Chapter 11: January 2017
Wesley caught Spike as he came stumbling out of the cave. He’d seen the vampire badly injured in the past, but this was worse. He was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns, and his skin was warm to the touch.
Spike immediately lost the contents of his stomach onto the sand. The Watcher didn’t let go, even though he did turn his head. Parenthood had prepared him for this much at least; Wesley had taken care of his fair share of sick children, and this really wasn’t so different.
Spike was family, after all.
Wesley supported him through the dry heaves that followed, concerned when Spike couldn’t seem to stop the empty reflex. “Come on, Spike,” he murmured. “Just take a deep breath.” It seemed to help. After a moment, Spike calmed enough for Wesley to offer him a drink of water out of the canteen he’d brought along. “Slowly.”
Spike sipped obediently, handing the container back to him afterwards, and he met Wesley’s eyes for the first time.
There had been no question that Spike had been at least marginally successful. His skin was warm to the touch, and there was a thin sheen of sweat over his face and chest. Wesley had felt Spike’s heart beating under his hand, had felt his chest expanding and contracting as he drew in great gulps of air. Not only that, but he looked as though he had aged ten years in the last few hours.
He was human—or near enough. One look into his eyes told Wesley that he also had gotten his soul.
“Spike—” he began, but the words failed him. After a moment, he tried again. “What did you ask for?”
“Told him I wanted to be mortal.” His voice was hoarse. Wesley couldn’t help but wonder how much screaming he had done. Some of his wounds looked like they were beyond painful.
A thought hit him. If Spike were truly human, he’d be dead with injuries like that.
“We should get you out of here,” Wesley said, standing, and then reaching down to haul Spike to his feet.
Spike allowed Wesley to pull him up. “How can I go back?”
Wesley took a firmer grip on the now-ex-vampire. “You can go back because it’s what you promised to do.”
“I didn’t know,” Spike said quietly. “I didn’t—I didn’t understand. How can you—”
He stopped there, but Wesley thought he understood. “Because you’ve changed, Spike. That’s not who you are any longer.” Wesley took in a deep breath. “You’re hurt, and this is new,” he said quietly. “Don’t think about it just yet. Give it some time.”
Spike’s only reply was silence.
~~~~~
Hannah shoved her Latin text into her backpack with a sigh. She had loads of homework to do tonight, and no Wesley to help her out. It wasn’t that she was bad at languages—far from it. She was taking both Latin (for Slaying) and French (for the promised trip to Europe after graduation) and getting straight A’s. Still, Wesley always went over her work and explained anything that was unclear.
He was a large part of the reason that her teachers thought she was a prodigy.
It had been a week and a half since he’d left, and nearly a week since Wesley and Spike had called. While everyone had understood that they would be incommunicado while in the brush, no one liked it.
They were a family, and having Spike and Wesley gone left holes that could not be filled.
Shutting the locker with a bang, Hannah shrugged into her pack and turned to head out, almost running into Neil. “Watch it!” she warned him.
The boy was panting. He was a year younger, and Hannah had stopped some of the football players from tormenting him on a regular basis.
It wasn’t all altruism on her part. Sophomore year, when she’d suddenly shed the ugly duckling look and grown breasts, one of the football players had decided that her not dating was a personal challenge. He’d hounded her for a couple weeks, and Hannah had done her best to ignore him, mindful of the fact that she could seriously injure him in a fight.
When he cornered her one day and “accidentally” put a hand on her breast, she had reacted on pure instinct alone. Reuel had been lucky she hadn’t broken his arm. The principal had wanted to expell her, but Wesley and Nika had only to mention “sexual assault” and “lawsuit” in the same sentence to put an end to that.
Just because the football team had been making it to the state championships the last five years running, they all thought they were God’s gift to the world. After wrenching the star running back’s arm out of its socket, the football players left her alone.
And when Hannah made someone her business, they had a tendency to leave them alone as well.
So when Neil stood in front of her, out of breath and pale, Hannah knew something had gone wrong. “What is it, Neil?” she asked wearily. “Are the asshats after you again?”
He shook his head, gulping air. “No, it’s—it’s Sam.” Neil took another breath, trying to get the news out before someone got killed. “He’s fighting Dillon and some of the other guys—”
Hannah didn’t let him finish. “Where?”
“Parking lot behind—”
There was only one place it could be, and Hannah took off running before Neil could get the rest of the sentence out. There was only one lot where the seniors parked, and they had to be there. Sam had done a lot of growing in the last couple of years, but there was still a very good possibility that the idiot would wind up badly hurt.
Sam had been her constant shadow over the last week. They weren’t dating, but Hannah knew it was just a matter of time before he asked her out. As she’d suspected, he had been impossible to get rid of once he was given a little encouragement.
Of course, she wasn’t sure she wanted to get rid of him.
