One year has passed since my sister found the obituary for the woman Spike loved. One year has passed since I let myself move halfway across the country on a whim. And one year has passed since I stepped back into his life with all the best of intentions after stepping out of it like I was being selfless.
I was trying to let Spike live. He’d earned a reward and deserved every happiness after his sacrifices and losses. Moving back into his life was just to help him through his grief.
Right?
Right.
I’ve been telling myself that I’d give myself – that I’d give him – just one single year to be there for him, to see if there was still something there. And there is.
For me.
And now my time is up like I’m Cinderella at midnight without a prince. (It’s not like I want a prince or someone to rescue me. I just want him.) I have to go back to my obligations. I made a promise that I’d return, and people are waiting for me, relying on me to be responsible and not so caught up in this foolish journey.
My finger twitches on the steering wheel, and I slide the car into park. He taught me to drive better than I ever knew how before. At least, I’ll take that with me. That and almost fifty-two-morning coffee dates at our favorite shop overlooking the greenest lake I’ve ever seen. He says the colors make my eyes glow greener.
Just because he notices that about me doesn’t mean he loves me.
He’s observant. He’s always been observant, and as a human, he hasn’t lost that ability. He just has to peer at me with those blue, blue eyes, and he reads me like a book just like in Sunnydale when he was a vampire and I was a Slayer.
Only now, I’m still a Slayer, and the Powers-that-Be granted him humanity and a whole back-story life ala the monks making the key my little sister. Spike doesn’t remember his life in the 1800s or his unlife as a murderous vampire wreaking havoc around the world and killing Slayers.
The kind of magic that changes lives and alters timelines leaves me unsettled, but in the end, the people I love are still the people I love no matter who they are now. I still remember the squelching warmth of the blood between my palm and Dawn’s when I reassured her that we were and always would be sisters.
I love and always will love Spike – William as he goes by now. He will always be in my heart. And loving someone sometimes means letting them go. I let go before; I just don’t know if I can let go again.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I turn the key in the ignition, shutting down the car, and release my seatbelt with a click. I blink past the film of tears forming in my eyes and grab my purse from the passenger seat. Humid air fills my lungs as I exit the vehicle, and my skin instantly feels sticky though the air is cool. It’s actually the perfect time to sit outside here – just nippy enough for coffee to warm up my insides and just warm enough to not want to run inside away from nature.
His black car is here, too. I ignore it in favor of focusing on the door and the clump of my boots on the wooden stairs.
When I enter the coffee shop, a tiny tinkle like the Magic Box bell announces my presence, and Jake looks up with a grin.
“Morning, Buffy,” he says as he polishes a ceramic mug and reaches for the fresh pot of Buttered Almond flavored coffee he knows I like. As he pours me a cup full, I pull out my wallet, but he shakes his head at me. “William already bought it.”
I continue with retrieving a couple of dollars, tucking them into the tip jar and accepting the steaming cup. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. He’s out there waiting like usual.”
My heart constricts a little at the “like usual” because it means there’s something between William and me. . . enough of something for it to be a routine. I bite my lip, my stomach a ball of nerves at what I have to do next.
He’s sprawled out in one of the lounging chairs at the edge of the deck overlooking the water, coffee cup resting on the chair’s arm. His expression is absolutely serene as I slide onto the cool seat next to him. His eyes shift to me briefly before he returns to gazing out over the lake – our lake. “Good morning, pet.”
After I settle back, I ease the ceramic to my lips and take a sip. The warm liquid coats my tongue, and I breathe in the nutty flavor. “Mmmm. Morning.”
“What’s wrong?” His two words are casual, but I can tell there’s a little tension in his tone. How does he know something’s different? Oh, right. Observant.
“I got the call last night.” Good start, Buffy. “I have to go.”
“What?” His blue eyes are filled with alarm now. “Why now?”
Because it’s been a year. I gave myself a year. I gave us a year. At the same time, other things are happening. “Something’s come up, and they need my help.”
“Something dire.” He’s studying my face, and I absolutely know I can’t lie to him. I promised myself this. I omit things, but I don’t lie. It’s to protect him, to preserve the life he earned.
“Yeah. Or I wouldn’t go.” That’s the truth. I don’t want to go, but Slayer duty calls. Something is going on at the Cleveland hellmouth, and Willow’s in trouble. I can’t abandon my best friend. My stomach rolls with anxiety. Xander didn’t have time to fill me in on everything – just that I was needed as soon as I could come.
His brow furrows. “But you’ll come back.”
“When I can.” So, that part might be toeing the line on a lie. I don’t know if I’ll be able to. I don’t know if my heart can take it. My teeth find the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from crying.
“Anything I can do?”
“Have one more coffee with me?” Pretend like I’m not leaving.
But he doesn’t let it go. He doesn’t let things go; he never has, which used to annoy the crap out of me. If I’m honest with myself, it still kind of does. He doesn’t let me pretend, but he does return to watching the lake and the ducks swimming in the distance. “I’m going to miss you.” He pauses briefly and then asks, “How can I stay in touch?”
Crap. “I don’t know.”
“You’ll have your cell phone, right? I have your number.”
We text. He doesn’t write a lot – just short funny observations or commentary on what he’s doing. He’s an English teacher, so sometimes, the texts are just a sentence that one of his students garbled or a point they made that he hasn’t thought of and is impressed by. I share things, too: random thoughts about my day, frustrations about my various odd jobs around town, and funny memes. He validates my frustrations and laughs at my meme-sharing, even occasionally firing one back or creating his own that make me laugh until my ribs hurt.
“Of course.” I want to hear from him even if he just sees me as a friend.
“You can text. Anytime. Day or night. You know I’m a creature of the night. I’m always here.” His expression is sincere, akin to how he looked up at me the night we fought Glory. . . the night I died.
I can’t help but smile a little. “I know. I’m here, too.”
“Good.” He settles his head back against the back of his chair. “When’s your flight?”
My heart aches. “This afternoon.”
“That soon?” There’s that pesky disappointment again. What does it even mean that he’s disappointed?
“Yeah. Dire things don’t tend to wait. And it’s part of my job. Drop everything when needed. Day or night.” Mostly night. I’ve only told him that my job is important and that I was here because I was due a very long sabbatical. The being-due-a-sabbatical thing is totally the truth.
He takes a sip of his coffee. “Want me to help you pack?”
Is that even a question? Coffee can’t be our last hurrah. It’s too mundane after each of us dying in different apocalypses. “Sure.”
* * *
My corner-unit apartment is spacious and airy with lots of curtain-free windows to let in the light. I love the bedroom with its comfy queen bed and mountain of pillows. I’ve always loved a good pillow-mountain even if they end up on the floor by the time I wake up. . . kind of like when Spike and I missed the bed.
I have two large suitcases open on the comforter, and they are both full to the top with clothes, including a new blouse from the local boutique in town and a spring dress William had picked out for me when we went to the symphony to hear the orchestra play the music of some very old group that Spike might have appreciated. He had poked fun at things but also had an appreciation for art that had sometimes surprised me if I had let myself acknowledge it. This time around, I soaked it up. I hoped that he would kiss me the night of the symphony.
