Relative
William knew agony. Was once best friends with agony. Had it deep in his bones and deeper in his blood, but he had
survived.
He knew he’d had suffered greater losses. Buffy had died. Really died. Why did this feel so much worse?
It’s all relative, his brain answered. Pain, death, cost of living. All things relative.
Had he spoken to Dawn, they would have shared a similar realization. Both thought they should be too dumbstruck
with grief to even have the capacity to move about. William couldn’t understand why his body continued to walk
around, why his legs propelled him forward through the night’s weepy fog in the direction of Triumvirate, when his
heart had been removed from his chest and his mind had checked out to look in on the missing bloody heart.
He dimly recalled some psychology mumbo about the stages of grief. When a bod experienced a greater than
average kind of loss, it went first into shock and then other things happened. Rage, for instance. Denial.
Acceptance. Some such bloody rubbish. If he could choose, he’d go for rage. But shock had him by the short curlies
and sent him out to do its bidding like a puppet. A lackbrain marionette. A golem, just like he was made to be.
There was a lot of noise in his brain. A lot of non-congealed thoughts drifting around like ghosts. He felt untethered,
adrift, lost. His heart was gone. Yet he survived.
William turned up at Triumvirate in time for some high-to-do sit down dinner. There had been a maitre d’ posted at a
podium near the door, just like the one at the Equinox celebration he and Buffy crashed in September. This one was
a smallish fellow with a pair of black eyes like shiny beetles. He tried to bar William’s passage by getting in front of
him in the doorway. William bounded up the top step, dropped his shoulder and bowled the bloke right over. Took
about three seconds, and William was in.
William blitzed through the foyer, black duster billowing in the wake of his own crushing momentum. When he found
Nighna, would he be able to not slam her? Whether she was responsible or not, he needed to pound something and
she was a demon. Hitting her could result in a brawl, and that was just fine by him.
Most of the patrons, a motley mix of demons and humans, stopped to mark William as he stalked across the dance
floor. He scanned their faces, recognizing many, but saw no sign of Nighna. No sign of her, but he did see…
Lorne.
William drew up short. Lorne was there. Entertaining, having drinks, completely oblivious.
William’s anger crystallized around him. Suddenly things became quite clear.
“You!” he bellowed. William ran at Lorne, drawing his fist back. The green demon scarcely had time to set down his
drink before William left-hooked him across the table. Demons scattered, along with crystal goblets and silverware.
Lorne scuttled backward into a screen of potted palms. “Spike! What the…?”
William shoved the up-righted round table out of the way and hefted Lorne to his feet by his aubergine lapels.
“You said she would be fine,” William shouted into Lorne’s face. William brought his fist up again. He struck Lorne
squarely in the jaw. Lorne backpedaled gracelessly, toppling the plants, taking William with him. William rolled with
it. He sprung off the floor, leaving Lorne to scramble in spilled potting soil. He went to kick Lorne in the ribs, but
caught himself.
That’s right. Kick a dolly when he’s down. That was your way… Dru’s voice, like a cold ribbon of steel, uncoiled in his
brain. It was his way. Not now. Not anymore.
William’s palms went numb and cold. He clenched his fists and looked down at Lorne. He’d split the demon’s lip. Blood
dribbled down Lorne’s chin and onto his neon orange cravat.
William bent once more and hauled Lorne to his feet. “You said she’d be fine,” William said again, as a means of
apology. “You said it, but she’s not.”
Lorne dabbed his lip and cast a surreptitious glance at the demon spectators who had gathered – none of whom, he
noted – had even bothered to lend him a hand.
“She’s not?” Lorne asked.
“She’s gone,” William groaned. The word broke painfully in his throat.
Lorne leaned in. “Buffy’s gone?” he whispered.
William’s entire body seemed to tighten in on itself. The muscles in his jaws worked as he warred to keep control.
“That’s right,” he snarled.
Lorne looked uneasily at the crowd and laughed, lightly. “Aw, Spike. Of course I have your…” he cleared his throat,
“money. Such a card shark. Never play poker with this guy. Great White… ’s what they call him,” Lorne gripped
William’s elbow. He guided him swiftly away from the crowd. “Go on about your dinner. I’ll catch up.”
Lorne swept William outside, into the back alleyway behind the kitchen.
“She’s gone?” Lorne said once they were outside.
