Three days. The sun had risen three times since the night Glory had tried to bring down the walls separating dimensions and release chaos on this world. For Dawn, time had slipped into one of two categories: Before...and After.

She had changed. Who wouldn’t? But of all the things lost, it was the loss of innocence that was most noticeable. At fourteen, fifteen in a little over a month, she had had her childhood ripped away from her in the cruelest and most bizarre circumstances. She no longer mentioned or even thought about the fact that it wasn’t a real childhood, that she wasn’t a real person. Buffy’s love for her and the sacrifice for that love had guaranteed that. Dawn was no longer a child, no longer the brat kid sister, the events she’s lived through had hurtled her into an all too quick maturity that defied her years. She was a young woman.

And she had set the Scoobies on their respective ears in the meantime.

Released from the hospital late in the afternoon on the first day After, the gang had taken her home. They stayed with her, no one even thinking to do anything less, and tried to comfort her as best they could. Oddly enough, though, it was she who did the most comforting.

Everyone was thunderstruck when her first demand had come.

“Giles,” she had said, after accidentally eavesdropping on them whispering about what would happen to her now. “Get on the phone. Call the Watcher’s Council. Have them pull whatever strings are necessary, but get them to appoint you as my legal guardian. Do it now.”

He had stared at her in stunned amazement, they all had, as she popped her head into the dining room where they were sitting, discussing her future. They had all thought she was upstairs resting at the time.

“D-Dawn,” Giles stuttered as he tried to get his mind to work, “I-I would, n-not that I’m not, they – ”

She had crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, waiting to hear what he was trying to say. He saw the determination in her eyes but there were limits to what the council could achieve, and he wasn’t sure they would be too anxious to assist him even if they could. Not with the Slayer’s death and his role as her Watcher officially over. Plus there were still some guilt issues.

“Dawn, I don’t think the council will be able to do much in that regard, though I would, of course, be proud to be your guardian,” he had said, which was all true - if only a slight evasion of the actual problem he was having with the idea, “but I’m not an American citizen. Even the Watcher’s council has limits...”

She had interrupted him before he got a chance to complete the sentence. “Well, maybe the Watcher’s council needs to work on that first, then, don’t they?”

She practically stormed in and thumped down at the table next to Xander, who had stared at her like she’d grown another head. “Listen, all of you. I’m very grateful that you are all so worried about me, but worry doesn’t solve anything. Action does. I learned that from Buffy.”

At the mention of her sister’s name the group had seen the raw aching wound that was still there over Dawn’s heart. She was still hurting, still grieving, but she’d covered that with determination and purpose. She was trying so hard to do what Buffy told her to do. Live.

Dawn had gone on to explain herself. “One thing’s for sure, I’m not going to get sent to my father. And foster care? Don’t think so. The rest of you are too young, no offense Anya. No one would allow that. Leaves me with only one choice. Besides, Giles, you have been a father to me. Now it’ll be legal, no diff.”

She needed to convince them that this was the only way, and she knew that they weren’t convinced yet. She played a trump card. “We still live over the Hellmouth, guys, lets not forget that. Buffy’s...dead,” this time there was only a slight pause, it was getting easier - though no less painful - to say the actual words, “and I’m sure the Watcher’s council understands that a new Slayer won’t be popping up to take care of our little corner of joy in the world. We’re all they’ve got. One experienced Watcher, one ex-demon, two very powerful witches, Xander - who I believe makes up for his normalcy with a lot of dedication and experience, and me.”

The five ‘adults’ had been staring blankly at the table in front of them while she had been speaking but when she mentioned herself, Willow had looked up in surprised horror and met her steady gaze.

“Dawnie, there is no way Buffy would have wanted you anywhere near the things the Hellmouth can toss at us. You can’t expect us to let you take on the nasties in this town!”

Dawn, who had been prepared for that argument, smiled slightly. “Research only, Willow, trust me. I’m young, but I can help with the planning and bookwork, plus, you can start training me in magicks - protection stuff only, if you want. And I won’t always be young, either.”

Anya had looked at Dawn and cocked her head slightly, “Yes. You seem to be growing old right in front of my eyes. You’re even talking differently. What’s happening to you?” She had turned and grabbed Xander’s hand and asked him, “What’s happening to her?”

He had flushed slightly at the embarrassingly forthright question and told her he’d explain it later.

Giles had listened to everything, but had been weighted down by guilt and depression. He finally realized that he couldn’t keep the truth from Dawn any longer. She needed to know what she was asking, and whom she was asking it from.

He reached a tired hand up and removed his glasses before saying, “Dawn. I have to tell you something and it’s very difficult to admit. Last night, before we came for you, I told Buffy we would have to...kill you...if Glory got to start the ritual. I would have done it myself.”

Giles couldn’t look at her; he was too overwhelmed with shame and pain. For a long time no one spoke.

Dawn had been surprised, and admittedly a little hurt, but she knew what the ramifications were of opening the dimensional walls - they had all seen it. And she had a pretty good idea of what Buffy’s reaction had been to the news. She felt...sympathy for what Giles must have gone through.

After giving herself time to digest the information, she had finally shrugged one shoulder and told him, “And I tried to throw myself off the tower. She wouldn’t let me. No more than she would have let you, I expect. We were all trying to do what we needed to do. I understand. It’s okay, Giles.” She had tried to insert a lighter atmosphere to the room, feeling suddenly stifled by the heavy emotions swirling around. “Just...don’t do it again, okay?”

She had smiled at him, and he felt the huge weight of his burden of shame lift off his shoulders. “Right then,” he had said, stunned once again at her maturity and grace. “I can assure you I won’t.” He had smiled and stood up from the table. “I guess I’ll go put in that call now. I can’t wait to hear Quentin’s reaction.”

Dawn had left soon after, telling everyone she was going up to study for the make-up Geography test that she was going to take the next day. Fortunately, the school had decided not to expel her after Giles had taken it upon himself earlier to contact them about Buffy’s death and the reason behind Dawn’s absence (heavily edited reason, anyway). The principal had been sympathetic to the loss of her sister so soon after the loss of her mother and had agreed, if Dawn passed the test, to allow her to stay.

Once she had gone upstairs, Xander had turned to the rest of his friends and said, “Is it just me, or does the Dawnster suddenly remind you of anyone?”

They had all nodded, Willow being the one to say, “She’s like a mini Buffy.”

On the second day After, their thoughts were confirmed.

Dawn had come in to the magic shop and laid her book bag on the table. She told everyone that she was pretty sure she had passed her test, and that school had been awkward because none of her friends knew how to treat her anymore. The gang had sympathized and congratulated her on the academic achievement. When she had come back from the training room after grabbing something to drink from the fridge (no one had seen her run a trembling hand down the punching bag, or wipe the tears from her eyes that suddenly sprung up when she thought about Buffy) she had sat down at the table next to Willow and Tara and dropped her next major bombshell.

“Guys, I want you to do a spell to find out where Spike was taken. We’re going to get him back.”

That hadn’t gone over too well. The gang was in no way convinced they even wanted him back. No one thought he was still alive either, no one except Dawn, anyway. She couldn’t explain it to them. It was just something she felt. She knew he wasn’t dead...yet. And she was determined to get him back. She needed him, and she knew the group did too. He promised to protect her and she would make sure that promise was both kept and extended to the rest of the gang, whether he liked it or not.

Twisting the witches around to her way of thinking in much the same way she had done to Giles the day before, they had finally agreed to try. And it had worked…kind of anyway. They had tracked him to another dimension using a spell to light up his path in the nether realm. But they had lost it, and had to tell Dawn that it had just stopped, cut off abruptly, and they didn’t know why.

Dawn had been afraid she’d been wrong, that maybe he was, in fact, dead, and she almost lost the tenuous grasp she had on her emotions. Willow was quick to point out that she didn’t believe that to be the case. If he had died, or been killed, she would have sensed it. No. It was something different. She and Tara both believed he was still alive, just somewhere that they couldn’t track him.

When Dawn had dictated that they keep trying, no one even questioned how effortlessly she seemed to take command of the group’s actions. And they didn’t question how reassuring it was, having Dawn - despite her age - acting so much like her big sister.

The third day, the current day, was set aside for one thing and one thing only. It was the day Buffy was buried. Dawn had decided to allow herself this one day to give in to all of the anguish she was feeling. She allowed herself to mourn. They all did. Buffy was on everyone’s mind. Nothing else was given any room.

It was a daytime ceremony held under a canopy to allow for the one guest that they all knew would come. Willow had been the one to go and tell him in person just the night before. Angel was there. As was Wesley and Cordelia.

No one but the minister spoke, there just weren’t words enough to express their grief. The gang supported Dawn, who sobbed painfully through the entire service, and there were few dry eyes in the small crowd.

Angel’s were one. He hadn’t shed a tear since Willow had told him. He hadn’t said much, either. A quick, “let’s go,” back in LA and the four of them headed to Sunnydale. Grief blanketed him, it was palpable, practically visible, but he said nothing. His dark, brooding features said it all.

Giles had filled him in on what had happened when they got to Buffy’s house late last night. He had walked out soon after, haunting the streets of his old stomping ground like Death himself and purged his rage and hatred on anything evil that crossed his path. On his own, he had sent several of the town’s worst demonic villains straight to hell. A place he was very familiar with both in a literal sense and figuratively, as his soul had been chained there since he had seen Willow.