But he hadn’t.
Touching the fabric of the light blue dress, I sigh.
“Pet, do you mind if I take some of the food?” William is leaning on the doorframe the way Spike used to slouch around the doorways of my house. He has a small bottle of hot sauce in his hand – the kind Spike used to practically drink at Giles’s house.
I blink. William’s hair is a soft, honey brown – not platinum. He’s not Spike. “O-of course.” I recover quickly. “That is one thing you can take. The rest isn’t mine.” The apartment came furnished except for the pillows, food, and my other meager belongings, which now resided in the suitcases. I’m leaving the pillows; I don’t have room, and it would be weird to offer them to William.
“What’s wrong?” he asks again, his head tilting in that familiar way as he studies me.
I flip the suitcase closed and start to glide the zipper along its track. I almost snap that it’s nothing, but I can’t. Not now. William and I are different than Spike and me. I speak around the lump in my throat. “I’m really sad.” I don’t think I’ve ever said those words out loud to pretty much anyone except Willow, but even though I never said those exact words in Sunnydale, Spike always knew.
“You’ll be back.” Even he knows his words aren’t true. He knows my job is dangerous and a secret; he knows I could die. He probably thinks I’m in the CIA or something. What he doesn’t know is I’ve died before and more than once.
“You don’t know that.” Hot tears slip over my cheeks.
And then, he’s there, pulling me into his arms and stroking my back with the same hand that held his coffee mug not too long ago. I have no idea what he did with the hot sauce, but I don’t care.
I melt into him, and he feels exactly the same but oh so warm. Hugging him gently, I sigh again, but this time, it’s a sign of the relief that comes from reuniting with the person you love more than anything. But he doesn’t love me back.
When the embrace ends, my heart crashes in my chest, already opening up a wound full of aching pain. But I can’t look away from him, not now even if it kills me.
His blue eyes are clear and hopeful. Lifting a finger, he brushes away my tears with gentle ease. Then, to my surprise, he kisses me.
A soft moan escapes me, and I kiss him with all the tenderness I never allowed him before. I can’t help myself, and I cry harder when he responds in kind. He tastes the same. Oh, god, he tastes the same. There’s no other way to describe it, and I follow his lead, relishing the slip of his lips over mine and wanting to stay in this moment forever. I fumble back toward the bed, shoving back the suitcases so that the smaller one lands with a thump on the floor. Leaning back, I find my way onto the bed and start to pull him on top of me. I want to feel the weight of him on me even if all we do is kiss.
His eyes are glazed with desire, and before he lowers himself, he asks, “You okay with this?”
I nod my assent and bring his head back down to mine a little too eagerly.
He grunts when we bonk noses, but he doesn’t falter, smoothing away the flames of my embarrassment and the hair from my face before kissing both my cheeks. He gives me a devilish little grin – the kind I used to want to wipe off Spike’s face when we were having lots of sex. But then, the seriousness returns to his eyes as he proceeds to kiss me with more gusto.
Soon, we’re wrapped up in each other, shifting around the bed as we explore different parts of each other. He still knows all the spots on me that make my body sing even clothed, and I remember his. A thump is the only thing that lets me know that my second suitcase has joined its friend on the floor, but neither of us pays it much heed because his fingers are unbuttoning my blouse. And oh, god, I want him to hurry up because I want to feel his skin on mine otherwise I might combust right here like a vampire whose fate is sealed by lack of touch and not the brilliant rays of the sun. He captures my eyes with his as he trails a warm finger down the cavern created by the parting fabric, and though this is new, this is him. I’m already slick with readiness for him, and we haven’t even made it to second base.
My chest heaves as his hand uncovers and cups my breast, running a thumb over my nipple, but I refuse to squirm, flashing a challenge at him with my eyes. With a growl of protest, he ducks his head away from mine, but before I can relish my triumph, he replaces his thumb with his mouth, and I fall back against the pillow and give in to the sensation. I run my hand through the gelled curls on his head, softening them as he works his way down and down, further laying open my shirt until I am half-naked before him. I thank the gods in heaven that I decided not to wear a bra today.
“No fair,” I manage as he turns his attention to my other breast.
His breath heats my skin as he murmurs, “All’s fair in. . . all’s fair, pet.”
This omission gives me the space and fire to tug at the sleeve of his black t-shirt – still black, always black. “Off.”
He lifts up from me, allowing cool air to come between us, and I shiver but can’t take my eyes off of him as he strips off his shirt. His torso is still toned and muscular but softer around the edges, less preternatural and less pale.
Before I can digest this further, his skin is flush against me, and a moan escapes my lips as he presses his hips into mine so that I can feel how much he wants me. I don’t want to wait; I really don’t. I just want him inside me already. It’s been a year – a whole year of nothing, and I want it all and now.
In an echo of a distant memory, my hand finds his pants, flips free the button, and slides down the zipper, so I can hold him in my hand. Somehow, I’m not surprised that this version of Spike also goes commando, and when I slowly stroke him, his whole body reacts the way mine reacts to his.
His hand is shaking as it glides under my skirt and over my thigh to find my panties. I wiggle to help him pull them down, and as soon as I kick one leg free, there he is right at my entrance. He finds my eyes again just momentarily as if he’s searching for something, and then, he’s inside me, easing his way in because I’m tighter than I have been. It’s been a while, and I gasp as he plunges deeper and deeper until we’re completely joined and moving together.
At last, at long last.
The whole thing goes quicker than I expect, and I have wanted this for so long that my orgasm comes fast and hot, and as I’m throbbing, he joins me in ecstasy, rolling onto his side and gathering me close.
He’s panting a little and so am I, so his words are a bit breathless. “I-I’m sorry. That was a bit fast.”
I run my hand over his bare shoulder. “It’s okay.” It’s okay because he’s still inside me; we’re still together. Spike would have hardened back up and rather quickly, but he’s human now. I don’t mind; this whole thing was unexpected. Uncertainty rears her ugly head. “Was this okay?”
“Oh, god, pet. It was more than okay.” But then, something changes, and he slides free of me, rolling onto his back.
My heart plunges, bracing for the break-age. “What?”
He closes his eyes to me, and I’m terrified. After several seconds, he says, “I have a confession to make.”
To protect myself, I tug my blouse closed and sit up, starting to redo the buttons – something to focus on. “I-I know. It was a mistake. I’m so sorry. We’re friends; you’re one of my best friends. I don’t want to lose that.” And I don’t. If I can’t have him the way I long for, I don’t want to lose his friendship.
He’s still not looking at me at all, but he slides under the bedding and covers himself, sitting up to match me. “I remember things. I’ve been remembering things.”
He has? Now my heart is pounding with a mix of hope and trepidation. He sounds so worried that I find myself touching his knee in that easy way that’s developed between us over the last several months as he was grieving and I was there for him. “What things? What are you talking about?”
“I wasn’t sure how to tell you. Things have been so different between us. I didn’t want it to go away if you knew – ”
“What are you saying? In English please.”