William put distance between them. He still needed to pound things. His fists found the brick wall of the adjoining
building. He battered them bloody, ripping his knuckles to shreds. The more he hit, the harder and longer he wanted
to go until the control he had clung to spun away from him in a torrent of blood and shouted curses.
Lorne watched helplessly for a moment, then took the risk of moving in.
“Spike,” he said, quietly.
William wheeled and collapsed against the wall. He wiped his face, leaving a streak of blood across the sharp ridge of
his cheekbone. He looked down at his bloodied fists, watched as the mangled flesh sealed over the bones he’d
managed to expose.
It didn’t hurt. Not really. Not compared to the howling hollowness of inside.
William raised only his eyes to Lorne’s. The demon felt a surge of pity for the man. They had just survived what
seemed an insurmountable battle. They were setting up for the happily-ever-afters, right down to the bundle of joy
on the way, and here he was, walking through fire again.
“Um. Spike. Where did she go?” Lorne asked.
William massaged a spot over his brow with the heel of his hand. “Thought you might know,” he said, sounding tired.
“Not you, really. Came to find Nighna.”
Lorne’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh. She’s gone, Big Guy. Went with Connor and the Gang into the Deeper Well.”
William’s head snapped up in surprise. “She did?”
“Yeah. Using her connection with Luxe to track Thellian,” Lorne said. He took a step closer. “Look, I don’t want to
add to the mountain of misery, but I feel I should tell ya, demons here probably shouldn’t know about Buffy’s
disappearance.”
Lorne let that sink in a bit before going on. When he was sure William was listening, he said, “There’s an unhealthy
dose of chaos in the mix, Spike. Vamps are gone, which means we’ve got some schemin’ demons. The Circle of The
Black Thorn is kaput. You already know the kind of power those guys threw around. Right now, all of it’s up for
grabs, and there’s a pack of power-hungry players on the board. When they start carving up this beast, things
might get plenty nasty for humankind. So if they find out the Slayer’s gone…”
William remembered that Rupert had mentioned a possible demon resurgence. That had just traded up to probable
demon resurgence. William’s brain was dialing back into focus. His list of priorities had just doubled: Find Buffy.
Stop Demon Resurgence.
Simple. Except, where to begin? William flexed his fists again. Lorne saw this and stepped back.
“Look, Spike, I’ll keep a weather eye for any news that might be useful, all right?” Lorne said, trying to soothe him.
“I didn’t see this when you sang for me. But I did see her, and she was happy as dandelion fluff. She was fine. Got my
word.”
William swallowed hard. “And the Little Bit?” he asked.
“And the Little Bit,” Lorne affirmed. “They were fine.”
This time William did lose a tear. It ran down his face, cutting across the red mark on his cheek. Lorne looked away,
trying to spare William from having to apologize or explain.
“That’s something, right?” William said gruffly. He pushed away from the wall and strode out to the street.
It was raining when William returned to The Flat. Inside it was quiet as tombs. He took off his coat, hung it on the
rack by the door and tromped heavily up the stairs to their bedroom.
The bed was unchanged. Empty. Just as he was, without her. Without them…
Where had she gone?
He knew he would have to tell Rupert what he learned from Lorne. He would also have to start patrolling, now that
there might be demons about. And then there was Dawn to consider, and the school…
He shoved his thoughts aside. They could wait, dammit. It could all wait.
William dropped into the chair beside the bed and let agony consume him whole.
Spike had gone down to check on Dawn, then returned to find Buffy where he left her one the back porch. He kept
his distance, fearing perhaps that she was a persistent apparition rather than the real thing. After a moment of
awkwardness, he took a place on the step beside her.
Spike and Buffy sat together in silence on the back porch, face to face, but worlds apart. He stared at her, his eyes
marking every movement as though he tried to reconcile his memories of her with what was sitting right in front of
him.
Finally, Buffy said, “What the hell’s happened here?”
“You mean, since you d…,” he began, and stopped himself. He closed his eyes. “Since you left,” he said.
“I died. I did. And this is all very strange for me, because Willow brought me back,” Buffy said.
“She tried,” Spike interrupted. “Willow tried that. She failed. That was when she,” he licked his teeth, obviously
pained. “When things really started to fall apart.”
Buffy tried to do the mental back flips required to adjust the timeline that must have progressed without her in it.
It was too surreal for her brain to accomplish. She was much better with the physical back flips.