As with all funerals, guests slowly dispersed as soon as the service was over. Soon the gang was pulling Dawn away from her sister’s gravesite. They had planned on going back to the house after it was over. As with her mom, Buffy wouldn’t have wanted a wake or anything, so they didn’t have the added strain of mourners there. They were going to go and just be with each other, gaining comfort from each other as they had for the past three days.

Dawn allowed herself to be guided away, but a glance back over her shoulder at the lone figure standing so desolate and alone had her breaking out of Willow’s arms and hurrying back to his side. She didn’t think he noticed her, so she reached out tentatively and touched his arm. The slight jump she felt underneath her hand told her she’d been right.

“I’m sorry, Angel.”

He finally tore his gaze away from the lowering coffin and glanced at her grief stricken and tear-stained face. “I know. So am I.”

“She would be glad that you’re here.”

He just nodded, unable to force words past the lump in his throat.

They stood side by side for a while, both just staring down at the remains of the person they both loved so much. It looked so barren without a headstone, but that wouldn’t be finished for a few more days. It was a pretty spot, though, a Weeping Willow shaded it and it was just a few feet from her mother’s grave.

“I picked out the headstone,” Dawn told him, not sure why it would matter but needing to say something. “It’s pretty, I think. She would like it. I told the man just to put her name on it, and the dates...you know. I was going to leave it at that, thought maybe simple would be best, but it seemed too little for her, for the big things she did. I had him add ‘Beloved Sister’ and ‘Devoted friend’ and then, at the bottom, I asked the man to write, ‘She saved the world a lot’. He didn’t understand, kinda gave me a weird look but I had to put it. People didn’t know - how special she was. How much she gave,” Dawn was crying again, the tears wouldn’t stop. “They couldn’t see it when she was here and now...now that she’s not, everyone can see it. Even if they don’t understand, they’ll see it and know.”

Angel didn’t turn, didn’t say anything for a long time. They stood there, still side by side with Dawn’s hand on his arm as the sun faded out of the sky. Once the sun had set, Angel knew it was time to go. He had done what he needed to do. He had said his goodbyes. Tomorrow would come. Life would go on. It would be a different life, a life knowing she was no longer there, in the background, and he didn’t know yet how it would feel.

He looked down at Dawn’s wet eyes. Angel would make sure she got home safely.

“What you had them write,” he finally said, “on the headstone...it was good. Buffy would be proud of you.”

Dawn smiled slightly at the praise. The large, brooding vampire and the small, sad girl walked home, taking comfort from one another as best they could.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Well,” said the sarcastic voice heavy-laden with a north London accent, “this is one fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, mate.”

No sooner had the door leading into the realm been sealed up behind him than Spike realized just what the Oracles meant by it defending itself against him. As soon as he entered, huge, angry-looking clouds, sickly yellow in color, gathered large on the horizon, rolling and frothing in his direction. Lightning flashed down brightly a few feet from where he stood and the thunder cracked viciously, making him jump. He needed to move if he was going to live any longer than five minutes.

And the atmosphere was really the least of his problems. It was the feeling, the bugs-crawling-under-your-skin feeling that had him totally freaked. As soon as he stepped in, it felt like the eyes of God himself were boring into him from all directions. It wasn’t painful exactly, but it didn’t give him warm fuzzies, either. Somehow he knew, despite the absence of anything but the clouds and towering mountains in the distance, that he was being watched and weighed and found severely lacking. What a bloody surprise.

The demon in him wasn’t happy, there was nothing he could do to prevent it from emerging full force. His game face was on and he scanned the landscape with enhanced eyesight, looking for a way to go.

“All right, luv,” he muttered to himself quickly, “where in the bloody hell...heaven are you?”

He had to cover his ears to protect himself from the next crack of thunder. It was getting closer and hurt his hypersensitive hearing.

Something in him, some small piece of his cold, dead heart whispered to him. It was urging him to move, and move fast, but it was also telling him which way to move. Not bothering to question the feeling, Spike took off to the left, heading towards the mountains in the distance and directly toward the most hostile looking area in the place. Broken ground and nasty fissures in the earth lay in his path and he saw them stretching out before him as he drew closer.

“Of course,” he muttered, talking to himself just to hear himself speak, “it would be the ugliest route. This is just soddin’ wonderful.”

Staying just ahead of the approaching storm (calling it the stalking storm wouldn’t be out of line, considering he had seen it change direction as he did and follow him as he ran) he came to an abrupt halt just before leaping over the first jagged, open split in the ground. Steam issued forth out of the opening at his feet. The vapor burned his skin with vile intent and he had to take a step back. There was no way he would be able to jump it without getting massively singed.

“Okay, Spike, what’s the next brilliant plan?”

Through a break in the steam he thought he could see a way around the chasm and he moved off to his right.

Three steps later the situation he was in got quite a bit worse. He was edging his way around one fissure and trying to keep from falling into another when he felt it. His stomach seized up in fear and he froze. Perched precariously between two large cracks in the ground, trying to ignore the burning of the vapor against his skin, he thought at first he had imagined it.

But no, there it was again. Spike girded himself and leapt to a wider stretch of hard-packed dirt, bellowing in pain and rage as the move forced him to go through the acidic steam. It wasn’t like he had a choice - underneath his feet the earth had moved.

Spike was standing in an area of Swiss-cheesed terrain, with jagged tears in the surface hungering to suck him in and break every bone in his undead body, caustic vapors ready to disintegrate his flesh on contact, a psychopathic storm hunting him down like a dog, and now, to top it all off, the ground was rolling and pitching under him.

It was an earthquake.

Rolling his eyes at the latest horror, Spike tried to keep his balance as the ground bucked and fell under him. It didn’t work. He was thrown with all of nature’s fury to the unforgiving dirt, almost getting tossed into the opening he had just leapt over. Spike shuffled quickly backwards on his hands and knees and tried to keep from falling into another one right behind him. He looked up at the storm, down at the crack in front of him and shook his head. This so wasn’t his day.

“Bloody hell.”

Chapter Six

Spike clutched at the shaking earth beneath him and trembled from the force of the storm above.

Look at the bright side, mate. Could be worse, could be sunshine beamin' down on you in a nice, fatal way.

The thought did nothing to ease his mind. In fact, he peered anxiously up at the sky, just to make sure his thoughts hadn't been read as an invitation to up the stakes of the deadly game he was playing with the realm. Spike couldn't bring himself to even think about it as heaven.

Fortunately, the ground beneath him stopped quaking and he was able to finally pull himself to his feet, crouching a bit to stay out of the way of the lightning bolts that were still blazing their righteous fury down on him. He didn't think he had much time before something equally hideous was thrown up in his path.

The skin on his hands, neck, and face burned hotly from the exposure to the steam that was even now reaching out tendrils of scalding menace toward his exposed flesh. If his hands were any indication - he could see they were raw, chapped, and seeping - it was probably a good thing that he couldn't see his face.

Didn't matter though, something told him it would get worse before it got better, a lot worse.

The only way he could see to get out of the harsh terrain he was stuck in was to go over the fissures. It would take too much time and was too risky to try to go around. If the earth started again with the shaking, he might not be so lucky next time and he might fall in. Plus, a moving target was a difficult target to hit, and those lightning bolts were getting closer and closer. He was out of options.

With that bleak thought still knocking around in his noggin, Spike started to move. Really move. He headed in a mostly straight line, leaping fissures and being blistered by their venomous vapor as he went. When a crack was too wide to jump safely he veered off slightly, taking the shortest, yet safest possible route to the other side.

With malicious intent, the storm grew in ferocity, whipping up gales of strong wind and hurling hailstones the size of golf balls down on him and the surrounding area. The hailstones pummeled his body like icy bullets and the wind pushed against him, trying to slow him down. He couldn't let it.

Over the banshee wail of air and the cracks of thunder and the drum roll of hailstones hitting the earth, Spike thought he heard an inhuman howl. A sharp, keening cry of agony rose above the din of heaven's wrath. It took him a few minutes to realize the sound was coming from him.

Borne from the depths of his soulless body, he was screaming out against the furies of fate and circumstance. Bellowing out his pain and his hatred of the job he was doing and the reason he was doing it. As he leapt and swerved and flew and dodged, the sound grew to a mindless snarl. Feral and intense, hot and heavy, it hung in the air around him.

Never ending torment was in that sound, as was the deeply passionate desire for things he could never have. The woman he could never have. Buffy was in that cry.

Billowing out behind him like ink black wings, his leather duster flapped wildly against the monstrous tempest. With his face set in a ghastly grimace, teeth bared and jaws clenched against the pain, he went airborne again. Flying over another fissure like an avenging angel of misery, he landed hard and rolled to absorb the shock to his body.

Going with the momentum, he was back on his feet and running again a mere blink of time after he landed.

Suddenly, silence slammed down on the damaged landscape. At first Spike didn't notice the difference; he was too busy focusing on trying to cut off the sound coming from his own throat. When he finally caught on that he wasn't being pummeled by hailstones or threatened by lightning he jogged to a stop and looked around. The storm was gone. Not receding, not lessening, just gone - as if it never was. A clear, blood red sky was all he could see. Not one single cloud. Behind him, the earth was an unblemished wasteland of hot desert-like compacted sand. The fissures and steam were gone as well.

For some reason, he didn't feel comforted.

"Now, why do I think this may just fall under the category of not boding well for Spike?"

He was under no illusion that he had succeeded in winning against this realm, the prickly 'God's got his eye on you' feeling was still there. And it was stronger than before, driving him quietly and effectively toward the edge of insanity.

