Chapter 10
“Buffy. I’ve been hoping you’d call.” Angel’s tone is decidedly neutral and definitely not hopeful.
“Hey. Sorry to just disappear like that after calling you out of the blue before.” Buffy is pleased with her start at the conversation.
“You’d better be. What happened?” So his nonchalant tone is rapidly draining away.
“W-what do you mean, what happened?”
“With William Abbott? I read that he *died.*”
“Died?” Oh, wait. Buffy vaguely remembers Willow saying something about killing off William Abbott when she brought Spike’s self to the forefront. “Oh, he did?”
“He did. What’s going on? Did you have something to do with it? His obituary said he had a heart attack.”
Buffy bites the bullet or in her case, the stake. “Well, he sorta did. . . die, that is.”
“What do you mean he ‘sorta did’?”
“It’s complicated,” Buffy finds herself repeating as she stares at the ceiling. She muses that there is something pink and sticky-looking adhering to the popcorn texture.
“What else is new? The truth, Buffy. Please.” Angel sounds angry, but Buffy’s realizing there’s something else behind the more apparent emotion. . . grief. . . fear?
Distraction not working, she takes a deep breath and launches into her tale, “Spike. . . well, the reason he wrote that book about Sunnydale was because his Spike-ness was bleeding through into William’s life. He was having dreams about the past. Well, he didn’t know it was his past, and he broke up with his girlfriend. . . you know, the one the Powers set him up with? And when I went to New Orleans to his book signing, he recognized me, which freaked me out. He ended up witnessing me slay some vampires. Then, Dawn decided that we should tell him the truth, which makes total sense now that I think about it given who she is and how Spike helped her figure out she was the Key. He didn’t stay with us after we told him the truth, but then, he kept having trouble, so he tried to fly to meet us in Houston where he met up with Willow on the way, which was fortuitous because she was the only one. . . well, at least the only one of us. . . who could have helped with the timeline.” She has to take another breath at this point, so she pauses.
Angel is silent for what feels like an eternity to Buffy. She decides that maybe the silence-for-extended-periods is a vampire thing that might very well drive her crazy. Then, he says, “So you did everything I told you *not* to do.”
No use denying it. “Pretty much.” She adds, “Did I mention that if Willow didn’t fix his timeline, the world might have ended? Apocalypse 152 and all.”
Angel sounds more thoughtful now, “I wonder if this. . . slippage had anything to do with me signing away the Shanshu prophecy.”
“Maybe? I don’t know much about the prophecy other than what Spike mentioned.”
“So. . . he’s not dead?”
“N-no, he’s not. Willow gave him the choice. . . there was a whole hurricane-levee-New Orleans metaphor, which made sense to us but would probably just be confusing to an outsider and. . .”
Angel interrupts, “Buffy. The short version.”
She swallows. “Willow gave him the choice, and he chose to be Spike again.”
“As in a vampire?” His tone is incredulous.
“Yes.”
“A vampire with a soul?”
“Yes.”
“And he remembers everything?”
Buffy nods even though Angel can’t see her over the phone line. “Uh huh. Even the stuff about William.”
“What makes Willow think this will hold? It’s magic again, and Willow’s not as powerful as the Powers.” Buffy tries to remind herself that his rapid-fire questions are out of concern.
“She said it will hold because he made the choice this time. . . because it wasn’t forced on him like being human.”
“And you’re sure he didn’t want to stay human?”
Despite what he said earlier, Buffy still isn’t sure why he chose to become Spike again. . . either that or she doesn’t believe it, but she can’t admit that to Angel of all people. “I’m sure.”
Angel emits a soft sigh, a sigh that sounds to Buffy like a combination of resignation and relief. Then, he says, “I read the book.”
“The book?” Buffy knows which book, but she wants to hear what he has to say.
“William Abbott’s latest.”
“Oh.” Buffy lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, her back aching. Her mind skips back over all the passages in which William described the relationship between Spike and her. . . passages that Angel, her ex-boyfriend-first-love, has now read.
“I never knew all those details about what happened in Sunnydale. . . not that I deserved to know. I mean, I was out of your life for the most part, and except for bringing you the medallion, well. . . I didn’t really know.”