“But, okay,” she said, feeling her way carefully forward, “why wasn’t another Slayer called?”
Spike laughed bitterly. “Who’s to say there wasn’t? They don’t all pull up stakes and head to Sunnydale, pet. Plus,
you might remember Faith.”
“Faith,” Buffy said. “Of course.”
Buffy put her hands to her forehead. The night air felt sulfuric around her. She hadn’t remembered it being so hot in
Sunnydale.
“I want you to know, I kept my promise,” Spike said. And she was awash with déjà vu. These words he said had been
said before. Different time, different place but they were the same. Her heartbeat quickened.
“Stop,” she said. “I already know. I know this part, Spike. You’ve been caring for Dawn all this time?”
“Well, yeah. I promised, didn’t I?” he said.
“Yes, but how?” she said, getting up. Pacing. Had to move around. Catch her breath. Spike remained where he was,
aloof but ever-watchful.
“I sold damn near everything that would fetch a price to keep this house,” he said. “Your furniture, your clothes.
Weapons. In the end, it wasn’t enough and they foreclosed.”
Buffy looked down at him, too shocked to say anything.
He went on. “Dawn didn’t want to leave, so we had to make the place look abandoned. We wrecked the place and
moved downstairs. Made it seem haunted, cursed,” he smiled to himself. “Would’ve worked, too, if it hadn’t been
for you meddling kids.”
Buffy laughed in spite of herself. Spike grinned back at her, proud of himself at getting the reaction. However
short-lived it was.
Buffy sat back down in front of him, closer this time. “What about Giles? Why didn’t you call him for help?”
Spike mimicked a phone with his fingers. “Hello, Rupert. This is Spike… Hello? Hello? Well, you get the idea.”
Buffy shook her head. “No, but the others, then. Where are the others?”
Spike gave the imitation of a long, drawn-out sigh. He said, “Tara… was the first to go. Witches got her on counts
of treachery, heresy.” He looked past Buffy in his remembrance, his eyes taking on a haunted, sickened look. “It
was a bad scene, Buffy. Willow was already on her way down after your bloody Lazarus spell didn’t work. She…
burned herself out. Nothing left but a scraped out skull. Didn’t last the year. After that…”
“God. Willow,” Buffy said, swallowing down the bitter ache. She sat quietly for a moment, forehead bent to her
knees. In her mind, she saw an image of Willow, wearing her yellow sundress and pouring a glass of lemonade for
Kennedy. That was the end of the summer, on that perfect day when they’d played soccer in the garden.
“Xander and Anya, they came around for a while, too. But they moved to L. A. after TriadCorp set up shop on top of
the Hellmouth and we haven’t seen them in…”
Buffy lifted her head. “The what corp?”
Spike nodded gravely. “Military contractors. Some kind of experimental sciences division. They built a base,” he
said.
“A military base? Are they part of the Initiative?” Buffy asked, growing more alarmed.
“God, no,” he said. “They’re still in the ground where we left them.”
“But are the witches part of this TriadCorp? And are they the same witches who took Dawn’s eyes?”
Spike winced. “No. TriadCorp has nothing to do with the witches, far as I know. But they are the ones who blinded
Dawn.”
“And this was after…”
“After Tara, yes. But before we lost the house and everything in it. About a year ago, right after Dawn graduated,”
Spike said.
Buffy held up her hands. “Dawn graduated?”
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “I looked after her, Buffy. Just like I said I would. Kept her in school. Kept her safe. Until the
witches came. Thought you were one of ’em, too. Thought they’d found us. But it is you, isn’t it? You’re home
now…”
“But, the others, Spike,” Buffy said urgently. “I don’t understand, how are they not here?”
“This is what is, Buffy,” he told her, sounding impatient now. “This is what’s real. You. And me…” He reached to
touch her face. She recoiled sharply from his fingers.
“But, William…”
“William?” he said, eyeing her closely. “Name’s Spike, yeah?”
“Right,” she said. “Right. You don’t have your soul…”
Spike laughed darkly. “Throw that in my face, will you? No soul. Not like your precious Angel. Who didn’t turn up at
your funeral, by the way. No garland of ivy from the World’s Greatest Ponce. Oh, and where was he when your
darling precious sister lost her sight? Not bloody here.”
“Where were you?” Buffy countered.
“At the bottom of a mine shaft, since you asked,” he spat back. Before she could say anything, he continued.