Longing to strip the skin from his own body for relief, he knew that whatever was on its way was going to be bad. He didn't bother with arrogance. This was far from over.

Spike figured the brief respite would be better spent on the move.

As he ran, he pictured Buffy in his mind. It comforted him, soothed the prickly feelings under his skin slightly. The fire in her eyes when she got her temper up, the way she'd tilt her head in aggravation with her hands fisted at her hips when he annoyed her. The gentleness in her caress when she brushed her hand over Niblet's hair, the sweetness in her smile when she saw Willow and Tara together or Xander and Anya. It was a sweetness that was tinged with envy, though she'd stake him if she knew he had seen that. And the way she fought. Oh, the way she moved when she fought. That was poetry in motion. Pure unadulterated poetry.

Fluidity and grace hid the steel beneath the petite frame but nothing could hide it from Spike. He had seen it, had been on the receiving end of it more times than he'd like to remember, and it was one of the things he admired most about her. Because the steel didn't make her hard and the grace didn't make her soft. It was balance and it was beautiful. It was Buffy.

Spike didn't notice, but his game face had melted away for the first time since entering the realm as he ran, as he thought about the Slayer, as he smiled at his thoughts.

He was actually surprised when he got to the base of the mountain. It had looked much farther away while he was approaching but suddenly it was looming above him. Except there was one tiny problem. It wasn't a mountain, at least not in the classic sense of the word. It was a tremendous pile of shale - loose rock - sharp shards of ton upon ton of the stuff.

His mouth opened slightly and he cursed under his breath. This was going to be a bitch to climb and he knew it. Looking up to the top of the pile, he figured it was a good thousand feet high. Not large by mountain standards, little more than a hill, really, but there would be no firm ground under his feet. And even vampires had limits to their endurance. He cursed again. Someone certainly wasn't making this little trek any easier, that's for sure.

Sighing deeply for emotions sake he muttered, "It's not likely to be gettin' any smaller with you standin' at the bottom of it, you sod. Go on, up and over."

Because of the steep slope, he had to use his hands and his feet to scramble up the surface. After less than a hundred feet, his hands - already damaged earlier - were cut and bleeding badly. His grip grew slippery and less secure. The muscles in his legs, fighting doubly hard against the soft surface, started to complain at the workout they were getting but he didn't stop. He pushed on.

Every once and a while he would slide backwards a little, and he snarled each time in annoyance. Like trying to climb out of bloody quicksand.

He kept the picture of Buffy in his head. It wouldn't let him stop. He had to get to her. She had to go back. He knew he wasn't going to be leaving this realm, and if Buffy didn't go back, there would be no one to protect Dawn. No way was he going to let that happen, even if he had to kick that firm bottom of hers out of there himself.

The nearly vertical, torturous climb stretched on.

Almost three quarters of the way to the top, Spike had to rest. His legs were no longer complaining, they were screaming at him. And his poor hands were sliced to ribbons. Sitting gingerly on one of the rare level spots, he checked out the damage to his digits. He used the corner of his shirt to gently pat them dry. He didn't want to risk giving in to his nature in this realm. Licking the blood off probably wouldn't be the brightest of ideas.

He was relieved to see the damage wasn't as bad as he thought. Mostly superficial with only a few deep gouges, it was the pain that was the worst of it. They'd heal. Well, they would if he had time for them to heal, anyway.

Leaning back against the shale, staring out into the great expanse of tortured earth, he wondered what the realm would throw up at him next. He shouldn't have.

Spike didn't notice it at first but it didn't really matter. It noticed him.

Staring off to the right, Spike scratched at his prickly skin unconsciously. Whatever was affecting him was growing stronger, but he just didn't have the energy to continue on quite yet. He leaned over and picked up a piece of shale and sent it skipping down the side of the mountain. When he bent to pick up another, he noticed the piece he was reaching for was vibrating slightly against the others. He frowned, not quite getting why it would be doing that. It wasn't another earthquake, Spike didn't feel any vibrations coming from below, and on the pile he was sitting on, he would.

He spun around and looked up at the top of the peak...and breathed a real sigh of relief. Not a rockslide. That would be tops on his list of things not to go through today. So, no earthquake, no rockslide...what then?

He scanned the horizon from right to left. When he focused his re-emerged game-faced eyesight across the mountain range of stones off to his left he almost fell off his perch in shock.

"Oh, BLOODY HELL!"

Unlike the other things he'd faced since entering this realm, there was nothing even remotely natural about what he saw. Suddenly, whether or not he had the energy to continue mattered not in the least. Spike leapt to his feet and started dragging himself frantically up the last distance to the top.

Quickly gaining on his position was a shimmering wall of some kind of energy that stretched from the ground to the sky, and it was, well, bulldozing might be the best way to describe it, its way through each and every pile of stone on his left and heading his way. As it came in contact with the large piles, they virtually exploded, sending razor-sharp, deadly stone projectiles in every direction.

Spike reached the peak and gathered his duster around him. If anything could provide some marginal protection against what he was going to do next, it would be the leather.

Too afraid of what was coming to think about the plan he had, he jumped off of the top of the pile of shale and fell. The pitched grade on this side was less severe than the other, so he hit hard about ten feet from the top. Sliding in a free fall, the loose stone beneath him gathered momentum as he slid and he hurtled to the bottom of the hill.

The last thing he remembered was thinking he just might make it before he was hit with the pyroclastic blast from the displaced air. Unlike the hailstones, the flying shale missile's that were caught up in the blast of pressure didn't just pummel him, they sliced into him, embedding themselves into his skin in several places.

Spike howled briefly in pain and then, blessedly, felt nothing. Everything went black. He lost consciousness just as the bulldozer of shimmering energy blasted apart the hill he was on.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Got anything yet, Willow?" Dawn asked, as she pushed open the door to the Magic Box and moved to toss her book bag on the table.

For a full week it was the same question every time.

For a full week she got the same answer from the redheaded witch. "Not yet, Dawnie, but we're still working on it."

Dawn's quest to find and return Spike had become a haunting obsession, invading her dreams and lurking in the back of her mind - whispering to her - all day. Not that she had slipped on her schoolwork. If anything, it had improved. As had her attendance, Giles had seen to that.

The Watcher's council had worked their own brand of Gestapo-esque magic on the US government and plowed through a surprisingly large amount of red tape like a hot knife through butter to acquire citizenship for Giles. They had gotten the news just two days ago.

Yesterday the gang had celebrated the official custodial rights of one Rupert Giles over one Dawn Summers. The gang had pitched in to get a rather ostentatious bundle of balloons for the Watcher, several of which proclaimed to God and everyone, "It's a Girl!"

Even Giles managed to find the amusement in that.

"Any homework today, Dawn?" Giles asked as he came out from the stockroom with a box of inventory in his hands.

"Of course," Dawn rolled her eyes at Tara. Giles was great, but he was a stickler for all things studious. And as much as she groused, she didn't really mind. He loved her and that was his rather staunchly British way of showing it. But she wouldn't be a teenager if she didn't complain and generally work to make his life as frantic as possible. She may have found a new maturity and purpose, but some things NEVER change.

"My English teacher, who I am convinced is a escaped Nazi war criminal - we should really investigate her - decided we weren't fully appreciating 'To Kill A Mockingbird', so we have to write a 500 word essay that summarizes its main theme." Dawn turned dramatically tragic, pleading eyes to Willow, who grinned at the teen's ploy. "Willow, tell me you've read the book and will help me!"

Giles just shook his head at the girl, happy to see that she was showing signs of bouncing back from the tragedy ten days ago. Now, if he could just get her mind off Spike.

Giles hadn't discussed his theory with anyone, but he was afraid that Dawn was transferring the loss of her sister onto the missing vampire, and if she didn't let it go - or Spike wasn't returned - it would destroy her.

"Hey, guys," Tara's voice pulled Giles' thoughts away from his ward. "I think I may have found another one."

At Dawn's insistence, the witches had been pouring through the extremely extensive collection of Giles' spell books, trying out each and every locater spell they found in case it got them further than they had before. So far, they always ended up at the same spot, the spot that Spike's energy trail, or aura trail, whatever you want to call it, just cut off.

Now they had one more to try. As soon as Dawn heard Tara, she dropped the teen angst routine like a bad habit and put on her 'all work, no play' face. As quick as turning on a light, the aggrieved schoolgirl was gone and in her place, a determined young woman.

"Right. Tara, you get the supplies. I'll help Willow set up in the back room. When that's done, I'll hang out here and start on my paper. Let me know what you find out."

Willow, still not used to seeing the transformation from carefree teen to intense leader in Dawn - in Buffy, sure, but in Dawn? - reached out and touched Dawn's hand with a supportive squeeze. "We will. You'll be the first to know...well, okay, small fib. We'll be the first to know, but you will definitely be second."

Dawn grinned and led the way into the back room to set up the circle her friends would need.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Ow, Christ that hurts!"

Spike tried to move but his body protested violently. He opened his eyes and stared at the sky, it had changed. No longer the angry blood red color, it was more of a dark maroon. Of course, it didn't really matter what color it was, it's not like Spike knew if that was an indication night was falling - or even if there was a night in this realm. He couldn't even tell how long he'd been out.

"Well, surprise, surprise," he muttered to himself. "You're still alive, mate. A little less proper than you were before, but you know what they say about beggars. They taste funny and get stuck in your teeth." He tried to laugh at his own sick humor but was seized by a coughing fit. It felt like he swallowed the hill of shale instead of just being ripped apart by it and he was pretty sure several of his ribs were broken.