Skidding to a stop in the parking lot, she saw the crowd, gathered in a loose semi-circle around the combatants. Two of Dillon’s friends were holding onto Sam’s arms, while Dillon stood in front of him.
Actually, while Sam looked much the worse for wear, so did Dillon, which made Hannah think that her friend might have been winning before the fight became unfair.
“Let go of him!” she yelled, running towards them.
None of the boys moved, but the crowd made a path for her. “Let go,” she said. Hannah knew she was going to be really happy when high school was over. This shit was getting very old.
There was a long pause, and then Dillon said, “Stay out of this, MacDougall.”
“Do you want me to rearrange your face?” she inquired politely, glancing over at the boys holding Sam’s arms. “Let him go or I will hurt you.”
They suddenly had no doubt in their minds that she would do exactly that. Hannah was radiating confidence and power, and it made them very, very nervous. They’d heard the rumors; they let go. “You okay, Sam?”
“Fine,” he wheezed, his arm tight to his side. “Doing great.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to Dillon. “What is it with you assholes?”
Dillon’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, little girl. This isn’t a tea party.”
“No, it isn’t,” she replied. “You remember what happened to Reuel when he put his hands where they didn’t belong? Hands off me, and hands off my friends, Dillon.”
He said something rather rude to that, and Hannah simply smiled. “No thanks, but I’m sure your buddies wouldn’t mind.”
Dillon snarled and lunged, but before Hannah could move, Sam had laid him flat with another punch, leaving the football player to clutch at his bleeding nose. “You don’t touch her,” he said quietly. “Next time, I’ll make sure to catch you when your goons aren’t around.”
Sam looked at Hannah in surprise when she slipped an arm around his waist. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Okay,” he replied, thinking that at that moment he would follow her anywhere.
~~~~~
Buffy’s house had never been so clean. Not that it was usually messy, but she hadn’t had much to do with Spike gone. She’d gone patrolling a few times with Hannah, and she’d gone out on a job with Angel.
The Slayer had, in fact, gone about her usual routine, all the time with the knowledge that Spike wasn’t there. He filled in the holes in her life, and he had become indispensable.
This was the longest period of time they had been away from one another since before Meg’s birth. The longest time she had gone without contact with him since that dry spell after he had left Sunnydale, before they’d found one another again in L.A. She missed him so badly she could barely breathe, knowing as she did that they had not parted on great terms.
What if he never came back? What if something happened and the last memory he had of her was her anger and her rejection?
How could she have been so selfish?
So she cleaned house, telling herself that it would be nice for when Spike came home, not allowing herself to think the word “if.” She cleaned because there were too many holes in her daily life without him there, and there was nothing else to fill it.
It was a craving that she could not satisfy, and so Buffy eschewed the company of others.
She sat down, putting her head in her hands, fighting back the tears. This was ridiculous. Just because they hadn’t heard from Spike or Wesley didn’t mean anything had gone wrong. Maybe they just had a hard time finding the place they’d been looking for.
It was the only feasible excuse that didn’t involve injury or illness—or worse—for either of them, and so it was the only reason that Buffy would allow to enter her mind.
They were fine. They might be lost, but they were fine. She’d kick Spike’s ass for not asking for directions later. After all, it would be just like him to get lost and insist that he wasn’t.
The ringing of the doorbell startled Buffy out of her ruminating. She rose slowly, taking a deep breath, not wanting to show any sign of distress. When she opened the door to see Wesley standing there, her eyes widened. “Wesley? Where’s Spike?”
Buffy peered around him, trying to catch a glimpse of her husband, but all she saw was Wesley’s SUV parked in the driveway. “Wesley?”
“He’s in the car, Buffy,” he assured her quietly. Wesley appeared tired, the stubble thick on his face, and his clothing was badly wrinkled. “It’s—it worked.”
There was more to it than that; Buffy could hear it in his voice. “What happened?”
Wesley shook his head. “He’s not a vampire any longer, but he’s not completely human either. It’s—he has his soul.”
Somehow Buffy didn’t find that at all surprising. “How bad is it?”
“It’s not bad, Buffy,” Wesley hastened to assure her. “He’s still Spike, but—he’s going to need you badly. I had a difficult time assuring him that coming back was the right decision. Spike has gotten it into his head that you wouldn’t want him anymore.”
She flushed deeply, knowing exactly how he’d come to that conclusion. “I’ll take care of him.”
“I know you will,” Wesley said. He had been certain that once Buffy understood she would do whatever was necessary. The Slayer could be thoughtless and selfish at times, but she was also loyal, and she loved Spike deeply.
Spike needed that right now, more than anything Wesley could give him.
“I thought I’d pick Meg up and keep her at our place tonight,” Wesley said quietly as they walked towards his car. “You’ll want some time with him.”
Buffy nodded. “Thank you, Wes. Have you seen Nika yet?”
“Not yet.”
