gotta move, lamb. I think it's fair to say school's out for bloody summer.”

“Spike!”

“I mean it! I gotta do this.`Now go! I wanna see how it ends.”

“I love you.”

“No you don’t. But thanks for saying it.”


A strangled sound catches in her throat as his words echo inside her head.


No you don’t. No you don’t. No you don’t no you don’t noyoudon’tnoyoudontnononononoyoudontbutthankforsayingit.


‘He didn’t believe me. The righteous bastard! You cocky, self-righteous, self-sacrificing idiot! Oh, God! Spike! Who could blame you for not believing me? I didn’t even believe me up until the moment that I said it. Pfft! Cookie dough. What the hell!? I’m sorry Spike. I’m so, so sorry.’


She closes her eyes again, trying to close out the memories of his sad, gentle smile, begging for his forgiveness inside her head. Still unable to stop her thoughts, her mind skips backwards through the past few days, lightly touching down on events, butterfly soft, hesitating for moments before picking up and continuing on the wayward path its chosen.


Angel appearing in her room after having said goodnight 30 minutes before. The feel of the floor beneath her as he lowers her slowly, cradling her gently in his arms as her body shakes with the force of the tears ripping through her, hands clenched in the folds of his shirt.


The surprise she felt, finding small bundles filled with changes of clothes and books and various snacks tucked beneath the seats on the bus. The happy squeal as Willow found her laptop tucked in with her things. The sound of Xander’s breath exploding from his chest when he finds Anya’s things mixed with his. Dawn holding up what used-to-be-mine-but-was-now-her baby blue cashmere sweater. Finding Giles’ eyes and staring into them, knowing that it was he that managed to do this for all of them before he blushes, trying to appear stoic, Brit that he is, through and through.


Taking inventory of who was left. Her eyes searching and not registering anyone until she sees them: her family. Dawn, Xander, Willow, Giles. Smiling, her scrutiny continues on. Faith looking worriedly at grimacing Robin. Andrew fidgeting in the backseat. The girls. 15 potentials left. No, not potentials she reminds herself. Not anymore. Slayers now and even wit the upgrades, most are still scared little girls and she was sure that most if not all were going to be hightailing it back to whatever parts they flocked from. Looking at what was left of what used to be Sunnydale and feeling such pride in all of them; in Spike.


Spike, standing there, looking at her with wavering resolve, telling her that she had ‘Angel breath’, his wounded pride matching the wounded look in his eyes, telling her his bravado was a smokescreen. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest at the naked look of love in his eyes. Lying in his arms, worried about the girls, about Dawn and Xander and Willow and Giles; worried about Spike. The rush of feelings she felt looking at his sleep softened face as he shouted something about drowning in footwear, blinking at her sleepily and it was that moment that she realized they were going to win and that moment she chose to show him what she couldn’t put into words, making love to him until they were both exhausted.


Spike, kneeling on the floor at her feet, looking at her so earnestly, so tenderly; the soft lilt of his accent washing over her heart, warming places within that had been cold for so long. His heartfelt words ripping away the last of the barriers between them.

“I've been alive longer than you and dead longer than that. I've seen things you couldn't imagine. I've done things I preferred you didn't. I've never had a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood, which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain. So I make a lot of mistakes, a lot of bloody calls. A hundred plus years and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of... you. I'm not asking you for anything when I say I love you. It's not because I want you, or can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you and I understand with perfect clarity what you are. You're a hell of a woman. You're the one Buffy.”


‘Oh, God! Spike!’


The door to her room opens after a soft knock, jarring her from her tormented thoughts and she rolls over to see Dawn and Willow all clean and dressed, looking a bit hesitant. A small frown crinkles her forehead as she wonders what they are so worried about.


Dawn smiles softly, still looking apprehensive and she takes Buffy’s good hand into hers, holding it before she asks “Are you ok, Buffy?”


“Yeah. I’m fine.”


Neither she nor Willow looks as if they believe her, their sad eyes saying as much as their small smiles.


“Really. I’m ok. I’m….fine.” and Buffy does her best to smile reassuringly. “So. What’s up?” she asks, looking from Dawn to Willow.


“Well, umm, you have a visitor.” Willow says quietly.


A visitor?!? Buffy can feel her heart jump into her throat.


“A visitor???” she asks, sitting up, wincing a bit as she uses her burned hand to push herself up as Dawn is still holding her good hand.