Very gently, so he didn't hurt something that wouldn't heal so fast, he turned his head to check out the fallout of his plunge and the blast. There was nothing. No scattered stones, no remnants of hills, just barren, dessert-like hard packed earth. Same as the disappearing storm and fissures.

Rolling over slowly, he winced when he felt the bite of several slashes in his side and down his right leg. Cautiously feeling his way down, he gasped as his fingers found the first of what was to be many pieces of shale firmly imbedded in his skin. He plucked them out one by one, biting back the cry of pain that each removal caused. When he was finished, there were about twelve bloody pieces scattered around his body. Solid proof that whatever was playing mountain lion and mouse with him was real. And Spike didn't feel like playing anymore.

He managed to get to his knees and sheer force of will had him tottering on his feet soon after. Bloody, bruised, cut, and exhausted, he staggered on. That soft brush of feeling he had been counting on to lead him to Buffy was still there, and in the growing darkness he headed off to follow his instincts.

Hell, he was too damn stubborn to do anything else.

Spike didn't know how long he stumbled through the darkness. He didn't know how far he had come. What he did know was there was something up ahead of him, he didn't know what exactly, but he was desperately hoping it wasn't going to be another 'bash the Spike' thing.

As he got within feet of it, he could see it was square and hanging a few feet off the ground. No, that's not quite right. It was a sign. It had posts sticking into the hard surface of earth. Shuffling forward, curiosity getting the better of him, he tried to see what it said.

It was out of place. Since entering the realm he'd seen absolutely no evidence of any inhabitants, but signs weren't put up where no one would see it. That didn't make sense.

When he finally got close enough to make out the writing Spike just stared in dazed amazement. "You have got to be kiddin' me."

No way. No bloody way.

He called out in anger to whatever was responsible for the ever-present feeling of eyes on him. "What's this all about, eh? This some kind of soddin' joke?! Oh yeah, mate, you're real funny, ya know?"

And suddenly, everything he had been through since he got dragged down into this twisted version of Alice's rabbit hole in the sharp, talon-tipped grasp of the Dialetylth DID seem funny. Very funny. Riotously funny. Spike started laughing and he honestly had no idea if he could stop. He sunk to his knees and gripped his sides, practically howling in amusement and giving in to what was fast becoming hysteria.

And every time he started to calm down, he peeked at the sign and it started all over again.

So, Spike, here you are. Workin' on savin' the world...again. What's this, the second? Nope - the third time. That's got to be some bleedin' record for a soulless vampire, ya know? Maybe you should tell the little chippy to let Guinness know when all's said and done. Wonder how 'William the Bloody' would look in that damn book. Or maybe just 'Spike' - well, we'll just let the girl decide for herself. Then again, maybe not. Wouldn't want it to read 'William the Bloody pain in the ass' now, would we? Nope, that wouldn't do at all.

His thoughts did nothing to settle him down. It was all just so tragically amusing. Except for this time, this time to save the world he had to take away something precious and well deserved from the woman he loved more than he loved his own undead life. He had to send her back to the fray. But why?

Why was he here? Why should he force Buffy to give up her peace? Spike had seen what would happen without the Chosen One, but so what? He'd die? Well, it wasn't like he was going to be getting out of heaven in one undead piece, the Oracles had been bloody well clear on that. And if he wasn't going to be there anyway, what did he care if the world and all of its inhabitants - who he couldn't even feed off of anymore, by the way - went straight to the fiery gates of Hell?

Well, there was Dawn. She was one reason. And, if Spike was really honest to himself, there were also the merry misfits. They were another reason. But they only count as one! I'm not givin' 'em each a reason of their own!

Strangly, though, those reasons hadn't been why he chose to do this unthinkable thing. He hadn't really been thinking of Dawn, or of the Slayerettes, when he had seen the pit of carnage that the world would become.

With a flash of insight he finally put his finger on it. And suddenly there was nothing amusing about any of this any more. Spike knew why he was here. He remembered why he had said he'd follow through with this abomination.

Because it was the right thing to do.

He got up off his knees and stared at the sign, head tilted slightly and one eyebrow lifted. No. There was no funny to be had. With a cold purpose, he stepped up to the sign and kicked at the posts to loosen them from the ground, then bent down and pulled.

It didn't take much. When he had the sign in his hands, he raised it over his head and yelled at the eyes under his skin. "I'm doin' what I bloody well have to do! I'm doin' the right thing for the right bloody reasons! This isn't what I want, ya know? I don't want to take her from here any more than you want to let her go! There's no other way! I have no choice! And neither do you! You know why? Because if you don't let her go, don't let me get to her and let her make her choice, then this is the only realm every soul left on that miserable rock will have to find any peace at all. And they will all die gettin' here!"

With a frustrated grunt of effort, Spike threw the sign away from him, then headed on in the direction he now knew Buffy to be.

The sign landed with a slap and a thud several feet away from the retreating back of the vampire. Despite the unbroken darkness, the letters were lit with a ghostly luminescence for brief seconds before fading out. Just long enough for the casual observer to see what was written there, what had set Spike off on his fit of hysterics and self-discovery.

'Welcome to Sunnydale'

Chapter Seven

The damn thing was burning a hole in his pocket, just like it had been for the past twenty-six days. Sure, he could take it out - leave it at home or stuff it in a drawer - but that would be admitting to everyone something he wasn’t ready to admit to himself. That he had been wrong in what he said to her that night.

But he couldn’t make himself give it to her, either. That was the problem. That’s what was causing the friction between them. Anya just didn’t understand, and nothing he said seemed to make it any better. Maybe that was because he didn’t understand it himself.

Xander sighed in frustration and tried to push away his thoughts. What was the point? It was obviously doing no good thinking them. It wasn’t getting him anywhere. He was no closer to a solution, to any clue about what to do.

It wasn’t about the love. He loved Anya. There was never a question of that. And he still wanted her to share his life with him. But he told her that night, almost a month ago now - before the world came crashing down on top of all of them - that he wanted her to share his long, silly life because he believed that they were all going to get through the impending apocalypse. Not all of them had. He’d been wrong.

Sometimes at night, when Anya was curled up next to him sleeping the sleep of the ‘relieved the world didn’t end’ ex-vengeance demon, Xander would lie awake and stare at the ceiling for hours. Only in the cloaking darkness could he admit how he really felt.

He was angry, and it shamed him not because of the anger itself, but for whom he was angry at. Buffy. It made no logical sense, but he couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t get past it. Couldn’t get over it.

That night, earlier that night, back when they were all holed up in that abandoned gas station, Buffy swore that she wasn’t going to lose anyone, she was going to make sure they all got through it. Well, in Xander’s mind, she’d fallen a bit short of that lofty goal. And he didn’t know if he could ever forgive her.

For five years he had fought all the things to fight in a town unique with its own Hellmouth, and he’d been able to do it without going bonkers or self-destructing for one reason and one reason alone. Xander had absolute faith in the belief that the Buffster was unbeatable, unstoppable…inviolable.

She was the glue that held them all together, protected them even as they assisted her in any way they could. But that night everything was stripped away from him. And he’d been on very shaky emotional ground ever since.

It wasn’t about losing a dear friend, a loved one. That loss was blindingly painful but it lessened a fraction each day. That’s a wound that heals. It takes a lot of time and patience but it does heal. What was really messing him up was the other.

It was having his beliefs, beliefs that got him through more horrors than he could even remember, ripped away without so much as a by your leave. Buffy’s death tore that all away, opening a hole where confidence once resided. That’s what he couldn’t bring himself to forgive.

He’d believed that he was going to live a long, silly life? He should have prefaced that with, “As long as the Slayer’s around to save all of our scaredy-cat butts.”

There just wasn’t any silliness left in him anymore.

That sounded ridiculous, even to him, which is why he’d never explained it to Anya that way, but there it was. When Buffy died, it had been the death of an era of confidence. Sure, there was the almost weekly terror of one kind or another, but always the confidence that the big uglies would lose and the Slayer would win.

Admitting that did little to make Xander feel good about himself.

So, there it sat, in his pocket, the engagement ring he had bought for Anya what seemed like a lifetime ago. Still burning that hole, still taunting him with the memory of what should have been.

He might be able to get past it if he had someone to talk to about what was going on in his head, but who? Anya wouldn’t understand. Giles was too busy with the shop and his new, ‘Father Knows Best, British version’ duties. Willow and Tara were on a Dawn induced mission to find Spike (and hey, that was another thing that he really didn’t want to deal with…Spike’s disappearance and Dawn’s unhealthy obsession with it), and he couldn’t talk to Dawn.

Well, alright, he could, but he didn’t think, “Hey, I’m pissed that your big sister threw herself off a tower to save the world from falling into chaos after that demon guy did a slice and dice on your stomach, taking away my snuggly warm comfort blanket of a delusion that life is winnable,” was exactly what she needed to hear. Ever.

Especially since she was doing so much better than him in the healing and getting on with life like Buffy wanted them to departments.

Maybe it was time for him to…

“XANDER!”

Dawn’s impatient voice broke through his reverie and finally snapped him out of his deep-thought induced daze.

“Huh? You say something, Dawnie?”

“You could say that,” she was staring at him with a frown on her face and her arms crossed in irritation. “I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes. Are you gonna come eat or what? Giles made chicken Parmesan and it’s coagulating into unpleasant looking blobs even as I speak.”