Buffy feels her eyes well with tears. “Know what?”
Angel’s voice is so gentle that the tears escape over Buffy’s cheeks. “How much Spike loved you. . . how strong your connection was even when you told me that he was in your heart.”
Somehow, she finds herself apologizing, “I’m sorry. I mean, I didn’t even know. . . not really until. . . well, until recently. But you know me, I’m always the last to know what’s in my own heart.”
He chuckles. “I remember.”
Toeing the carpet with her boot, Buffy smiles a little. “I’m surprised Spike didn’t tell you. He would be one to brag about it.”
“You’d think so, but he didn’t. . . not about how he really felt. . . about how you felt in return.”
Buffy has the urge to go to Spike and hold him close again. “Thank you for telling me that.”
“Let me talk with him. He’s there with you, right?” Angel sounds urgent and eager.
“Sure. . . of course, you can. But first, there’s something else you should know.”
“What is it?”
Buffy heads into the bathroom to grab a tissue to wipe her cheeks. “Another long story. There’s an old vampire who teleported to your neck of the world.”
“A threat?”
“What other kind is there?” Her voice echoes slightly in the still warm bathroom.
Angel laughs again, and Buffy is thankful that they’re still okay with one another. “It never ends, does it?”
“Not the good fight.”
* * *
“What do you think they’re talking about?”
Buffy is freshly showered and curled up on the plush sofa with her sister. She can hear Spike talking to Angel but can’t distinguish a word. She briefly wishes that being a Slayer came with other things besides extra strength like heightened hearing. “No idea. Family stuff?”
Dawn removes her gaze from the doorway to the bedroom, leans her head on Buffy’s shoulder, and closes her eyes. “Sometimes I forget that they’re family.” She makes a little amused sound. “Like us.”
Buffy strokes her sister’s hair, relishing the softness of the long dark strands. For some strange reason, she misses their mom. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Me, too. Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Like I would leave you there. Besides, you handled yourself pretty well, I’d say.”
Dawn preens a little without breaking contact with Buffy. “Well, I did figure out how to free myself from that rope they tied me up with. And said rope was tied by a vampire and magically tightened by a spell.”
“And you helped Spike.”
“I did. We got that witch good.”
“How was your talk with Spike?” Buffy pauses. “Not that I want to know everything you talked about.”
Playing with the ends of her hair, Dawn ignores Buffy’s proviso, “I’m not surprised he chose to be himself again.”
“What do you mean?”
Dawn bites her lip before responding, “I mean, who wouldn’t want to be their authentic self? Being a fake you, no matter how awesome like with money or success, is still. . . well, fake. . . and unsettling. Spike is nothing if not himself. I can’t even fathom him choosing to be William.”
Buffy shifts so that Dawn has to raise her head. “Is that how you feel?”
“What do *you* mean?”
“Well, you weren’t exactly given a choice like Spike. You were made by monks, and our timeline was altered to include you. Do you find being. . . *this* you unsettling?”
Dawn is faster to respond than Buffy anticipated, “No. It’s different for me, I think.”
Buffy worriedly studies her sister’s face. “How so?”
“Well, yeah, initially, it upset me, and I didn’t feel real or right. I was mad at everyone for not being honest with me. Being a teenager’s hard enough identity wise without discovering something big like that.”
Buffy completely understands this, but she doesn’t want to take the conversation that direction. “But?”
“I was an ancient ball of destructive energy before. I don’t think I had much of a life. . . not that I remember anyway. Plus, I’m technically made out of a combination of that energy and you, so that adds this whole other layer.” Dawn reaches for her sister’s hand and clasps it. “Like you said, we’re sisters. . . we share Summers’ blood. I have relationships with you and everyone, and we’ve been through a lot.”
“William had a life and relationships in New York.”
“But he had a lot longer life and stronger relationships before he was William. I didn’t.”
Buffy reaches over to hug Dawn. “I’m glad you’re my sister, and I’m really proud of you, Miss Watcher-in-Training.”
She blushes. “Thanks.” Then, she sighs. “I’m dreading going back to Watcher-in-training desk instruction. The break slash field training has been nice.”
“Especially because we got a sorta vacation in there.”
“Yeah! I liked New Orleans.”