“It started out in bits and pieces. The more time we spent together.” He looks absolutely terrified like he’s been caught doing something nefarious that I’ll be pissed about.
But I’m not pissed. My own fear, anger, and hurt swirl through my chest in a rapidly shifting wave of emotion. My cheeks heat up, and I feel. . . like a complete idiot. “What exactly do you remember?”
His voice is low and deep. “Everything. Well, I can’t remember what blood tastes like. That’s faded quite a bit, which is strange, but I think that’s a vampire sense thing that left with the return of my humanity.”
“Oh, my god.” I pull away from him and scramble out of the bed. The urge to run is powerful, but I’m slowed by my turned-over suitcases. I manage to make it to the sunny living room and find myself holding onto the breakfast bar to regroup from the dizziness that’s overcoming me.
“Buffy?” He’s behind me, but I can’t face him.
I close my eyes as if that could make me invisible. “W-why didn’t you tell me?”
He’s silent for such a long time that I wonder if he turned and walked out the door. Then, he says, “Would you even want me if I’m human?”
The earlier flicker of anger flares in me. How can he judge me that way without even asking me first? I spin to face him, leaning against the bar for support. “Why do you think I’m even here?”
He’s mostly dressed again, but the naked vulnerability in his eyes is front and center – so palpable that I could reach out and touch it. “I dunno.”
“You’re an idiot.” As soon as I say the words, I regret them because we haven’t been cruel to each other, not this time around.
His eyes break away from me, and he’s staring out the window. I still can’t get over seeing him in the harsh light of day. He’s more handsome out of the shadows and with a hint of color to his skin. “I know. I’m a right berk.”
“You are.” I hold my elbows because I’m scared I might break something if I keep gripping the counter behind me. “How long?” My question is soft and reveals more uncertainty than I’d like.
“Only the last few weeks.”
I make a disbelieving face at him.
“It came back in bits and pieces before that,” he repeats. “In my dreams. In flashes when we were together. Thought I was hallucinating, going all Dru.”
The mention of his ex’s name makes me flinch before I can stop myself. Damn it. So, I deflect. “You should have told me right away.”
His swing to defensiveness isn’t surprising. “You should’ve told me straight away.”
“You were happy with someone else. A-and you didn’t know who I was! I didn’t want to take that away from you.” And I hadn’t wanted to.
His cheekbones move as he grits his teeth and struggles with forming words. Finally, he blurts, “Buffy, I wouldn’t want to be anyone else other than who I’m supposed to be. Just because some other bloody entity decided that I should be human and uploaded false memories in my noggin doesn’t mean I’d want to lose myself.”
“Well, I didn’t, and I can’t change it now!” And now I’ve screwed everything up. I was just supposed to leave and go back to my Slayer life, especially since he can’t possibly. . .
“How was I to know you’d want more than friendship from me?” He’s somehow closer to me now, and he’s completely changed direction on me. “Or was what just happened a one-off? You were going to shag me and run off for old times sake?”
Does he think was using him? Oh, no. “I-I would never – ”
“But you did.” When I hesitate, he gestures dramatically toward the bedroom. “There are packed bags in there that say you’re running off.”
“You’re my best friend,” I say again. This much was true. We had a year of memories together – memories I wouldn’t trade for anything.
“Best friends don’t just shove off without being sodding honest.”
“You weren’t honest either!”
There’s a standoff between us then, and he’s so close, I can almost feel the warmth emanating from him. He’s a live wire so full of energy and passion, and in the past, I would have punched him in the nose for daring to challenge me this way. Either that or I would have changed the subject by jumping his bones. But things are different now, and I can’t go back. I don’t want to go back.
“Spike.”
“Slayer.”
“Don’t call me that.” He hasn’t called me that in years. Eons.
“Buffy,” he amends, softening a fraction.
“I love you.” As if he gave me permission, the words spill out of my mouth with ease; they’ve been there for so long waiting to be said, waiting for him to give me a sign that it was okay to say them. Maybe I shouldn’t have waited to say them, but I did. Protecting my heart is like an art for me. . . an art that I’ve perfected.
When he freezes and doesn’t reply right away, I close my eyes, ready to close in on myself. I just want to sink through the floor. Why doesn’t my apartment have trap doors to escape moments like this?
Then, his lips touch mine with such tenderness that I start to cry and half-kiss him in return. What does this mean? A sob pours forth before I can stop it.
When his forehead touches mine, he whispers, “I love you, too, pet. So much.”
I open my eyes and search his blue ones. He means it. He really means that he loves me and not in a self-sacrificing way or a desperate way. He just loves me for me.
I take him by the hand and drag him back to the bed, curling up and gesturing for him to join me. Without hesitation, he lays down and I’m cuddled up next to him with my head on his chest like those last nights in Sunnydale except this time, I cling to him, and he clings to me like we’re each other’s lifeline.
“Thank you for being here for me,” he says softly. “After I lost Natalie.” He’s thanked me before, but this time is different because he remembers who he was. I know that even if everything else was false about his human life, his love for Natalie was real, and he grieved hard for her.
I stroke the side of his chest. “Of course. I’d do it again.”
“I know.” I’m pleased that I’ve shown him enough that he believes it.
“I would have been lost without you, too. I was lost without you after you died.” I mean when he died in Sunnydale.
“I died?” he asks with perfect seriousness.
I thump him and tease, “So many years ago.”
He makes a face of disgust at himself. “I bloody well don’t want to relive that. Well, except for the kiss at the end of the night. Wouldn’t trade that for anything.”
I bite my lip. “Even though it led to badness between us?”
“Even though. Because it led us here. Now.” Spike is, of course, someone who believes in love, craves it. With his soul, the craving is moderated but still there under the surface. I’ve learned this about him in the past year in the way he spoke about Natalie, in the way he’s been with me. I knew it before, but I never let myself acknowledge it out of fear.
“Yeah.” He’s solid and warm next to me, and I don’t want the moment to end because when it does, decisions have to be made. A plane and Giles and Dawn and many others are waiting for me. Anxiety makes my chest tighten. “Willow needs me. That’s why I’m going.”
He tenses with me. “What’s wrong with Red?”
“She’s at the Cleveland hellmouth, and she was trying to prevent an apocalypse with Faith’s help, but she’s trapped in some space between our dimension and the one on the other side of the hellmouth. They’ve been able to communicate with her, but she doesn’t have access to her full powers there, and she’s stuck.”
“And you have to be there for your friend.” Spike knows I do, and he sits up, bursting our comfortable bubble. “Where are your suitcases?”
I blink at him as he swings off the bed and begins to right my luggage. I watch him silently for a moment as he flings my unfolded tops and pants and skirts into a pile in the center of my suitcase. With both hands, he holds up one shirt – one of the only ones I have left from Sunnydale.
“I know this one,” he says, lifting an eyebrow at me so that I melt a little inside.
“It’s old, but I haven’t been able to let go of it yet.”
He regards me thoughtfully. “Good.”
“Come with me,” I say impulsively because I suddenly can’t imagine him not being with me.