The teen was standing next to his seat on the couch in her living room. In Dawn’s and Giles’ living room. It was still weird to think about Giles living in Buffy’s house, but it wasn’t Buffy’s house anymore. It was Dawn’s.

“As much as I wish you hadn’t described what we are all about to ingest in such colorful detail, Dawnster, yes, I’m coming.”

Giles had put his place up for sale not long after the funeral. It made sense. The house was paid for out of the money from the life insurance policy Joyce had, and her will had left it to Buffy, reverting to Dawn in the event of Buffy’s death. With Giles being appointed Dawn’s legal guardian, he technically had control of the household, but the house was in her name now. And Giles thought it better to live there, what with it being big enough for both of them and being closer to the shop than his place.

When Xander didn’t move despite his assurance that he was on his way, Dawn rolled her eyes and called out to him again. “Hel-lo! Earth to lump-on-the-couch man, lets go!”

Dinner would give him a chance to not think about what was in the box that was pressing against his leg, so Xander got up to head in to dinner. Trying to appear as if nothing was bothering him, he paused just long enough to ruffle Dawn’s hair in a brotherly fashion and then led the way to the dining room.

He didn’t see the concerned look on Dawn’s face, or the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth and frowned as she watched him walk away. He had no idea that she’d even noticed just how unhappy he was lately, and how easily he seemed to get upset. She had. It was her job to notice those kinds of things now. They had to take care of each other. She made a mental note to speak to Willow about it after dinner.

Okay, after the spell Willow and Tara were working after dinner.

With a heart that was a touch heavier at the sight of Xander’s pain, Dawn followed him into the dining room and got ready to eat.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The darkness was absolute. Even for a vampire with hypersensitive vision, it was difficult to find his way without tripping over something or, even more embarrassing, running into something.

But at least there were things to trip over and run into. That was better than that barren wasteland. And Spike realized quickly, once he started to see dark shapes vaguely resembling buildings materialize one by one from the pitch blackness as he drew within feet of them, the sign he had yanked was an actual indication of what he was coming across now. The layout was the same, anyway. It was Sunnydale.

“Good show, mate. You’ve come to a realm that has inflicted a serious kickin’ of your ass only to find its version of a town that has witnessed several serious kickin’s of your ass.”

On the bright side though - and right now it was the only brightness to be had anywhere - he knew the layout of good old Sunnyhell well enough to get around in the inky blackness without getting lost on the way.

He might even have felt a little relieved at being back on familiar ground if it wasn’t for the fact that the minute he started to notice signs of civilization, such as it was, the prickly feeling under his skin got upgraded to shards of glass sticking into him everywhere.

Not even focusing on Buffy could do anything to lessen his torment.

When he hit the outskirts of the cemetery that his crypt would have been in if he was in his own dimension, Spike started to allow himself some hope that he’d make it to Buffy before the realm squished him like a bug. Her house wasn’t far and other than the heavy pressure of the eyes watching him, he’d had no other ‘make Spike bleed’ type encounters.

Of course, walking through a cemetery without being able to see six inches in front of your face wasn’t a great thing, either. Something Spike became intimately familiar with when he walked into a headstone with one strategically placed cross of stone on top.

“Oomph,” he grunted, when some of his, shall we say, more tender anatomy was crushed by the momentum of his body coming into up close and personal contact with the one of the arms of the cross.

Spike’s eyes flew wide when he realized what would be coming. No sooner had the words, “Oh, shit!” passed his lips then the creeping pain exploded in his nether region. Bending over in agony, agony that he’d caused himself, he threw every vile and profane statement he knew out into the void that was the sky above him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“What, exactly, are you hoping this...spell merging will do, Willow?” Giles had a frown on his face. The gang had just finished dinner and they were still sitting around the dining room table.

Dawn had her ‘listening intently’ face on, hoping Giles’ preoccupation with the combination of spells Willow had come up with would aide her in getting out of the remarkably conventional duty of washing the dishes.

Willow flashed an excited look at Tara, who smiled her support.

“Well, see, we’ve tried just about every locator spell in all the books you have, Giles, but we kept getting stuck in the same place. I can see Spike’s aura trail, bright as a new penny...or something else really, really bright, right up until it just stops. There’s some kind of wall or barrier. I’ve tried everything I know, but I can’t break through it. I think,” she glanced at Tara briefly, “well, we think that it’s another dimension or realm and that’s where Spike is now. He’s still alive, or the trail would fade. And, see, it hasn’t. Not even a little. After our last attempt, I mentioned to Tara that it would be great if I could just see what happened when Spike went through it. It must have been open to let him in, right? That’s when Tara had the idea that we could try to...um...merge my aura to his and I might be able to see what he saw when the door was open.”

“Yeah, Mr. Giles,” Tara said, “it’s something that my mom taught me how to do. You can merge your aura, your energy, with another person, and you feel what they feel, see what they see. With the trail being where it is, it should show us, or Willow anyway, the last thing Spike saw before he went through it...if he w-was actually c-conscious.”

Tara stuttered at the part that she knew to be the most painful for Dawnie to hear but it had to be said. “I mean, obviously I’ve never tried it under these circumstances before, the person is usually in the room with you, but the principle’s the same. I’m pretty sure it will work.”

“And if it does work?” asked Giles, suspicious of their reasoning but still interested. “What do you expect to see? How will it help?”

“Well,” Willow picked at the placemat in front of her, not willing to meet his eyes, “I was thinking if we at least knew where he was, there might be more we could do to get him back.”

“Wait a sec,” Xander broke in, falling a little behind in the conversation. All he knew about magic was Willow could do cool stuff like move things with her mind. Him-shaped things. And there was that handy barrier spell she did that time. Not to mention the energy bolts, good to have in any major power outage. “You said person. Am I the only one that thinks that it may be a little different considering your merging partner is a card carrying member of the ‘Pale Sun Haters’ club?”

As much as Dawn was trying to be inconspicuous so she didn’t draw any unwanted attention, she didn’t like the way Xander was always with the verbal abuse on the vampire that she cared so much about. She kicked him under the table and hissed angrily, “Xander, stop it. That’s not nice. I don’t appreciate how mean you always are to Spike. He’s important to me.”

“Dawn,” said Giles, just remembering that someone had dish duty, “kitchen, please. Now.”

She rolled her eyes in dramatically tragic fashion but got up and started cleaning up the table. Anya, who wasn’t nearly as interested in all the magicks talking as the rest, offered to help and followed her into the kitchen.

Once Dawn had left, Giles continued. He hadn’t really wanted her to hear what he felt he needed to say. “I shudder at the thought, but I agree with Xander. We just don’t know what effect a merge with the aura of a vampire could have on you. Spike’s chip doesn’t affect his thoughts or feelings, and it may just be too much for you to handle.”

Willow looked crestfallen. “But, Giles - ”

“No Willow. It’s too risky. Dawn will just have to understand that there are some things that just need to be left alone. I’ll explain it to her. She’ll be fine.”

Willow and Tara exchanged guilty and sad expressions. They knew Giles thought that Dawn had focused so hard on getting Spike back because she couldn’t deal with Buffy’s death. For a while they had thought that as well. But they’d spent a lot of time with her in the last month, researching and working the spells that they found. It had become pretty clear that Dawn still grieved deeply for her sister. The pain was still there. It was just that she cared almost as deeply for Spike as she had her sister. Dawn had never explained why, exactly, but things slip out when people spend as much time together as the three of them had. One time, Dawn mentioned that Spike made her a promise, though she hadn’t said what the promise was, and she was planning on holding him to it.

And there was one other thing. Willow had noticed that Dawn had kept the strips of towel that she had used to wrap Spike’s hands when they were sliced open by the Byzantium knight’s sword in the RV. She’d washed them carefully before keeping them hidden under her pillow. Willow never knew where Dawn found them but had asked her why she’d kept them.

She would never forget the tears that sprung into Dawn’s eyes, or the sorrow in her voice when she explained.

“He got hurt saving her,” Dawn had said in a tortured whisper. “He got hurt saving me. Protecting us...he was always protecting us. The strips remind me of everything that he did to make sure I got to see the sun rise.”

Such a small thing, saving those pieces of towel. A small thing with a huge meaning. And Willow understood.

Thinking back on that day, a few weeks ago now, Willow’s face set in a hard, uncompromising expression. She looked at Giles.

“I’m doing it.”

Giles protests weren’t long in coming. He was firm. “No, your not. Willow, it is far to dangerous - ”

In a voice Giles had only heard her use once before, back when Buffy was locked in her own mind, she said, “This is my decision. Not yours. I think it’s my turn to do something dangerous for Dawn, don’t you? I’m doing this. You can either support me or not. I don’t care. But I am doing this. I owe Dawn this much. And honestly, I think we all owe Spike this much.”

Willow pinned Xander with a steady gaze as if daring him to make a smart-assed comment about not owing ‘Evil Dead’ anything.

Wisely, he held his tongue.

“Now, Giles,” Willow swung that gaze back to the Watcher, “I can either do it here, or I can do it at home. Your choice. Either way, it’s getting done tonight.”

Finally, when she turned to Tara, her gaze softened. The two men at the table breathed inaudible sighs of relief. It was very uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of Willow’s resolve face. No matter how old you were. It left Giles and Xander no choice but to get behind Willow with their support, or be prepared to feel her scorn. Neither wanted that.