“Me, too. The food. . . oh my god, the food.” Buffy’s stomach growls, and she’s tempted to go grab a leftover tamale out of the refrigerator but resists for now. The food is probably picked over anyway by everyone else.
Dawn stares off with a dreamy expression. “Yeah. We have to go back someday.”
“What do you think the Council will do about William’s book?”
“The nonfiction one?”
“Yeah.” Buffy starts to braid her wet hair.
Dawn shrugs. “What they do anytime they discover something that’s published that is a little too real for public consumption: gather all the copies up and burn them.”
Buffy stops mid-braiding. “They really do that? Like Fahrenheit 451?”
Dawn rolls her eyes. “Well, sorta. They destroy all the copies but one, which they store in hard copy format but which they also scan into a computer file to be stored on a computer that’s not connected to any network.”
“They use computers to store books now?” Buffy smiles and finishes her work on her hair. “They really need to have a talk with Giles. . . get him up to speed.”
Dawn giggles. “I guess I could try.” Dawn grabs and hugs one of the pillows on the sofa.
“What about the copies that are out there on computers? Like William’s computer or the publisher’s?” Buffy suddenly thinks of something else, “And websites like Amazon?”
“That’s when they use magic to erase hard drives and code on websites. They also do a simple mind tweak on the people who’ve read it.”
“Like magical hackers.”
“Uh huh.” Dawn seems pleased to be giving her big sister information.
“Wow.” Buffy’s mind boggles at the dangerous implications of this. She also thinks about Willow and how she doesn’t use magic like that anymore. She wonders if her friend knows about the existence of said hackers.
“They have a code of ethics and are specially training just for that type of work.”
“Well, as long as they have that code.” Buffy can’t help the sarcasm. She’s had enough experience with unethical Watcher practices.
“It’s a new order, Buffy. Quentin and his era are over. We’re redoing all the rules.”
“As long as my little sister’s in there keeping an eye on things.”
“At your service.” Dawn gives a little salute before flopping back. “This sofa should be in our apartment in Rome. It’s so comfy.”
“This sofa wouldn’t fit in our apartment in Rome.” Buffy decides to enjoy the comfort and emulates her sister. After several seconds of companionable silence, she asks, “So have you forgiven Spike?”
“Mmmm? What do you mean?”
“For a long time ago?” Buffy doesn’t want to spell it out for her, so she is relieved at what Dawn says next.
“Oh, yes. I have.”
Buffy fingers the ridged seam of the cushion underneath her. “When?”
“When you forgave him. Years ago. In Sunnydale.”
Buffy thinks back as she has so many times of late. “I guess that makes sense.”
“He and I. . . we never really talked about it, but I did. He’s family, you know? Family forgives. You taught me that.” Dawn’s voice sounds heavy with the weight of beckoning sleep.
“Oh.” Buffy is surprised.
“Are you glad he’s Spike again?”
Buffy hesitates but finally admits, “I am.” A weight lifts off her shoulders to acknowledge with words what her heart has been telegraphing at her. . . with billboards and flashing lights.
“Me, too. I missed him.” Dawn gives in to a mouth-wide-open kind of yawn. “Do you think Angel has a chance at being human now?”
Buffy accepts the contagious yawn and feels her eyelids getting heavier than she expected. “I don’t know if it’s a one-time thing or. . . I don’t know how Angel would feel about it. He says he doesn’t know, but who knows?”
“Are you and Spike going to get. . . be back together?”
“Now that I definitely don’t know the answer to.”
Dawn’s voice is so low that Buffy almost doesn’t hear her words. “Well, just so you know. I’m okay with it.”
Buffy smiles and whispers, “Thanks.”
* * *
Buffy startles awake at a small noise and opens her eyes a slit to see Spike placing a plush blanket around her sister’s shoulders. In the dim lamp light from the bedroom, she watches him without saying a word, studying each and every movement and drinking in all the details of his presence. She still can’t believe he’s so close. . . that he’s alive, and she cherishes the moment, marking it in her mind and vowing to remember it even ten or twenty years from now. She loves that he cares so much for her sister.