“Yeah, I know. I failed her. Failed you,” he said, “But I am still here. I’m here. And now you’re here. So everything
will be fine. Again.”
Buffy shook her head. “No, Spike. I can’t… stay.”
Spike got quickly to his feet. “Don’t say that,” he snarled. His imploring gaze fell on her like the weight of a stone.
“Don't say it.”
“But I don’t belong here,” she explained, trying to sound reasonable, even while knowing how unreasonable she
sounded. “Don’t you see that? I don’t even know what happened, or how I got here, but I have a life and someone…”
She caught herself. That someone was him. Or part of him. Surreal World just got surreal-er.
Spike’s eyes flashed, glinting predatory. She knew Spike. He was dangerous. A killer. An evil, disgusting thing.
An evil disgusting thing that had managed to care for her sister when no one else remained?
Buffy looked up at him. His face, so heart-wrenchingly beautiful in its grief, stared down at her as though she
embodied the resolution to all of his searches. And yet, she could think only of her William and their child. She had to
get home. The Little Bit couldn’t be born in Sunnydale. No way in hell.
Buffy had to get home. Whatever it took.
William knew agony. Was once best friends with agony. Had it deep in his bones and deeper in his blood, but he had
survived.
He knew he’d had suffered greater losses. Buffy had died. Really died. Why did this feel so much worse?
It’s all relative, his brain answered. Pain, death, cost of living. All things relative.
Had he spoken to Dawn, they would have shared a similar realization. Both thought they should be too dumbstruck
with grief to even have the capacity to move about. William couldn’t understand why his body continued to walk
around, why his legs propelled him forward through the night’s weepy fog in the direction of Triumvirate, when his
heart had been removed from his chest and his mind had checked out to look in on the missing bloody heart.
He dimly recalled some psychology mumbo about the stages of grief. When a bod experienced a greater than
average kind of loss, it went first into shock and then other things happened. Rage, for instance. Denial.
Acceptance. Some such bloody rubbish. If he could choose, he’d go for rage. But shock had him by the short curlies
and sent him out to do its bidding like a puppet. A lackbrain marionette. A golem, just like he was made to be.
There was a lot of noise in his brain. A lot of non-congealed thoughts drifting around like ghosts. He felt untethered,
adrift, lost. His heart was gone. Yet he survived.
William turned up at Triumvirate in time for some high-to-do sit down dinner. There had been a maitre d’ posted at a
podium near the door, just like the one at the Equinox celebration he and Buffy crashed in September. This one was
a smallish fellow with a pair of black eyes like shiny beetles. He tried to bar William’s passage by getting in front of
him in the doorway. William bounded up the top step, dropped his shoulder and bowled the bloke right over. Took
about three seconds, and William was in.
William blitzed through the foyer, black duster billowing in the wake of his own crushing momentum. When he found
Nighna, would he be able to not slam her? Whether she was responsible or not, he needed to pound something and
she was a demon. Hitting her could result in a brawl, and that was just fine by him.
Most of the patrons, a motley mix of demons and humans, stopped to mark William as he stalked across the dance
floor. He scanned their faces, recognizing many, but saw no sign of Nighna. No sign of her, but he did see…
Lorne.
William drew up short. Lorne was there. Entertaining, having drinks, completely oblivious.
William’s anger crystallized around him. Suddenly things became quite clear.
“You!” he bellowed. William ran at Lorne, drawing his fist back. The green demon scarcely had time to set down his
drink before William left-hooked him across the table. Demons scattered, along with crystal goblets and silverware.
Lorne scuttled backward into a screen of potted palms. “Spike! What the…?”
William shoved the up-righted round table out of the way and hefted Lorne to his feet by his aubergine lapels.
“You said she would be fine,” William shouted into Lorne’s face. William brought his fist up again. He struck Lorne
squarely in the jaw. Lorne backpedaled gracelessly, toppling the plants, taking William with him. William rolled with
it. He sprung off the floor, leaving Lorne to scramble in spilled potting soil. He went to kick Lorne in the ribs, but
caught himself.
That’s right. Kick a dolly when he’s down. That was your way… Dru’s voice, like a cold ribbon of steel, uncoiled in his
brain. It was his way. Not now. Not anymore.
William’s palms went numb and cold. He clenched his fists and looked down at Lorne. He’d split the demon’s lip. Blood
dribbled down Lorne’s chin and onto his neon orange cravat.