With seeming nonchalance, he tosses my blouse onto the pile. “Okay. I have sick days.” He works as an English teacher at a middle school. He’s good at coaxing things out of the shy sixth graders and at keeping the saucy eighth-graders in line. I think he sometimes growls at them, or at least he does when he describes their defiance to me. Is it too soon to ask him to quit and come with me? The answer is yes. I can’t ask that of him.
I grin a little. “Okay.” I nod at the suitcase as I bound off the bed to help. “Fold my clothes?”
He huffs at the task. “Fine.”
“Thank you,” I say teasingly.
As I’m carrying an armload of toiletries from my bathroom, he asks, “How’s Dawn?”
The bottles and tools and makeup clatter together as I deposit them on the bed and unzip my travel bags. “She’s doing well. She’s finally finishing up high school. Well, her GED. She’s still debating on college or studying under Giles to be a sort of Watcher. She’s been training with him.”
“Does she know about. . . ?” He’s sure focused on making sure the seams of my jeans match as he folds.
I line up my skincare in the bag. “Everyone does. They know why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?” Spike’s question is light and casual this time around – back to the way William and I have been with each other, but this question carries so much more weight than he’s letting on.
So, I take it with all the seriousness. “Because I love you and wanted to make sure you were okay.” Tears form in my eyes again, blurring out the items before me. “Not because I want you or can’t have you. But because of who you are. To me.” I’ve turned his words to me in that abandoned house over and over in my brain since he died, and I’m not lying when I say my version of his words back to him.
“Oh.” He sounds like he didn’t expect me to say those words.
I shake my head to shove away the tears and sniff, but I can’t look at him, so I adjust the moisturizer next to the toner. Stupid cylindrical bottle will just not stay in place.
His hand covers my shaking one, and he pulls me into his arms so that my face is buried against his chest. He kisses the top of my head as I cry harder. “I won’t be okay if I just come for a few days.”
What’s he saying? I start to pull away and find that I can’t. I have to know. “What do you mean?”
“If I come with you now, I can’t come back here. I won’t.”
“What about your students?” My voice is muffled against his T-shirt. “You love your students, and they love you.”
“They’ll live.” He pauses. “There might be a few I’ll keep tabs on. Make sure they’re sailing along. But I can do that from a distance. Or come back to finish the school year. There’s not much time left.”
“What will you do with yourself?” If he comes with me, I want him to have a life, too. That was the whole point of all of this, right?
“I’m not your soldier boy.” He means in more ways than one: he’s not Riley, and he’s not simply my soldier in the fight against the darkness or whatever I deemed him in Sunnydale.
I look up at him to make certain he knows I’m serious. “I know that. I don’t want that. Part of why I didn’t say anything was that I wanted you to have your own identity apart from me.”
“And I told you that I don’t want some made-up story for my life.” He’s so emphatic that I believe him.
I hug him close again. “Okay.”
* * *
The hand that has been firmly holding mine is gone. Spike hasn’t really stopped touching me. . . we haven’t stopped touching each other. Until now.
In the dim light from the streetlamp, I glance back at Spike in confusion. His hands are shoved into the pockets. It takes me a handful of seconds to realize that it happened right after I rang Giles’s doorbell. Hurt fills my chest for me and for him.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Just because we’re here doesn’t mean that things between us have to change.”
His chin is jutting out a little in stubbornness. “Yeah. They do. Just until – ”
“No, they don’t.” I tuck my hand in the crook of his elbow. “Trust me. They know. And they don’t care.”
Before Spike can say anything in reply, the front lights flick on, and latches are undone.
Giles blinks out at us with tired eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping. Understandably. “Buffy. You’re here.”
“Where else would I be? You text, I come a-running. As promised.” I hold up my phone. It’s much better than carrying the almost useless pager I carried back in the day.
Giles nods. “Yes, yes. I just thought you might show up later.”
“Giles, I’m worried about Willow, so I came straight here.”
“It is two in the morning, pet,” Spike says softly as if he is trying to be unobtrusive.
“Spike, I take it.” Giles gives him a once-over but without the critical eye from before Sunnydale’s collapse.
“Human but myself.” Spike’s words don’t come across as edgy or distrustful, but I feel him holding onto me a little tighter.
I hug his arm in response and feel him relax a fraction.
Giles doesn’t even question Spike’s return to himself. He’s too distracted. “Good, good. Well, you’re both welcome to come inside. Not that you need an invitation anymore.”
I slip my hand down to Spike’s as we enter the rental house, and he doesn’t pull away. I gently squeeze, and he runs his thumb over mine in response.
Piles of books are haphazardly placed all around Giles’s living room, reminding me of his apartment in Sunnydale. His collection has grown in the year I’ve been gone. One lamp remains on at his desk, casting a warm golden light over the room. He’s been burning the midnight oil.
“Lost the help?” I ask.
Giles picks up a random book and shuts the pages. “Xander is at the hellmouth with Faith, keeping Willow company, and Dawn is sleeping upstairs in the spare room that’s conveniently been converted to her room since you’ve been gone. The rest of the Slayers are out patrolling.” There are three helping in Cleveland because of the heightened demonic, mystical activity.
“Oh.”
“We’ve narrowed things down to one or two possibilities.” Giles strips off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “But more research needs to be done before we’re certain.”
Spike steps forward, letting go of my hand again. He bends to retrieve a book in a mirror image of Giles’s earlier movement. “Where’ve you left off?” Spike flips a page or two with open sincerity, reminding me of when he was going to help cure Giles’s blindness.
Giles readjusts his glasses and surveys Spike with sharp eyes, and I can’t tell what my Watcher is thinking. His eyes find mine, and the corner of his mouth lifts just a fraction. I consider maybe he’s thinking about the same time – a time when Willow was also at the center of things and casting crazy spells that ended in badness. Now, we’re all a little older and maybe a lot wiser. I hope.
That done, Giles hurries over to his desk and picks up a pile of papers with his handwriting scribbled across them. Spike follows, and soon, their heads are bent over the notes. They’re even exchanging commentary and bouncing around ideas.
I don’t want to disturb them, so I sideways move around furniture and books on my way toward the kitchen, nervous to make a sound lest I disturb the camaraderie. “I’ll just make some tea.” They don’t even glance my way.
Flipping on the kitchen lights, I poke around in the cabinets, easily finding the tea and needed accessories, which are still in their usual places. My finger lingers over the third mug I set out – one with “Kiss the Librarian” emblazoned across the side. This time around, it’s green and not yellow. And I’m pleased that there are three mugs, that Spike is here with me in this new version of home on the hellmouth.
When I’m filling the pot with water from the tap, I hear a throat being cleared. Almost jumping out of my skin, I happily discover that my sister is the source of the noise. “Hey.” The word is as casual as if I saw her yesterday.
“Hey.” She yawns, making her usual little sound. Her hair is a little shorter and has more blonde. She nods at the mugs. “Three? How do you know I even want any tea? What if I want coffee?”
“It’s the middle of the night,” I admonish, falling into mom-ing her in two point five seconds. It takes me a moment to realize that she thinks one of the cups is for her. I don’t say anything else and retrieve a fourth mug.
Dawn’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. “He’s here?”