“Umm, yeah. He’s out there with Giles.” Willow answers, her chin lifting a bit as she indicates the “living room” behind her with a small toss of her head. “His name is Alec Dreyfuss” she says somewhat seriously.


Buffy’s heart falls into the pit of stomach and she looks visibly disappointed, the small frown she wore getting deeper, creasing her forehead and crinkling the corners of her tired green-gold eyes.


Looking questioningly at her younger sister, Dawn drops the bomb.


“Buffy. He says he’s here because Dad sent him”.

~'~ ~'~ ~'~ ~'~ ~'~ ~'~ ~'~ ~'~


Stepping out of her room, dressed in some of the clothes that Giles packed for her, Buffy meets up with Dawn and Willow who were waiting outside for her to get dressed and compose herself for their visitor. It didn’t take long really, no more than a minute as she just pulled on a pair of loose exercise pants and shrugged into a cardigan, leaving it to hang open over the black camisole she has slept in.


Walking past the small bathroom, she stands in the hallway entrance looking into the living room, Willow and Dawn following close behind and then stepping around to stand beside her. At that moment, Giles stops speaking and turns to look at them. Xander, standing behind him, looks up at as well. A man, sitting with his back to her, seems familiar somehow and he slowly turns his head to look at the 3 girls as well, his eyes landing on Buffy and not moving and she can feel her heart jump into her throat once more.


He looks like her father; enough to make her heart jump in shock. The same light golden brown hair; the same large forehead; the same thin-lipped smile underneath a somewhat-wide patrician nose. It was his eyes that set him apart from looking like her father’s twin. Hank’s wide set eyes were small and hazel, whereas this guy had close set eyes that were so dark, they almost appeared black.


He stood up to greet her, about the same height as her father, but his build was slimmer, more lean whereas Hank was a bit bulkier and beefier. Extending his hand to Buffy, she shakes it hesitantly, still shocked of speech, as his voice, somewhat nasal, drifted up in a quiet greeting.


“Hello Buffy.”


Nodding at him, she shakes his hand a moment more, cautiously, still searching his face and her mind for who he was. Hank was an only child. He didn’t have any brothers that she knew of, but then again, she really knew very little about the father that had abandoned her and her family what now seems like a lifetime ago.


Clearing his throat, Giles stands up, moving to stand at Buffy’s right as Xander comes around the small table to stand next to him, Willow and Dawn moving to her left, the four of them forming a shield of sorts, in silent show of support. Withdrawing her hand from his, using it to tuck a wayward strand of golden hair behind her ear, Buffy finally addresses him: “So. What can I do for you Mr. Dreyfuss?” she asks quietly.


“Your father sent me here.”


“My father?”


“Yes. Hank Summers.”


“And just how did my father know where to find me?” Buffy asks her voice tight as she stares hard at him.


“Well, after Sunnydale collapsed into itself, it made the news, hard for it not to of course. A whole town collapsing, being swallowed into the earth.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, after he saw the evening news, he dispatched me to find you.”


Still not believing this guy for a second, she asks again. “My father?” and crosses her arms over her chest, taking care with her left hand as she tucks it beneath her bicep.



Blinking slowly, taking time to assess his answer, he turns away and leans down, picking up a briefcase she hadn’t noticed before. Turning back to the five of them, he raises it to chest level before popping the latches and cracking it open. Holding it open in one hand, he reaches in with the other, pulling out a somewhat thickly padded manila envelope and extends it towards Buffy, something inside it clinking metallically.


“There’s a lot you don’t know about your father, Miss Summers.”


“So, why don’t you fill us in, then?” Xander interrupts.


Glancing sideways briefly at Xander, Dreyfuss continues in his same droll voice: “After Sunnydale collapsed, another one was made active.”


Alarmed, Giles and Dawn both ask “Another what?”


Seeming dryly amused as one could be considering the situation, Dreyfuss answers, addressing them with an exaggerated patience as if they were mentally challenged.


“Why another Hellmouth of course”


“Uhm, Mr. Dreyfuss, I’m sorry to inform you, but we already know of Cleveland,” Giles explains softly, his accent subdued in his exhaustion and he absently removes his glasses, using the hem of his shirt to clean them.


“Cleveland is the least of your worries Mr. Giles,” Dreyfuss explains quietly before continuing in his slightly nasal softness. “Cleveland is puddle compared to the storm brewing in Ft. Lauderdale.”


tbc
(Anyone wanna be my beta??)