William bent once more and hauled Lorne to his feet. “You said she’d be fine,” William said again, as a means of
apology. “You said it, but she’s not.”
Lorne dabbed his lip and cast a surreptitious glance at the demon spectators who had gathered – none of whom, he
noted – had even bothered to lend him a hand.
“She’s not?” Lorne asked.
“She’s gone,” William groaned. The word broke painfully in his throat.
Lorne leaned in. “Buffy’s gone?” he whispered.
William’s entire body seemed to tighten in on itself. The muscles in his jaws worked as he warred to keep control.
“That’s right,” he snarled.
Lorne looked uneasily at the crowd and laughed, lightly. “Aw, Spike. Of course I have your…” he cleared his throat,
“money. Such a card shark. Never play poker with this guy. Great White… ’s what they call him,” Lorne gripped
William’s elbow. He guided him swiftly away from the crowd. “Go on about your dinner. I’ll catch up.”
Lorne swept William outside, into the back alleyway behind the kitchen.
“She’s gone?” Lorne said once they were outside.
William put distance between them. He still needed to pound things. His fists found the brick wall of the adjoining
building. He battered them bloody, ripping his knuckles to shreds. The more he hit, the harder and longer he wanted
to go until the control he had clung to spun away from him in a torrent of blood and shouted curses.
Lorne watched helplessly for a moment, then took the risk of moving in.
“Spike,” he said, quietly.
William wheeled and collapsed against the wall. He wiped his face, leaving a streak of blood across the sharp ridge of
his cheekbone. He looked down at his bloodied fists, watched as the mangled flesh sealed over the bones he’d
managed to expose.
It didn’t hurt. Not really. Not compared to the howling hollowness of inside.
William raised only his eyes to Lorne’s. The demon felt a surge of pity for the man. They had just survived what
seemed an insurmountable battle. They were setting up for the happily-ever-afters, right down to the bundle of joy
on the way, and here he was, walking through fire again.
“Um. Spike. Where did she go?” Lorne asked.
William massaged a spot over his brow with the heel of his hand. “Thought you might know,” he said, sounding tired.
“Not you, really. Came to find Nighna.”
Lorne’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh. She’s gone, Big Guy. Went with Connor and the Gang into the Deeper Well.”
William’s head snapped up in surprise. “She did?”
“Yeah. Using her connection with Luxe to track Thellian,” Lorne said. He took a step closer. “Look, I don’t want to
add to the mountain of misery, but I feel I should tell ya, demons here probably shouldn’t know about Buffy’s
disappearance.”
Lorne let that sink in a bit before going on. When he was sure William was listening, he said, “There’s an unhealthy
dose of chaos in the mix, Spike. Vamps are gone, which means we’ve got some schemin’ demons. The Circle of The
Black Thorn is kaput. You already know the kind of power those guys threw around. Right now, all of it’s up for
grabs, and there’s a pack of power-hungry players on the board. When they start carving up this beast, things
might get plenty nasty for humankind. So if they find out the Slayer’s gone…”
William remembered that Rupert had mentioned a possible demon resurgence. That had just traded up to probable
demon resurgence. William’s brain was dialing back into focus. His list of priorities had just doubled: Find Buffy.
Stop Demon Resurgence.
Simple. Except, where to begin? William flexed his fists again. Lorne saw this and stepped back.
“Look, Spike, I’ll keep a weather eye for any news that might be useful, all right?” Lorne said, trying to soothe him.
“I didn’t see this when you sang for me. But I did see her, and she was happy as dandelion fluff. She was fine. Got my
word.”
William swallowed hard. “And the Little Bit?” he asked.
“And the Little Bit,” Lorne affirmed. “They were fine.”
This time William did lose a tear. It ran down his face, cutting across the red mark on his cheek. Lorne looked away,
trying to spare William from having to apologize or explain.
“That’s something, right?” William said gruffly. He pushed away from the wall and strode out to the street.
It was raining when William returned to The Flat. Inside it was quiet as tombs. He took off his coat, hung it on the
rack by the door and tromped heavily up the stairs to their bedroom.
The bed was unchanged. Empty. Just as he was, without her. Without them…
Where had she gone?
He knew he would have to tell Rupert what he learned from Lorne. He would also have to start patrolling, now that
there might be demons about. And then there was Dawn to consider, and the school…
He shoved his thoughts aside. They could wait, dammit. It could all wait.