I nod and keep my voice soft. “Yeah. In there. Researching with Giles.”
Both her eyebrows lift as she steps further into the kitchen and tiptoes over to the door to the living room. When she sees that I’m not lying, she rushes me and gives me a huge bear hug – the kind only my little sister can give. Her eyes are round when she pulls back. “How?”
This is something I haven’t wrapped my mind around yet. “I don’t know. He’s been having memories for a while, but he didn’t tell me until I had to come back for Willow.”
“Ohhhh.” She pauses. “You’re together.” She knows me too well.
“Yeah.” My heart sings a little to be able to say this simple affirmative.
“Last time I talked to you weren’t even close to anything. And that was three days ago.” Dawn takes the teakettle from me and sets it on the stove, turning on and adjusting the burner.
“A lot can happen in three days. . . And Spike and I have a lot more to discuss.”
“You do. Understandably.” Dawn embraces me again. “I missed you.”
As the water works on heating up, Dawn fills me in on school and hellmouth-y stuff from her perspective. She passed the GED with flying colors. The math gave her trouble, but she wrangled the numbers her way. She also told me that though Willow was communicating with them, she was not doing well. . . physically or psychologically. My stomach feels heavy with this news.
With the tea made, I let Dawn bring Spike his cup, and I stand back to watch their reunion. He beams at her and is surprised by her hug (equally giant) in greeting him. He runs a hand over her sleep-mussed hair, and he smiles at me from across the room before closing his eyes. He’s pleased to see and be accepted by her so wholeheartedly again.
I join them after they’ve had their moment, offering Giles some tea and sipping my own. Spike slips an easy arm around my waist – the ease hard won by the year we’ve spent together, and I kiss him before we all get to work.
* * *
The Cleveland hellmouth is cold – no, freezing.
It’s quite the opposite of the spaces around the Sunnydale hellmouth (aka the school basement), which were always warm and teetering on stuffy and stifling.
Spike’s hand is warm in mine, but he lets me go as the pathway to Xander, Faith, and Willow becomes more cave-like and narrow with rock walls and less light. Good thing Giles made us each carry one of those small portable lanterns that people use during power outages.
Then, we have to turn sideways to fit.
The first clue that I’m struggling is that my heart lodges itself in my throat and I feel a little breathless. I turn back toward Spike, squinting in the bright light. “I c-can’t – ”
He knows what this is about. Small spaces bother me now; he’s the only person I’ve ever told, shared in a moment of openness before I hid even from him. “Breathe, pet. And keep moving. I’m here. I won’t let you go.” His fingers hook around mine, pulling my hand back into his.
Though I feel like I still can’t breathe, not at all, he grounds me enough that I can keep moving, my boots scuffing over rocks and my arm scraping against stone. When I feel like maybe the walls might close in like in the trash compacter on Star Wars, which Xander made me and Willow watch, the space suddenly opens up. The darkness is swept away by five or six more lanterns that light up the cavern. There’s another of my best friends, kneeling on a blanket next to my old nemesis, Faith.
Faith bounces up first, not even shivering in her tank top and jeans. “B. Welcome home.” She gestures at Spike. “Who’s this?” She’s blunt as usual and gives me a funny look. “And why are you so pale? You two switch places? Do I need to get my stake out?”
My breathing evens out, and I roll my eyes at her attempt at joking. “Spike. He’s Spike. And small spaces make me claustrophobic ever since I was – ”
Her eyes widen in realization. “Woke up underground. Got it.” She surveys Spike. “Human looks different on you. In a damned good way.” God, does she have to make everything sound sexual?
Spike arches a brow at her without matching her casual eye-undressing. Still, there’s a little jealousy there like the time I caught them in the basement together, sharing a cigarette. “Slayer looks the same on you.”
Maybe I’m more than a little jealous.
Then, I notice Xander hasn’t joined us, and all the petty stuff melts away. I hurry to kneel by his side. He’s staring at a small opening in the wall. A soft green light emanates from the hole.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Do you see Willow through there?”
His one good eye is open wide and bloodshot. He remains like a statue and doesn’t answer my question. “Buffy. Thank god you’re here. I’m scared to move.”
“Why can’t you move?” I ask gently.
A tear rolls down his unevenly stubbled cheek; he’s been here a while. “If I move, I’ll lose her. I can’t lose Willow. I can’t.”
Xander has struggled mightily since losing Anya. He’s always fearful, and I don’t know how to fix it for him. He was the one person who insisted I stay and not pursue the situation with William. At first, I was angry, but now I realize that his reaction was all based on this fear – the fear of losing someone else he loves. Willow, Dawn, Giles, and me? We’re his family more than any blood connection he’s ever had.
I put a hand on his knee. “You’re not going to lose her. Giles and Dawn are on the way with a spell to break her free without opening the hellmouth.” That had been the conundrum they’d been facing with most of the options.
“It might be too late. Do you know how bright this light was at first? I couldn’t even look into it and now? Now it’s fading. That’s Willow. She’s fading away, and I can’t do anything about it.” His voice cracks at the end, and I can tell he’s straining to not buckle under the weight of his emotions.
I keep my voice low. “And you need a break, Xander. I’m here now. Let me hold onto her for you just a little longer until help arrives.”
“A-are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I don’t know exactly how this particular spell is supposed to work; Giles, Spike, and Dawn don’t either. All I know is I play a role, and this is where I need to be.
Xander is silent for a long moment. He finally says, “I’m going to move back, and you move in, okay?”
“Okay.”
Xander scuttles back, and I move in with one motion, settling in place before the opening. I stare into the green glow, straining to see, and what I see takes my breath away. Willow is hunched over on the other side of whatever is between us. Her face is as haggard as Xander’s and lined with wrinkles like she is shriveling up. Her red hair is faded and dull, and I’m reminded of the men and women who emerged from that hell when I ran away to L.A. after killing Angel. Willow has lost all her luster.
Her name slips past my lips before I can stop it, and the crone before me moves in a jerky fashion as she lifts her gaze to mine.
Her eyes widen, and she sidles closer with a crooked smile on her face. “Buffy?” Her voice is far away and muffled like I have cotton stuffed deep in my ears, and my friend is shouting at me.
“Hi,” I say in a perfectly normal voice that sounds out of place in the cavern. “I’m here. Spike’s here, too.” I don’t know why I tell her that when that’s the least important thing imaginable right now.
She seems to perk up a little more, and that’s when I’m certain she’s my friend. “Spike? As in, Spike?”
I can’t look away. “It’s him.”
“All vampy and grr?”
I laugh as tears fill my eyes. I blink them rapidly away; I can see why Xander insisted on keeping his focus on Willow. “No. Human.”
“Wow.”
“That’s what Dawn said.” Speaking of Dawn. . . “Dawn and Giles figured out a solution to get you out of here. They’re on their way after going to some magic shop on the other side of town. They need this particular herb that they only sell there.”
Willow makes a scoffing sound that ends with her almost hacking up her lungs. “Don’t even get me started on that place.” Then, she swallows like her throat is dry. “I have to tell Giles something b-before they cast a spell. So tired. Maybe you could tell them?”
