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Something to Sing About by Lilachigh
 
Chp 8 “Where were you when I died?”
 
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Something to Sing About by Lilachigh


Chapter 8 “Where were you when I died?”


2nd WARNING: Some discussion about terminating a pregnancy in this chpt.


The walk home to Revello Drive through the dark, dirty streets of the other Sunnydale, was made in silence. Spike kept Buffy’s hand firmly locked in his, as if he was scared to let her go, even for an instant. He had the feeling that if she started to run again, he wouldn’t catch her a second time.

Buffy was eager to get indoors. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and sleep for a million, zillion years. The temptation to leap through the portal that was still whirling and blinking in the corner of the kitchen was over-whelming.

Buffy guessed that the second she arrived back in the first Sunnydale, the Key baby she was carrying would vanish. But that was the big, mind-shattering problem - if she did go back, then this Sunnydale would fall to Ben’s demonic power. He would have no way of returning to his own hell dimension, so would stay here, terrorising and killing and converting everyone he could to his brand of evil.

She didn’t – as was so often the case – have any choice. She had to find some way of defeating Ben while at the same time stopping him getting hold of the Key. Well, one way, of course, was to get rid of the Key before it even arrived in this world.

She felt a wave of nausea rise in her throat. Oh yes, it was great being the Slayer! In one world she’d had to die, in this one she had to kill the child she was carrying. No wonder not many Slayers lived past their middle twenties. She reckoned they were probably begging to be slain if they had to face up to this sort of torment too often.

“Are you going to tell Willow and Xander about the baby?” Spike asked when they were safely indoors with the door locked.

Buffy shook her head, trying to drag her mind back to the present. “Not yet. Don’t forget, we’ve had ages to get used to Dawn being the Key and our memories being altered by those grungy monks. Willow in this world looks as if she’s right on the edge as it is. Something like this could push her over. And we know Xander drinks heavily. It’s not fair putting this on him. Oh god, Spike – “ she slumped onto the sofa - “Nothing’s good here, is it?”

The vampire threw himself down next to his wife. “We’re married, sweetheart. That’s a plus. And so far, whatever magic the monks are using, it hasn’t played with our memories. Hey, does this baby Key mean I’m going to be a Daddy?”

Buffy felt tears well up in her eyes and fought them back. How could he joke about this? Why didn’t he realise that she was so upset because she’d suddenly realised she would never carry Spike’s child. No matter how much she loved him in this world, or pretended not to in the other, she would never, ever have his baby.

“Spike – ” She frowned, doing the automatic counting in her head that every girl could do. “I can’t stay here for what, another eight months? Dawn will be frantic. And our Willow and Xander. And Giles. They’ll try and discover where we’ve gone. What if they succeed? They might find the portal and come through – then – ”

She stared at him, her eyes round with worry.

“Well, we know that we exist in either one place or the other but not both. That there’s only one of us,” Spike said, frowning, trying to get his brain to work. He raked his fingers through his hair and wished to god he smoked in this world. He would have given ten years of his unlife for a ciggie.

“But Oz came through the portal to bring us a message from Willow last time. He obviously existed in both worlds, so I wouldn’t worry too much about the others. I think the only problem would be if they met up!”

Spike leapt up and prowled round the room. “Perhaps it was because Oz was human? Vampire, Slayer, maybe there’s a difference.”

Buffy pulled off her boots, wriggling her toes in relief. “Willow’s original spell was created for us. I expect that’s got something to do with it. But, I’m past the thinking stage. Big no to thinking anymore. Big yes to going to sleep.”

“Are you ill? Do you feel OK, pet?” Spike was by her side, his eyes anxious.

Buffy moved away from his touch. She didn’t want his sympathy; she just wanted to go to bed. “I’m pregnant, not sick, Spike. You’ve got eight months to do the caring, sharing routine. I so don’t need it tonight.”

“You intend having this baby, then? If you get rid of it - ?” In the dark shadows of the living-room, she couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the hurt in his voice and hated herself.

He was trying to help her, she knew that, but at the end of the day, help just made her weaker. At every turn in her life, whenever the final hand had to be played, she’d always had just one person to rely on – herself. She couldn’t see that this situation was going to be any different.

“If I thought getting rid of the Key would help Sunnydale, save this world, then – yes, I’d do that,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. “But I don’t reckon glowing green energy will be that easy to shift. And how exactly would I do it? Have you thought about that, because, believe me, I have!”

She bit her lip so hard blood appeared in small pinpricks and Spike fought back an automatic growl of unassuaged hunger. “Face it, Spike, I’d need a demon doctor and – look, don’t let‘s even go there! I’ll think about it tomorrow. We’ve got to find a way of defeating Ben – and soon.”

She rolled herself onto the sofa and pulled the dusty comforter over her shoulders. She was too tired to climb the stairs to bed and anyway, there were far too many memories tied to that room. She could still feel the passion that she and Spike had shared there.

Buffy shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She heard her husband clatter down the stairs into the basement and knew he was checking that the house was secure. Her husband – it sounded odd, it sounded right, it sounded impossible.

‘Give me something to sing about’, she remembered singing that only days ago to Sweet, the dancing demon. What was the old saying she’d heard Giles use once, “Never wish for something – it might come true!”

Well, someone had obviously taken her at her word. The difference between this life and the one she had back home was so great that she realised now how lucky she was there.

OK, not a lot of money but alive with a sister, friends, a town that was free of a power-crazed god. It sounded marvellous compared to living in an evil ridden Sunnydale, pregnant with some mystical baby, thinking about termination and having to fight the same hell-god in a different guise.

But no vampire husband, a voice whispered inside her head, and just then she felt his weight on the sofa next to her and his arms holding her tight.

“You don’t have to face this alone, Buffy.” The voice close to her ear was rough and low. “Don’t shut me out.”

She tried to pull free, but the arms that had been holding her so tenderly only seconds earlier, turned into steel bands that held her fast.

“No! Listen for once in your life, Slayer! We’re in one hell of a mess. I know that. But you don’t have to cope with it on your own.”

“But I had to deal with Glory on my own. I had to die to save Dawn, to save the world. Where were you then? Where were you when I had to jump?” The words were out, slashing and burning, before she could call them back and a bitter blister of hurt she hadn’t even realised she still carried inside her, burst wide open.

She heard the hiss of breath, felt the shudder run through his body, as if she’d stuck a knife between his ribs.

“I didn’t save you, pet. I live with that every day, every night. But this isn’t the same as Glory, pet. It’s different. We’re together now. We weren’t then.”

For long seconds Buffy strained against his arms, desperate to escape. She knew that flight was how she’d always dealt with emotion, grief and loss all her life. A Slayer was always on her own. There was never anyone she could totally rely on, even those closest to her, those she loved.

And she did love Spike, in this universe and the other as well but he was asking for more than her love, he was asking for her trust – and slowly, inch by inch, she began to relax back into his arms.

To be continued









 
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