“Yes. Right then.” As far as the back peddling went, Giles did it quite well. Still managing to look sufficiently staunch and proper, he said, “Well. There’s no need for you to leave, Willow. You can use the living room.”

“Yeah, Will,” Xander nervously chimed in, “it’s cool. No need to go all communist dictator on us.” She swung her head around and narrowed her eyes at him at that comment. He panicked. “Um...I think I’ll go clear that living room floor. Big circle, right? Yeah. Why don’t I just go do that?”

Softening again as she looked back at Tara, Willow said, “Are you with me, Sweetie? I won’t mind if you don’t want to.”

It never ceased to amaze Tara just how wonderful the woman that she loved was. Willow was always thinking of her feelings, never pushing her into something if she didn’t want to do it. It made Tara very proud to be a part of the young woman’s life. She smiled. “I’m always with you, you know that. Let’s do it.”

“Giles,” Willow informed him, “Tara will be my anchor. I’ll be weaving the spells before I send my aura to the nether realm and she’ll stay grounded in this reality to pull me out if anything goes wrong. Not that anything will, of course.” She was quick to assure him of that. As quick as she was to assure herself.

“Okay then, everyone, time to see what happened to our favorite neighborhood vampire.” Willow led the way to the living room, hoping desperately that the spell would go as planned. Hoping desperately she could give Dawn the only thing she’d asked for herself since Buffy’s death. The rescue of an old enemy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was probably just minutes, but it may as well have been days. That’s how long it felt he had been standing there, staring up at the house in front of him. Buffy’s house. Buffy’s house in heaven. Which looked exactly like her house in Sunnydale. Bloody hell.

I need a smoke. Then I’ll go in, do this, send her back, get killed, and go to hell.

He reached into his pocket and brought out his pack of cigarettes. Problem was, it was empty. He’d smoked the last one hours ago. Frustrated and being driven crazy by the eyes watching him, he snarled low in his throat.

Really have to plan better for long trips like this, mate.

The sarcasm dripped venom in his brain. Not like he could ever have conceived of a trip like this.

Now that he was here, standing in front of the steps leading up to her porch, staring up at the light shining in the windows - the only light he’d seen since passing the Sunnyhell sign several miles back - he didn’t know if he could go through with it. He did know that he couldn’t not go through with it, though, and that’s what finally got him moving.

Climbing those four steps to the porch was the longest, hardest climb he had ever made.

Buck up, you sod. He castigated himself mentally for the fear and trepidation that was even now gripping his dead heart in an icy clutch. You know you have to do this. At least you’ll get to see the girl once more. Maybe even touch her. If you’re very bloody lucky the memory will be enough to keep you cool when you’re spending the next good eternity getting all hot and toasty in hell.

Concentrating as hard as he’d ever needed to, he pushed the demon in him back just enough to allow his human features to slide into place. As uncomfortable as the feeling under his skin was - the shards of glass had went the way of the crawling bugs as he got closer and closer to his destination, it had begun feeling like he had dozens of wickedly evil butcher knives sticking into him like he was some kind of masochistic pin cushion - he would have to keep a tremendous hold on himself so the fang face wouldn’t re-emerge.

Reaching out a trembling hand, he rang the doorbell.

As if someone had been waiting just on the other side of the door for him to work up the determination to ring, it swung open while the echo of the soft, chiming peals still hung in the air.

Spike gaped at the person haloed by the warm, friendly light shining behind her, lending strength to the heavenly glow impression. He was so surprised he almost lost control of his features.

Struggling against the demon briefly and winning, he finally managed to make his voice work when she smiled at him.

“J-Joyce?”

“Hello, Spike,” Joyce said serenely, a gracious and kind expression on her face that was doubly momentous for being the first friendly thing he’d seen in this bloody realm. “Please, come in. You’ve come a long way.”

Once again shocked into speechlessness, he followed Buffy’s mom into the house, completely dumbfounded at the whole situation.

When he was finally inside, standing in the hallway, he had just enough presence of mind to remember that standing there with his mouth open wasn’t the best way to make a good impression on the one woman that had ever shown him any kindness for kindness sake.

The house was so quiet that Joyce actually heard the click of his jaws snapping closed hastily. She chuckled gently at both the sound and his expression. “I’m guessing you’re surprised to see me.”

Spike, wide-eyed, could only nod slightly.

She tried to break the ice a little by teasing him. “This is heaven Spike, where else would I be?”

It had the desired effect; his face lost much of its ‘slammed upside the head with a two by four’ look. He even managed to smile a little.

“I-It’s...” Okay, so he needed to clear his throat a bit, that had come out several octaves higher than he was used to. Once done, he tried again. “It’s good to see you, Joyce. You’ve been missed.”

Slight understatement, but he’d been sincere. He doubted she’d mind, she always was a forgiving sort, what with the kindness even after trying to kill her and her daughter and all.

Joyce, still smiling, nodded her head once in acknowledgement of his kind words. “You might be surprised, Spike, but I’ve missed you too. We’ve had some nice discussions.”

Surprised? Try bloody floored; it would be closer to the truth. Pleased, but floored. He tried to hide his embarrassed pleasure by ducking his head and acting like he was checking out the living room off to his left.

“You want to see Buffy, am I right?”

The question sent his eyes flying to her face.

I bet he has no idea just how transparent he is, she thought, not unkindly. The hope and fear just tugs at my heart. He’s so sweet, poor thing. A sweet vampire, how strange.

“H-how d-did you know?” Bloody hell, man, pull it together. And knock off with the stuttering, you stupid git.

She giggled, actually giggled at his question and his jaw dropped again of its own volition.

“It’s all about Buffy, isn’t it? It always has been. Always will be, won’t it Spike?”

Despite the fact that he didn’t quite understand her slightly cryptic comment he found himself nodding like a hypnotized idiot. He’d never felt more like Xander in his undead life. The unpleasant comparison helped snap him out of his daze.

“She’s...here then?”

Instead of answering, she turned and called up the stairs. “Buffy, honey, you have company!”

“I think I’ll just leave you two to talk. It was good seeing you again, Spike.” With that, Joyce walked away, disappearing back into the kitchen area of the house.

Long after she was gone he remembered to mutter, “Good to see you, too, Joyce.”

He heard the steps falling on the floor above him, drawing closer to the stairs. He couldn’t have forced his legs to move if the house suddenly burst into flames around him.

Falling, tumbling, rolling down into some area around his ankles, his heart pitched out of his chest before it bounced back up and lodged in his throat. Thankful that he didn’t need to breathe, because if he did he’d have passed out long ago, he stared at the bare, dainty feet standing at the top of the stairs.

Those feet began to descend and as they did, more of her petite frame was brought into his field of vision.

Strong yet supple legs, tanned and bare in the shorts she wore. The soft flare of her hips and their gentle sway as she kept coming. Tight stomach, a flash of equally tanned flesh where her cropped shirt climbed briefly before dropping back to cover the glimpsed slice of wonder. Powerful, reed thin arms, always amazing him with their ability to both defend and comfort. Shoulders that had known the weight of the world. A neck as graceful as a swan. The silky skin of her throat. Her hair, the spun golden tresses that he had once mocked and now worshipped. His eyes drank in them all.

Finally, unable to deny himself any longer, he allowed his gaze to slip to her face. Her beautiful face. The face that had haunted his dreams for so long, leaving him hungry for more, leading him down roads he’d not thought possible. Full, soft lips, lips that had too little to smile about for too long. High, sculpted cheekbones that would make artists weep for their perfection. Adorable nose, straight and honest. And those eyes, those wide, clear eyes that were truly the windows to her soul. Eyes that he’d always wanted to plunge into, no matter how much scorn or disgust was in them for him.

But there was no disgust, no scorn now. When he looked into the tawny depths of her eyes all he saw was peace and contentment. And, oddly, acceptance.

In that instant he knew he’d found what the Oracles said was denied to one of his kind. This was his heaven, his paradise.

She had descended on high to stand two steps up from him and reached out a hand until her fingers were within a skins-width from his jaw. He could feel their heat and had the inconsequential and utterly inane thought that souls were warm.

Then she touched him and he couldn’t think anything at all.

“Spike?”

WARNING: This chapter is rated NC-17 for sexually explicit language and situations in the last few paragraphs of this chapter. Do not read if you are easily offended or under the age of 17.

Chapter Eight

Oh God, she just said his name in that sexy, husky voice of hers. It was half question, half statement and hearing it brought back in vivid detail the memory of another time she’d spoken to him that way. She’d been chained to a wall in his crypt at the time. It was a lifetime ago, now, and most of that memory was full of pain and rejection, but he remembered pouring his heart out to her before she shot him down so decisively. “I’m drownin’ in you, Summers,” he’d said, “I’m drownin’ in you.”

What an idiot he’d been. He’d had no idea what drowning was until she touched his jaw with her purity and warmth.

There was such compassion in her gaze, such innocence and light. Guileless and unfettered by her earthly burdens, he watched in awe as the corners of her mouth lifted slightly into a smile that Mona Lisa would envy.

Spike forgot everything but her with that smile. It stripped him down to the barest of essentials and remade him. It filled him, completing him in ways he didn’t understand and would never be able to explain. Knowing only coldness for over a century, it lit the match inside him, warmed him from the inside, from a place that vampires could never know warmth. Rocked to his core, he shuddered and pressed his cheek into her palm, blindly seeking more of her heat.

His eyes drifted closed as she let him.

I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m so sorry, luv. For everythin’ before and everythin’ to come. Please, I hope one day you can forgive me. “I’m sorry.”