“I’ll tell them anything you want me to,” I reassure her.
Xander thuds down next to me, but I manage not to glance his way. I’m afraid to.
“She’s already told me the thing to look out for. Five or six times. Don’t worry,” he says.
His revelation worries me even more. “Where are they? They need to hurry up.”
Willow has seemingly already forgotten she was going to tell me something important, and she is curling in on herself again. Crap.
“Spike?” I call.
Spike is behind me almost immediately. I feel him there even if he isn’t setting off my vampire alarm. “Yeah, love?”
“Are you setting things up?”
Spike was put in charge of the magic items Giles did have on hand. “It’s almost done. Your counterpart is setting up the pot as we speak.” There’s no pot, only a small shovel with mystical origins that Spike had shoved in his back pocket. It was to be used by someone of mystical origins to dig a pit in the earth for spellcasting.
“Thank you.”
He deposits a kiss on the top of my head. “Of course.”
The next minutes tick by at the speed of a sloth changing trees or eating dinner or telling jokes. Finally, when my knees are hurting from pressing into the rocky ground even with the blanket, I hear the arrival of Dawn and Giles. Dawn emits a little shriek as she stumbles into the cavern, and Giles grunts as he tugs something through the opening where we came in.
Xander is gone again. “’Bout time. What do we do? By the way, Willow says not to use any aconitum in the spell.”
“Yep.” Dawn is serious as houses. “It’s toxic and unpredictable.”
“I don’t think Willow’s thinking all that clearly,” Faith offers. “She’s not doing so well.”
I just hope that whatever we do, she returns to herself and doesn’t die from the effects of whatever she’s going through. “Really not well since you saw her,” I add.
Giles starts barking orders in a firm, urgent way that reminds me of long ago. He’s as worried as we are. As I stare into the abyss that is Willow’s prison, I hear lots of muttering, and more than once, there is a touch of irritability and some snapping among the five of them. Everyone is exhausted.
This better work, or I’m going to regret going to check on William every day for the rest of my life.
“Willow, they’re almost ready,” I say, willing her to give me some sign that she’s okay.
Willow doesn’t even lift her head, and when my heart begins to sink, she twitches, her hand moving up to lift the hair out of her face.
“Hurry up,” I call out to my friends.
“We’re hurrying,” Dawn says.
There’s a little more scuffling and then silence. I can almost hear my own breathing in the stillness, warm air creating little puffs of condensation with each exhalation. Time seems unending in the space of a heartbeat. And I strain to keep my eyes on Willow, recognizing that the green light she’s emanating is dimming even more.
A flute begins to play – a lilting, light melody that flits and dances seemingly from my left to my right. The sound is woody and ancient-sounding, and I know Giles is playing that old relic that didn’t even look like any instrument we have today. It was something he kept in the Magic Box, tucked away from any prying eyes except for Anya who apparently knew the demon who created it.
A low voice begins an incantation in an old, unfamiliar language, matching the rhythm of the music and then bouncing off on its own – independent and yet dependent on the notes at the same time. Something. . . almost primal inside me stirs and awakens, and though my limbs are aching from sitting in one position, my muscles gradually feel renewed and ready to move, ready to do battle.
I resist because I can’t get swept up in some ancient ritual. I have to stay focused on Willow.
The music slowly increases in volume, and more voices join Dawn’s chanting, rounding with her like a very complex form of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” I can’t pick out who’s who, and soon, I don’t even try as the symphony of music and words slowly seems to fill the cavern until I swear we’re in a concert hall.
And that’s when Willow’s light goes out.
A cry of anguish slips past my lips, but the sound disappears into the current of the spell swirling around me, and the primal something inside of me springs forward like a giant cat that’s been waiting for me to have a moment of weakness.
With the haze of magic consuming the cavern, the ground beneath my feet shifts as if the rocks have become like sand, and the walls begin to crumble, bits of rubble starting slow and picking up speed until the opening to Willow softens and grows. Cold gives way to heat as if I’m standing in front of an open oven.
Her body is crumpled and old in the distance, almost too far away.
I loan my determination to the fire pushing me to move, and my arms shoot outward, smoothing away the barrier between me and Willow. Unlike in my grave, I barely notice what’s happening around me. I’m not gasping for oxygen or digging my way out; I’m going in.
There is no fear as I scrabble for my friend.
After what feels like an eternity of shoving and digging, my fingers touch Willow’s, and I reach and reach until I have her hand in mine. Her skin is still warm and moveable, and I swear I feel her squeeze back. . . just a little.
Someone suddenly grasps my feet, and I’m jerked back, Willow coming with me. The earth closes in around her, trying to consume her again as the magic starts to fade away and the chanting and music cease. Cold air laves over my skin in soothing drafts, and I land hard on top of the someone who pulled me back.
Just before I pass out, I recognize the someone – Spike, and I smile as the rest of my friends and sister rush around us to help.
* * *
I wake in a bed, the cool sheets slipping over my skin as I move. Sunlight peeks around the edge of the curtains, and I recognize the guest room in Giles’s house. Dawn has it decorated in calming blues and greens with gauzy curtains that soften the light – her place of tranquility since we’ve been apart.
In the shadows, Spike sleeps in her recliner, and I can’t help but think of the abandoned house we found ourselves in together in Sunnydale. He’ll probably wake up with a crick in his neck.
After testing my limbs and deciding I’m okay, I climb out of bed and find myself in front of him. I slide my hand over his knee, which is still warm beneath my touch. As he stirs, I move onto his lap, lifting his arm and tucking it around my waist as I face and snuggle up with my forehead against his neck. He blinks, pulling me close.
“You woke up,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly with sleep.
The way he phrases it throws me off, and I lift my head. “How long have I been out?”
“A few days.”
“A few days?!” What had that spell done to me?
“Yeah. The ritual did a number on the whole lot of you.”
He’s leaving himself out of the group. It’s not unusual, but – “But not you?”
He scoffs at me. “’Course not.” He pauses. “Well, nothing that I’ve noticed.”
It’s like my brain is just kicking in. “How’s Willow? Is she – ”
“She’s alive. Doing a whole Benjamin Button.”
I make a face at him. “A what?”
He smirks. “Need to catch up on your F. Scott Fitzgerald, love. Benjamin Button lived his life in reverse. Red was geriatric after you pulled her out of that trap, and now she’s easing back toward her biological age.”
Relief washes over me. “Right.”
“Word’s still out whether she’ll slow down though and whether she’ll get her memory back.”
My heart skips a beat. I don’t know if I can do the whole memory loss thing again, but that’s selfish. “What do you mean?”
“She’s got a touch of dementia. She was almost gone and very fragile.” He must catch the panic on my face because he adds, “Not like me, love.” He runs reassuring fingertips over my spine.
“Oh.”
“You should know something else.” He’s all with the serious.
“What?”
“Something happened during the spell. Magic always has consequences.”
I know this well and close my eyes. “Yeah.” I hesitate but say, “I felt something inside me – deep inside. Something primal. Like Slayer primal. It opened up just before we rescued Willow. Did you feel anything?” I’m curious if there’s still something of the demon inside of him.