Buffy put a hand on his arm, causing him to pause. “Thank you for bringing him back to me.”
“It was the least I could do.”
~~~~~
“Ow!” Sam protested. “What are you trying to do to me?”
“Wash the blood off, nimrod,” Hannah said almost affectionately. “We have to go pick my brothers up, and I don’t want them running away screaming.”
“I don’t look that bad,” he replied half-heartedly. Sam had seen himself in the mirror. His mother was probably going to kill him.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Right. You just look like you walked your face into a fist. What were you guys fighting about anyway?”
“Nothing,” Sam replied in a tone that told Hannah they’d been fighting about her.
She shook her head. “You have to let that kind of thing go, Sam. They’re jerks, and I don’t care what they say about me.”
“I do,” he retorted. “You’re my—friend, Hannah. Besides, it was bad.”
“What did he say?”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
“Sam—”
“I mean it.”
“Sam.”
“He called you a frigid bitch and said someone ought to—” Sam stopped there, realizing he might need to cut out the graphic content. “He threatened you.”
Hannah frowned. “They wouldn’t do anything to me. The football players are still pissed that I dislocated the arm of their star running back and benched him for a few games.”
Sam shook his head. “You don’t get it, Hannah. They shouldn’t be allowed to talk about you like that. It’s one thing when it’s just a little hazing. Everyone takes some of that shit, and almost everybody gets a chance to dish it out or at least outgrow it. This was ugly.”
“There are a lot of really ugly people in the world,” she said softly.
Sam stared at her. “You’re not one of them. They shouldn’t be able to touch you.”
“Sam—”
“I know you’re not like other girls, Hannah,” he interrupted. “I watched what you did to that guy who was trashing me. That wasn’t normal.”
She couldn’t help the blush that travelled up her face. “No, I’m a freak.”
“You’re special,” he corrected her. “There’s a difference.”
Hannah wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “You’re a sweet-talker.”
“You want to go out with me then?”
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I like you, but this—”
Sam took a deep breath, realizing that he had her on the ropes. She was about to say yes. “No pressure for anything,” he assured her. “We can just be friends and hang out if that’s all you want. I just want to be with you. And I want to take you to prom.”
“Isn’t that a little far away?” Hannah asked, amused.
Sam shrugged. “It’s never too far away to start planning.”
“If we’re still dating, I’ll go to prom with you.” Hannah knew she was being impulsive. She knew that there was no way this would ever work. Slayers didn’t date, and they didn’t go to proms.
Except that things were different now. The number-one-Slayer, as Hannah called Buffy, had promised her a prom, and Hannah thought that if she was going to go to something stupid like that, it might as well be with Sam.
Actually, Sam was the only guy she’d want to go with.
“We’ll still be dating,” Sam replied with a grin. “After all, who else would come to my rescue?”
~~~~~
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. That was the first thing that Buffy noticed.
The second was that the slice across his cheekbone was going to leave a scar.
Her hand went to his cheek by instinct, and Buffy felt warm skin under her hand. Spike moved his head slightly, maintaining the contact. “I missed you,” she said.
Those three words seemed to release some kind of tension in him. Had he really been that worried about the welcome he would receive? “Missed you too, luv.”
His voice was hoarse, and Buffy reached in to help him out of the vehicle. “Come on, Spike. Let’s get you inside.”
When Spike was out and standing, she looked over at Wesley, who had been looking on with a helpless expression on his face. “I’ve got him.” Her eyes begged for him to understand.
Nodding, Wesley said, “Call when you want me to bring Meg home.”
Spike didn’t actually need Buffy’s support to walk. He was weak, but not that weak. His limp had worsened, however, and Slayer’s blood would no longer be the panacea it had been. She put her arm around him anyway, and Spike could feel her strength in a new way.
They didn’t speak until they were both inside the house. “Do you—do you want something to eat?”
“Not really hungry.”
“You’ll probably want to get cleaned up then.”
Conversation had not been this stilted between them for years. “Buffy—”
“Or sleep. You could rest too, if that’s what you need.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words lay stark between them. Buffy led him into the living room, realizing for the first time that it was the middle of the day, and they had walked outside. She’d been so intent on Spike, she hadn’t even noticed that he was out in the sun.
“For what?” she asked quietly, wondering what he would say, what changes the soul had wrought. It wasn’t fair really, that she should love Spike without a soul only to have him go out looking for one. It was backwards.
No, that wasn’t fair. Spike had only been looking to grow old with her. There was nothing wrong with that.
“For leavin’ you,” he whispered. “I never should have—it was selfish.”
Buffy sighed. “Yes, but I understand. You were right to do this Spike.”
“‘m not the same man,” he warned her. “Buffy—”
“I love you.”
Those words released a dam of sorts. Spike’s sobs shook his lean frame, and the Slayer gathered her husband into her arms, rocking him slowly, repeating over and over again, “I love you.”