Spike hadn’t known his thoughts had turned into words until he heard his voice muffled by her palm.

Buffy heard his apology and misunderstood the reason behind it. “Shhh,” she said, “there’s nothing to apologize for, Spike. You did nothing wrong.”

She meant it. He could see that she meant it when he looked into her eyes again. There was no forgiveness in them only because she truly believed he had done nothing that needed forgiving.

And it was his job to rip that belief away from her. That’s why he was here.

As his purpose flooded back to him with all its harsh, ugly reality, Spike was consumed by a rage that made even the demon in him tremble at its power. Not wanting to contaminate her with his fury, he took several steps back. The childlike questioning gaze she graced him with was almost his undoing.

He wanted to kill…no, he wanted to maim and punish those that would ask for so much from her. Thirsty for vengeance, he ached to go back to the Oracles and beat them into taking it back, making it not be true. He wanted to stand tall in front of the Powers themselves, take them on with fist and fang, and demand that another way than this be found to save the world. They were the Powers, after all, the name should mean something.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do, no sacrifice he wouldn’t make just to remove this destiny from its intended target.

No. That’s not true. He’d been given another option, an easier way to go, and he’d declined. The only thing worse than forcing Buffy to return to a life that had shown her only heartache and loss was to allow Dawn to die in her place. Some choice.

As loathe as Spike was to admit it, he’d made the right one. Buffy was the Chosen One, the Slayer. She was born for this kind of battle. She was a warrior. Dawn was one of the many innocents the Slayer was called to protect. She’d been made that way. Blood of her blood and soul of her soul, Buffy had made her opinion of the matter known all too clearly with her fatal plunge into the portal. And if Buffy had made that choice once, Spike would fight to the death to make sure that choice was valid. He could never sacrifice Dawn.

He would sacrifice himself, instead.

Buffy had waited patiently on the stairs while he worked through his turbulent thoughts and emotions. When he realized that she had just stood there, calmly watching the myriad of expressions that must have danced across his face, he smiled wryly at her. The Buffy he knew and loved had never patiently waited for anything. Hell on wheels, that one. It was an...interesting change.

Resigned to his fate, to his duty, Spike’s rage dissipated. Okay, mate, you made it this far. Got the girl right in front of you. Now, what you gonna do about it? How do you get her to want to go back?

Problem was, Spike had absolutely no idea.

He took a deep breath for courage and looked at her. “We need to talk.”

She smiled again and nodded before an almost melancholy expression pooled in her eyes. “Yes, we do. There are things...things that need to be said.”

Talk about your bloody understatements.

Buffy moved the rest of the way down the stairs and turned to head down the hallway leading to the kitchen. Spike, a little confused, followed behind her.

“Mom,” he heard her say before he made it to the kitchen, “I need to talk to Spike. We’ll be out on the back porch.”

The vampire entered in time to see the mother-daughter hug and the gentle way Joyce ran her hand down Buffy’s hair, smiling in love at her daughter. Something about the long look Joyce gave her, and the comments she’d made to him when he got there, was telling him that she knew what he was here to do. When she turned and measured him with a kind, steady gaze he saw he’d guessed right. Joyce knew, Buffy...Buffy didn’t.

“Can I get the two of you anything?” her mom asked them.

“I’m fine mom, Spike?”

As soon as Joyce asked, Spike was nearly bowled over with a craving for her nearly fame worthy hot chocolate. His mouth watered at the thought.

She must have seen his hungered expression because she smiled widely and guessed what he was thinking. “One hot chocolate, coming up. And, Spike, I think I know where I have some marshmallows stashed to keep that one,” she gestured to her daughter, teasing, “from gobbling them all in one sitting.”

“Mom!” A lighthearted and happy Buffy joined in the gentle tease fest by crossing her arms in mock irritation and superiority. “I never gobble,” she said with her nose in the air, “I daintily nibble.”

Spike, both amused and drawn in by the palpable warmth and emotion that the women shared, snorted out a chuckle.

“Right,” Joyce nodded with a glint in her eye, “you daintily nibble like a lumberjack, dear. Now go, I’ll make that hot chocolate for you, Spike, and leave it on the counter in here for you so I don’t interrupt. Then I’m going to catch up on some reading, so you two take as long as you need.”

There was more than one meaning in her words, Spike knew, just as he knew she was all right with him being here, doing what he needed to do. He felt it.

“Thank you, Joyce. It’s much appreciated.” He sent the double meaning back to her and smiled when she nodded once, slowly, in understanding.

Buffy sat down on the steps leading to the backyard and Spike lowered himself slowly beside her. He was still in a tremendous amount of physical pain thanks to the little nasties in charge of this realm, but it was the furthest thing from his mind.

Neither one of them said a word. Spike didn’t know where to begin and when he glanced at Buffy, she was just serenely taking in the dark sky above her. There wasn’t a care or concern anywhere on her face. Bugger all. What now?

The scene felt familiar to him; her sitting on his right, close enough to touch but not. They’d danced to this song once before.

“Well, this is just...neat,” he finally said, breaking the silence with a self-mocking drawl, “this remind you of anything, pet? Of course, I don’t have my manly shotgun with me this go ‘round, but hey - can’t have everythin’.”

Buffy’s eyes found his and she frowned slightly, as if trying to remember the time he was referring to. He saw the memory hit her and watched those eyes widen in surprise. Then she surprised the hell out of him and giggled. She tried to cover her mouth, tried to push back the sound, but he’d heard it. She giggled. Then she laughed a tinkling, happy laugh.

“Oh God,” she said, smiling widely at him, “I’d almost forgotten that night. You were so mad at me.” The smile faded a little as she remembered why he’d been so mad. “You had every right to be, you know. I wasn’t very nice to you that night. Or any night, really.”

She sighed and stared toward the back of the yard. Spike was stunned by her admission and waited, breathless and unmoving, to see if she would continue.

“Spike, I need to tell you I’m sorry. For everything. I didn’t understand, and then, by the time I finally started to, things had spun completely out of control and I had a hard time just trying to remember to breathe.”

Spike was familiar with the feeling, he was going through something amazingly similar right now. All thoughts of his duty went out the proverbial window as he listened to her talk. He didn’t think Buffy spent time dissecting her emotions with anyone, let alone him. But this Buffy wasn’t his Buffy, some elemental part of Spike realized it, it was a part of her, her soul maybe, but not the whole. And the soul, when separated from the other, was untouched by fear of expression. He knew this was straight from her heart. And, damn it, he wanted to hear what she had to say.

Settling back against a post, he studied her profile and watched her mouth move. The feelings under his skin were screaming violently at him but he didn’t care. Sod off, he thought at the watching eyes, I’m lettin’ her speak. If you want to stop it, you’re just gonna have to strike me down with one of those nice little bolts of lightnin’ you’ve got stored up. It may not be prudent to tempt fate with such glaring hostility, but he was beyond prudent.

“The night that Glory’s minions took you,” Buffy continued, “I was off in the desert with Giles. You knew that. I never told anyone what happened there, not everything, but I want to tell you. It may help you understand the decision I made. I went out there because even before I lost mom, I’d been feeling dead inside. Withdrawn. I was so disconnected from everyone. I had been ever since...”

Buffy voice trailed off and she stopped, a deep, thoughtful expression on her face. Spike didn’t need to be psychic to know what she was thinking about. He could see it. He tilted his head and watched as she worked things out in her mind.

“Ever since Angel left.” Buffy turned her face to Spike and smiled gently. It didn’t hurt any longer to talk about it or to think about him. That was one of the blessings of this place. Spike could see her joy at the realization that she was finally free from the pain of losing her first love. It was a bitter pill for him to swallow. But then any thoughts about Buffy and Angel and their love were bitter for Spike.

“After he left, things went wacko in Buffy World. The Initiative with their nefarious demon experiments, you came back - chipped, sure, but mortal enemy number one just the same - and then Adam. Things were bad. But I was the Slayer, right, I was used to bad. I beat Adam, but the spell the gang cast to help me take him out had a nifty side affect. It brought a primal force back. I bet you never knew that. When I connected with it, with her, it changed me even more. Dracula saw it, he could sense it.”

Spike rolled his eyes at the mention of Drac. Everyone gives that blighter so much deference just because he’s all famous and everythin’. It’s enough to make a vampire sick. Bloody poof.

“It was darkness. And it drew me in, made me dark. I started hunting every night, keeping things from Riley, from my family, from my friends. Then there was Dawn, and I found out she was The Key and had been sent to me for protection from Glory. The only person I told was Giles, so more secrets from the daughter, best friend, and girlfriend. More darkness and hiding. It felt like I was slipping deeper and deeper into something I had no control over. And you know me, I was control girl.”

She was trying to make light of her life’s pain and Spike let her, if that was what she needed to do it was fine with him. However this realm had changed her, released her from her burden, Spike was not about to interfere with it. He only hoped that when she went back, she could take that freedom with her, that she could start again refreshed and changed for the good.

“Mom got sick, Riley left, mom died. It was so painful, but at the same time it wasn’t painful enough, you know? I was able to continue on as if my life hadn’t just been ripped out from under me. That’s when I knew - or thought I did - that I was losing touch with my human side. My Buffy side was disappearing, all that was left was the Slayer. The killer.”

That shocked Spike into interrupting. He’d had no idea that she had felt that way. “Hey now, what’s that all about? You didn’t actually believe that rot did you?”