“Nothing.” His expression is unreadable, and he searches my eyes. “Hoping so?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” That’s honest.
He breezes past my uncertainty. “The Bit felt something as did Rupert. They’re currently trying to understand it. Your Watcher said it reminded him of something that happened with the group spell against Adam. And maybe something that happened in his past. I know about his dark side. Once when I was tied up at his flat, he happened to tell me about it. He was a bit intoxicated and trying to convince me to throw in with the white hats. I tolerated it because he shared his whisky.”
“That makes sense,” I say thoughtfully. “But this didn’t invoke Sineya. And Giles was talking about Eyghon. He definitely never told me about the other drunken thing with you.” The notion of Spike and Giles drinking together amused me to no end.
“Sineya’s the First Slayer?”
I nod. “She came to us in our dreams after the Adam spell.” I’m ashamed of how I’d handled the dreams then. I try to chalk it up to my youth. She really had been so alone and upset about what we had done. But she had also been trying to kill us, so I couldn’t ride myself too hard. “What did Dawn say?”
“She feels in touch with something inside her that she didn’t know was there. That’s the best she can describe it, and it hasn’t faded like Willow’s age. And the Nibblet made me promise to tell you she’s okay. Not like I needed much convincing on that front.” He briefly kisses my lips, and I almost start crying in relief. . . about everything.
“Where is she? This is her room.”
He shifts beneath me and rubs a hand over his neck, wincing slightly. “They’re all knee-deep in the books, trying to make sense of it all. What’s happened to Red. What’s happened to you.”
“You’re going to age,” I say out of nowhere.
His eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. “Already know that much. You okay with that?”
“I don’t mind. I am, too.” I shrug. It’s no small thing for a Slayer to age. I’m an anomaly. “But seeing Willow like that – it reminds me how mortal we all are. I mean, I knew it already because Tara, Anya, Mom. . . you.” I meet his blue eyes. I lost him for years until the past year, and even then, he wasn’t my Spike. He was someone different, and I was always searching for signs of him. Sometimes that was harder than not having him at all.
“You.”
“Yeah.” I return his kiss. “This past year has been weird.”
“How so?”
“I feel like I’ve been waiting for you for so long and not knowing if I’d ever find you again.”
He sighs and holds me closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner.” He pauses. “I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That if you knew I was remembering, I’d lose everything.” I wait, and he continues. “It’s irrational; I know it is.”
My heart aches. “You thought I’d run away if I knew you remembered.” That and he thought I didn’t want him if he was human. “And if you’re human.”
“No.” He winces. “Maybe?” He sounds like his heart might break. “You probably already know this, but pet, you’ve been like. . . the light in my lantern. The world was so dark when Natalie was killed. And then, you came in the coffee shop that day, and a part of me knew that I knew you. Knew that you’d be the one to lead me back to the world of the living. When I started remembering all the others I’d lost, well, I knew you were my light.” He’s talking about Angel and his crew. Spike looks away, his eyes suddenly sheening with tears. “God. I sound like a complete git.”
I bring my hand to his face and turn him toward me. “You’re not. You had every reason to think I might run. W-we never really had a chance to figure us out, did we? There was the First Evil and imminent war and too many crises to really slow down enough to. . . just be.” The whole past year had been my chance to breathe and think and regroup. “This year has been about that for me. I-I think I needed it as much as you did.”
“And where are we now?” His tone is as casual as it was the night he told me he should leave town because the First was messing with him, and I stopped him because I couldn’t lose him. He’s holding his breath, waiting for me.
Last time, my answer was cryptic and said more about how unsure I was about our relationship. Who says, “I’m not ready for you to not be here”? I close my eyes and resolve to be clear. “I don’t know where you are. But I’m all in with you. Not just friendship. I love you. Human you, vampire you. However you are. I love you.”
He doesn’t reply with words but kisses me with a tenderness that quickly rolls over into passion, and I’m lost in sensation and in the knowledge that he loves me as much as I love him. He’s touching me, and I’m touching him, and everything goes much slower this time. When tears fall down my cheeks, he kisses them away, and when we shed our clothes, he treats me with reverence the way he always has, in the way that I never wanted to see. Maybe I couldn’t see it because I was too traumatized. The difference is that this time, I am just as in awe of him and his love for me.
When his fingers find my tender bits, he forces me to make eye contact with him, and I sigh with pleasure as he expertly leads me to the edge of bliss and the oblivion of orgasm. Somehow, I find the space to rise up and slide onto his erection, and we both make small sounds of pleasure at our joining. I ride him slowly the way I did in that dilapidated building, only this time I’m home with something that feels so much sturdier and safer.
As soon as this thought crosses my mind, he growls and flips me onto the ground with more strength than I thought he had. His weight is on me then, and he takes control, which I allow and welcome. He ebbs and flows with his motion, drawing out the throbbing need I have for him to go faster and harder. Each time he teases me, I grow more impatient.
We slip into our easy routine of taking turns being in control of the other’s sensation, and we somehow manage to make love on every surface of the room without bringing our actions to the attention of everyone else camping out in Giles’s house.
My final orgasm is the closest I come to losing control of my voice, but before I can cry out, Spike hisses, “Bite me, pet.”
When I comply with his request, my orgasm comes hard and fast, and I barely feel him tumbling over the cliff with me.
We collapse onto the bed, which protests with a loud screech, and I giggle as I try to catch my breath. Spike’s responding chuckle spreads joy in my chest that I haven’t felt in ages, and I scoot over to cuddle up under his arm.
He pats me absently on the hip. “Much better. On my end, not yours.”
“Yes. And not completely all you. We’re on the same page.” I frown as an observation I can’t quite find words for clicks into place. “Something else was different.”
“What?”
I wrack my brain and then lift my head to survey the room – the very messy (but not damaged) room, and there was something about his strength. It wasn’t –
I sit up abruptly.
Spike’s eyebrows go together as he pushes up on an elbow with feline grace. “What’re you all in a fuss about?”
I hop up and pick up the recliner’s turned-over end table, plunking it at his feet as he rises further. “Arm wrestle.”
He looks at me in absolute confusion. “What?”
“Just do it.”
Lifting his scarred eyebrow like he’s humoring an insane woman, which I know he’s good at, he slowly settles his arm on the table and holds up his hand. “Alright.”
I kneel on the carpet and take his hand. Then, with deliberate forcefulness, I push against him. He strains to hold me in place, but he manages to keep pace with my Slayer strength even if it isn’t exactly the same.
His mouth drops open as what I’m trying to show him hits home.
I grin at him as I let go. “Seems like Dawn, Giles, and I aren’t the only ones who were affected by that spell.”
He has a glint and sudden fierceness in his eyes that surprises and delights me. “Seems like.”
I bend and pick up my blouse, pulling it over my head and running my fingers through my hair. “We need to talk with everyone.” I toss his jeans at him.
As he dresses, he says, “I’ve been thinking, pet. While you were sleeping.”
“Yeah?”