As soon as he’s done with tucking in Dawn, who doesn’t even stir, Spike turns to Buffy, eyes lighting as he realizes she’s not asleep. Without uttering a word, he keeps his blue eyes fastened on her green ones. He kneels next to her. His eyes flick to her aching neck which she knows is covered in purple and indigo bruises from being choked. With reverence and concern, he leans over and presses his lips over the wounds. Her body sings at his touch, and closing her eyes, she lets out a soft breath.
When Spike pulls back, a feeling of deep sadness sweeps over her at the loss of his nearness. Her emotion must be shining in her face because his expression shifts to one of certainty and confidence. Without asking permission, his arms slide between the sofa cushion and under her waist and legs, and he lifts her smoothly off the sofa. She sinks into his embrace and circles her arms around his cool neck as he carries her into the dimly lit bedroom and slips under the covers with her. She rolls onto her side, and he pushes up against her, holding her tight. Her muscles unwind and relax as she snuggles against him, his chest solid against her back. She feels like she has come home.
He picks up her left hand and pushes her fingers up so that he can study her palm. He runs his thumb over the small, almost invisible scar. . . the scar from the flames at the joining of their hands in the bowels of Sunnydale. . . a scar that she can’t believe is still there after so many years. She shivers as she did in the bookstore in New Orleans.
Then, his voice low, he speaks, “I don’t think I knew for sure there was something about you until I saw this.” Buffy remains quiet and lets him continue, “You see,” he holds up his right palm so that she can see the matching pink streak where their flesh melded together from the heat of his soul in Sunnydale, “I had this even when I was William, and I always wondered what it was. It was obviously not a birthmark, and none of William’s memories was of a hand injury. I even asked my mum a long time ago. . . well, my fake mum, and she had no idea why it appeared on my hand five years ago. Then, when I saw your scar. . . I knew that we had a connection. Something just slid into place, and it all made sense. It’s stupid, I know, but. . .”
Buffy finds her voice to reassure him, “It’s not stupid. It was you. . . Spike coming out, overshadowing the William.”
“Probably.” He kisses the back of her head, his lips lingering and moving over her hair as he whispers, “Listen, Buffy, I know that it’s sudden, and you probably haven’t had a chance to process everything. You have your own life to figure out like you said, and I understand that you need time to decide if what you feel is a product of the past or something that’s. . .”
Pushing the back of her hand into his palm, Buffy interrupts him, “I want you to have that time, too. I mean, you probably need time to adj. . .”
“I’ve had so much time. I don’t need ti. . .”
Buffy suddenly shifts around to face him, pushes her thigh between his legs and caresses his cheek, her eyes never leaving his in the lamplight. She tells her brain to take a hike and follows her heart, something she hasn’t let herself do in a long time. . . not since she sacrificed herself for Dawn and the world and not since that brief moment in the collapsing cavern under Sunnydale when Spike was making that same sacrifice for her. “I love you. . . I loved you then and I love you now.”
Before he can respond, she kisses him hard on the mouth, and he follows suit, his lips firmly gliding over hers, matching her move for move. She pushes her tongue into his mouth, and he groans before deepening the kiss on his end. She loses herself in him until she is left gasping for air.
As he lets her breathe, he smiles with reverent tenderness at her. Bringing her hand to the small of her back, he gently pulls her forward so that she can feel how much he wants her, but he doesn’t act on his desire because he wants her. . . no, needs her to hear what he has to say. “I love you, too, pet. More than you know.”
She pushes her face into this chest and inhales his familiar, clean scent. “And you definitely believe me?”
He strokes her hair. “I do. . . I did then. Remember what I told you in New Orleans?”
She nods. “You’re not allowed to do that again.”
He laughs softly because he knows the answer to his question, but he asks it anyway, “Do what again?”
She gives him a little shove to let him know that it’s not funny. “Tell me that you don’t believe me when I say that I love you to get me to do something.”
“I think I can do that. Not making any promises though because it depends on the situation. I would do it again to save your life.” She glares up at him with her best Slayer scowl, and he nuzzles her cheek, which almost pisses her off but doesn’t. “Okay, love, I won’t.”
“Good.”
This time he initiates the kiss, and time passes without acknowledgment until exhausted, they fall asleep wrapped in each others’ arms.