She didn’t smile but the peace on her face didn’t falter. “I believed it at the time. And if I remember correctly, even you were telling me that death was the art I made with my hands. Not a huge help in the ‘calm Buffy’s fear’ department.”

Spike wanted to stake himself. Son of a bitch! No wonder she’d looked so weirded out when he was goading her that night. He’s lucky all he got was the emotionally wounding, “You’re beneath me,” instead of the touch more fatally wounding pool cue in the chest.

“I’m sorry, luv. I didn’t want-”

She surprised him by reaching up and pressing her fingers to his lips. Once again he basked in her warmth.

“No, Spike, it’s okay. I’m not trying to place blame here. I’m just explaining how things were.”

She dropped her hand and returned her gaze to the back of the yard. “When I went out there, to the dessert, I was this close to giving up the Slayer gig. I didn’t want to do it any more. I was afraid I was losing my humanity. Then I was told that death was my gift. The guide told me other stuff, but all I heard was death was my gift. It confirmed all of my worst fears. The Slayer is just a killer after all.”

Spike shook his head, “No. I don’t believe that. And even if it’s true, Buffy, you weren’t just the Slayer. You never were.”

Talking about her in the past tense was wigging him out, but he hadn’t quite reconciled the pre-plunge Buffy with the heavenly creature next to him.

Buffy was moved by his quick defense of her. He’d been doing that a lot for quite some time now. “You have no idea how much you just sounded like Giles.”

Spike raised an eyebrow at her. “Huh. The stuffed shirt has more sense than I thought. Who’d a known?”

She pursed her lips in feigned reproach but it was wiped away quickly with the grin she tried to hide. “I’m going to tell you something. I can’t believe I’m going to actually say it, but somehow it doesn’t scare me anymore.”

Spike could practically feel his ears perk up. Confess away, pet.

“When you told me that you...well, you know...that you, um, had feelings for me? I thought that the reason you had those feelings - after I stopped denying to myself that you had them, anyway - was because you could sense my darkness, the change in me. That’s what I thought you…big, evil you, were drawn to. You hadn’t been much with the warm fuzzies before, back before I started falling so deep into the pit I was in, so I thought you could see the something in me that I was terrified of. That’s one of the reasons I fought so hard against it, against you. I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to be a blonde, though much better looking, Drusilla. And because I knew vampires couldn’t love without a soul, and I was afraid I was losing mine, well...that’s why you could suddenly want me.”

To say that what Buffy just told him was a surprise would have been just about as gross an understatement as saying heaven was an uncomfortable place for a vampire to visit. He was...well, there just weren’t the words to explain how he was feeling. It was a combination of anger, at himself and her, regret that he’d let her push him away like a chastened puppy instead of explaining himself better, pain that she had thought so little of herself and of him, and frustration at how different things might have been through it all if he’d just handled everything better, all mixed together and multiplied several times over.

In contrast to the strength of those feelings, his words were but a whisper of sound. “Bloody hell.”

Spike got up and paced back and forth across the porch, his long strides making it difficult to get more than four steps in before he whirled around and headed the other way. He was so agitated, his game face kept emerging and melting away. Not that he noticed. When he had calmed down enough to speak without scaring the shit out of her, he jumped down from the porch in one leap and knelt at her feet, gazing up at her with his clear, blue eyes.

“Okay,” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm, “first of all, you need to knock off with the prattle about vampires not lovin’ without a soul. There are plenty of soulless creatures - and not all evil, mind you – walkin’ the planet, quite capable of love and all the other, more merry emotions. Just as there are plenty of soddin’ humans prancin’ about with their tortured little souls, completely incapable of lovin’ anyone - even themselves. Next item; I didn’t tell you I had ‘feelings’ for you - what kind of nancy-boy poofta would say that? No. I told you I loved you. And I bloody well meant it. And news flash, blondie, I’ve loved you since the first time we went toe to toe. Hell, even Drusilla saw it, you heard her yourself. Saw it before I ever did, that one. That’s why she left me...BOTH SODDIN’ TIMES! So, if you think it was just that ‘darkness’ I was keyin’ in on, you are about as wrong as anything Xander considers a good fashion idea, cuz it just ain’t so.

“It was always the light, Buffy. Always your light, your fire, the passion you took to everythin’, and your strength that I fancied. If I’d wanted darkness I would have stayed with my ex-loon. Or gone back with her when she showed up in good ole Sunnyhell to make all our lives a little more interestin’. But no, I didn’t. It’s you, luv, its always been you.”

If he had hoped that his declaration would create a wave in her eerily placid and peaceful condition, he was destined for disappointment. She listened calmly to everything he said, smiling now and again - especially at the Xander clothes comment - and waited for him to finish before looking him straight in the eye and saying, “I know.”

He exploded. “Y-you KNOW?!”

She nodded her head, flinching just a touch at his roar. “Shh. Keep it down, will ya? Not everyone here likes loud, yelly vampires.”

“Keep it...? Loud, yelly...?” It was too much for Spike, he had just had the biggest of all the biggies dropped square in his lap and he just didn’t know what to think about it. In a hoarse whisper he growled, “What in the bloody hell do you mean, you bleedin’ know?”

One of her shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. “I’ve known since the day I went to your crypt after Glory tortured you. When I found out that Glory had you, I was coming to kill you - not rescue you. I just knew you would give Dawn up. I was wrong. When you told me that you knew losing Dawn would destroy me, and you’d rather die then see that happen, that’s when I knew.”

Spike didn’t know how to take her knowing. He knew she’d been grateful, the kiss she’d given him told him that, but he’d had no idea that she’d resigned her disbelief that he was capable of love. He wished he’d had more time - it wasn’t long after that morning that things turned to shit. If he’d had more time, if she’d had more time to accept what she found out, then maybe...

But you can’t live on maybes, mate. You have to play the hand you’ve been dealt. No matter how miserable it is.

“Spike, listen. When I was standing on that platform, seeing the dimensional walls falling while the sun rose, holding Dawn back from leaping to her death, I remembered the rest of what the guide told me in the desert and everything finally made sense. I had been so frantic with fear, convinced I was just a killer, ripped apart at the choice I was left with. How could I kill my sister? She was a part of me. The only part that I loved anymore.”

So that’s what she had started to say back in the magic shop. He’d wondered. She’d cut herself off before she finished. Now that he knew everything that she had been struggling through emotionally and mentally, he wasn’t surprised.

“The guide told me I was full of love. That it was brighter than the fire, but I pulled away from it when it blinded me. She told me that the only way I could ever lose love was if I rejected it. ‘Love. Give. Forgive.’ That’s what she told me. Love would lead me to my gift. When I remembered that I knew I didn’t have to sacrifice Dawn. I loved her so much I could die for her. I loved all of you so much. And now, all the pain and fear and pressure is gone. I made the right choice. I don’t want you to be sorry that it happened, Spike. There is nothing to forgive.”

Respect for her and her courage had just risen to a whole new level. As had the difficulty to tell her what he needed to tell her. But he’d just been given the perfect opportunity to jump in with what he’d really meant when he’d said he was sorry earlier, why he was here. So why wasn’t he speaking?

Spike started to, several times, but he was still kind of stuck at the, “I loved all of you so much,” part. That time it had left no doubt that he was included on the precious list of Buffy’s favorite people. He wasn’t stupid, he knew she wasn’t making a declaration of passionate love, but he’d just been upgraded from monster to friend. That takes a while for a vampire to get used to. He’d never dared dream he’d get that far. And now, to have to ask her to go back to her life, a life that had made her believe she was nothing but a killer? It wasn’t fair.

So little is.

This was his choice. If she didn’t go, the world would fall into a hellish vortex of pain and misery. Her gift was her death? Ironically, his was her life. Idn’t that a bleedin’ riot.

The time had come to seal his fate. “Umm. Buffy. I have somethin’ to tell you and I’m havin’ a hard time doin’ it, so you may have to bear with me a bit.”

She gazed at him expectantly, completely unaware of how drastically her existence was set to change. When he saw that look, it struck him that she’d never questioned why he was here. There were more changes in her than he’d first realized.

Finally, it dawned on him what it was that was missing. This was Buffy, but all parts of the Slayer had been separated and left behind. There was no warrior left in her. For the first time, Spike felt fear that he wouldn't be able to get her to go back. How can you beseech the Chosen One to return to the fight if there was no Chosen One to beseech?

“When I said I was sorry earlier,” he said slowly, “I wasn’t just apologizin’ for what happened the night you...died.” Okay, mate, try to keep it together. “I’m here for a reason, pet. I was sent here for a reason.”

He paused, partly to work up the courage to finish and partly to see if she would be curious enough to question him on his reasons. She wasn’t, she just waited calmly and serenely. Spike was really starting to dislike that about her.

“I was sent here to get you to go back.”

Nothing. No change in her expression, it was almost like she didn’t even hear what he said. That can’t be a good thing.

“There’s some big evil brewin’ down the road, luv, and I was told you were the only one who could stop it. That’s why they sent me.”

Still nothing, just that same serenity and grace that he’d seen in her all along. No frowning concern, hell, even fear would be some kind of reaction, she didn’t even look mildly worried. Spike was past dislike and quickly approaching irritation.

“Are you listenin’ to me, girl? I said you have to go back and live. Your time isn’t finished yet. There’s more for you to do.”

Finally, she spoke, “No, there’s not.”

Sighing at his incredulous expression, wanting to make him understand, she pulled him up from his spot at her feet and had him sit next to her. She took one of his hands in hers.

“I