“I think I’d like to keep teaching. Wherever you are.” He rings his head with his T-shirt. “Junior high. And maybe help the Bit with her course work in whatever she decides to study. Keep my brain sharp.”
My heart beats a little harder with love for him, with happiness that he isn’t completely willing to give up everything for me. Even if he’s regained something he lost, he’s still the man I met that day in the coffee shop – a man with a most compassionate and tender heart. “I think that’s a great idea.”
* * *
Everyone stops reading whatever book they’re holding and stares at us when we enter Giles’s living room. The silence is deafening as is the knowing in the expressions.
Crap. They heard everything, didn’t they? They couldn’t have. Spike and I were so careful. I’m very glad to see that Faith isn’t here; I don’t think I could take her goading.
“Hey,” I say, stuffing my hands in my back pocket in an attempt to seem innocent.
“Hey,” Dawn replies first and calls us out with a delighted smile – kind of like how happy she was when Willow and Tara got back together. “So, um, about my room.”
I crinkle my nose in embarrassment. “Is all yours and will be straightened up pronto. Left exactly the way it was.”
She presses her lips briefly together in amusement. “With fresh sheets.”
“With fresh sheets.” Not that Spike and I really spent all that much time on the bed.
My eyes find Willow. She’s tucked up in Giles’s overstuffed chair. Her red hair is still lackluster with streaks of grey, and she still has wrinkles covering her face and hands. But her eyes are bright and green and alive. She raises her hand and gives me a little wave, an odd move given how different she is. “Buffy.” Her voice also sounds much more youthful than she appears. “Thank you for your help. I-I don’t remember much of anything, but they said you pulled me out during the spell. So, thank you.”
I rush over and bend to give her a gentle hug. She even feels fragile. “Of course. You’d do the same for me. I love you, and I’m so glad you’re alive.”
She glances at Giles. “Giles said I’m going backward. Back to my age. The right one. But I can’t really tell. It’s all been a blur.” Given what Spike said about her dementia, it makes sense.
Xander generously gestures at the books that have been rounded up and stacked up high on the coffee table. “Pull up a chair, grab a book, and start reading.” He never liked to be the only one doing the research and wrangled as many as he could to join him in his misery. “We’re trying to figure out what’s happening to everyone. Everyone but me apparently.” He gives Spike a nod. “And Spike probably.”
I gaze back at Spike who smirks at me. “Actually. . .”
“Seriously? I’m the odd man out on the magic stuff again?” Xander is visibly hurt, but I also detect a note of levity in the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. He’s become more at ease with himself since I’ve been gone. He buries his nose in the large volume he’s been balancing on his knee. “Rustle up to the research party already.”
The offending pile of books is intimidating and seems to taunt me with its endlessness. I put an affectionate hand on Xander’s shoulder. “Caffeine is needed. Mind if I brew a pot first?”
Giles doesn’t even gaze up from his work. He’s thankfully ignoring the Buffy-and-Spike sexathon as any good father would. “As long as you put on a kettle for some tea.”
“Okay.”
I’m almost to my destination and am anticipating the pleasant smell of coffee beans when Giles softly adds, “And Buffy, I’m very glad you’re awake and doing well.”
I glance back briefly. “Thanks.”
I’m mid-tea-making when Xander shouts that he needs the half-empty carton of donuts on the counter. After settling the kettle in place and turning on the coffee pot, I grab the box and stop short when Willow hobbles into the kitchen. She takes the donuts from me.
“Hi,” she says, smiling with her youthful eyes. “Just so you know. Spike feels right to me.”
“You can tell that after spending five minutes with him?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m not as good as Tara at reading auras, but she taught me a little. His aura is distinctly Spike with a hint of whatever humanity he has hanging around now.”
“Oh.”
“Plus, I’m connected to the earth after my whole magic absorption revenge rampage, so when I know, I know.”
“Can you figure out why he started remembering?” I’m not sure why I want to know this. Maybe I’m a little afraid he’ll go back the same way Willow is aging in reverse.
She teeters a little before grabbing the edge of the marble countertop with her free hand. “Not sure I can. Not sure you want me to. But after I feel a bit better, I can try.”
“I’d rather not poke the bear,” Spike says appearing behind Willow. He plucks the box from her hand and kindly touches her back. “You okay, Red? Need to sit down for a tick?”
Willow shakes her head at him. “N-no. What I do need to do is tell you thank you and I’m sorry.”
I can tell Spike is startled by this. “What are you going on about?”
“I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was – ” She makes a face as if she’s struggling to finish.
Spike guesses, “Your memory was gone.”
She gives him a shaky nod. “I think so. Yeah.”
“I get that, Willow,” he says with sincerity. “There’s a lot I wish I could say that I’ll probably never find a way to say properly.” He’s not looking at me, but he’s addressing me. Then, he’s back to Willow. “Your thanks means more than you know.”
She blinks, and I notice in the way that she holds her features that she’s gone again. “T-thank you. Can I sit down now?” She clings to his arm as if she might blow away in a breeze, and as he’s guiding her away, I hear her say, “You can’t leave again.”
“I’ll try not to, pet. Have some loose ends to tie up, but I’ll be back.”
When they’re gone, I hurriedly pour coffee for the coffee drinkers and fix tea for the tea drinkers. I’m stirring lots of sugar into Dawn’s cup when Spike reappears, looking sheepish.
“I’m sorry, Buffy.”
My heart skips a beat. “About what?”
“Making you think I was someone else.” He chooses two of the mugs and rings two fingers through the handles. Somehow he manages not to spill the hot liquid. “Not telling you sooner, so you could come back here. Could’ve prevented this mess.” He’s talking about Willow.
“What mess? Everyone’s safe. No one died. People are getting in touch with their latent powers. And everyone would still be getting in jams with me here.” I place the spoon in the sink. I’m reassuring myself as much as him. “You already apologized. We needed the time, remember?”
I peer at him and see his shoulders visibly relax. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”
Touching his forearm with my free hand, I say, “You don’t have to keep apologizing. We can’t do that to ourselves. I kept who I was from you, too. Just promise me one thing.” I know he doesn’t make promises lightly.
“Anything.” He meets my gaze without hesitation. His blue eyes are bright and earnest.
“Neither of us will do it again.”
He’s following my line of thinking. “Neither of us will lie about who we are. Even if one of us loses our memory and is given another life that the other person thinks might be right because a life without each other – ”
“Isn’t right.” I nod in agreement. “I promise.”
“I promise.”
Then, he seals our promise – not with latched pinkies or bloody palms pressed together or promise rings placed on fingers – but with a tender kiss that hints at more passion to come and leaves my body all a-tingle. I nibble at his bottom lip when he pulls away, and he playfully bites back at me.
“We’ll need to find a coffee shop,” I say.
He smiles in a dreamy way. “Hmm. Only if it’s by a lake.”
“And a place to live. If you want to live with me.” I can’t live apart from him again.
“Of course,” he says as if that’s not even a question. “With lots of windows and sunlight because I’m still human and all. I want to wake up and watch the morning light make your hair glow.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Together, we gather up as many mugs as we can manage and head back into the living room and the start of our new life together.
The end.