William dropped into the chair beside the bed and let agony consume him whole.
Spike had gone down to check on Dawn, then returned to find Buffy where he left her one the back porch. He kept
his distance, fearing perhaps that she was a persistent apparition rather than the real thing. After a moment of
awkwardness, he took a place on the step beside her.
Spike and Buffy sat together in silence on the back porch, face to face, but worlds apart. He stared at her, his eyes
marking every movement as though he tried to reconcile his memories of her with what was sitting right in front of
him.
Finally, Buffy said, “What the hell’s happened here?”
“You mean, since you d…,” he began, and stopped himself. He closed his eyes. “Since you left,” he said.
“I died. I did. And this is all very strange for me, because Willow brought me back,” Buffy said.
“She tried,” Spike interrupted. “Willow tried that. She failed. That was when she,” he licked his teeth, obviously
pained. “When things really started to fall apart.”
Buffy tried to do the mental back flips required to adjust the timeline that must have progressed without her in it.
It was too surreal for her brain to accomplish. She was much better with the physical back flips.
“But, okay,” she said, feeling her way carefully forward, “why wasn’t another Slayer called?”
Spike laughed bitterly. “Who’s to say there wasn’t? They don’t all pull up stakes and head to Sunnydale, pet. Plus,
you might remember Faith.”
“Faith,” Buffy said. “Of course.”
Buffy put her hands to her forehead. The night air felt sulfuric around her. She hadn’t remembered it being so hot in
Sunnydale.
“I want you to know, I kept my promise,” Spike said. And she was awash with déjà vu. These words he said had been
said before. Different time, different place but they were the same. Her heartbeat quickened.
“Stop,” she said. “I already know. I know this part, Spike. You’ve been caring for Dawn all this time?”
“Well, yeah. I promised, didn’t I?” he said.
“Yes, but how?” she said, getting up. Pacing. Had to move around. Catch her breath. Spike remained where he was,
aloof but ever-watchful.
“I sold damn near everything that would fetch a price to keep this house,” he said. “Your furniture, your clothes.
Weapons. In the end, it wasn’t enough and they foreclosed.”
Buffy looked down at him, too shocked to say anything.
He went on. “Dawn didn’t want to leave, so we had to make the place look abandoned. We wrecked the place and
moved downstairs. Made it seem haunted, cursed,” he smiled to himself. “Would’ve worked, too, if it hadn’t been
for you meddling kids.”
Buffy laughed in spite of herself. Spike grinned back at her, proud of himself at getting the reaction. However
short-lived it was.
Buffy sat back down in front of him, closer this time. “What about Giles? Why didn’t you call him for help?”
Spike mimicked a phone with his fingers. “Hello, Rupert. This is Spike… Hello? Hello? Well, you get the idea.”
Buffy shook her head. “No, but the others, then. Where are the others?”
Spike gave the imitation of a long, drawn-out sigh. He said, “Tara… was the first to go. Witches got her on counts
of treachery, heresy.” He looked past Buffy in his remembrance, his eyes taking on a haunted, sickened look. “It
was a bad scene, Buffy. Willow was already on her way down after your bloody Lazarus spell didn’t work. She…
burned herself out. Nothing left but a scraped out skull. Didn’t last the year. After that…”
“God. Willow,” Buffy said, swallowing down the bitter ache. She sat quietly for a moment, forehead bent to her
knees. In her mind, she saw an image of Willow, wearing her yellow sundress and pouring a glass of lemonade for
Kennedy. That was the end of the summer, on that perfect day when they’d played soccer in the garden.
“Xander and Anya, they came around for a while, too. But they moved to L. A. after TriadCorp set up shop on top of
the Hellmouth and we haven’t seen them in…”
Buffy lifted her head. “The what corp?”
Spike nodded gravely. “Military contractors. Some kind of experimental sciences division. They built a base,” he
said.
“A military base? Are they part of the Initiative?” Buffy asked, growing more alarmed.
“God, no,” he said. “They’re still in the ground where we left them.”
“But are the witches part of this TriadCorp? And are they the same witches who took Dawn’s eyes?”
Spike winced. “No. TriadCorp has nothing to do with the witches, far as I know. But they are the ones who blinded
Dawn.”
“And this was after…”
“After Tara, yes. But before we lost the house and everything in it. About a year ago, right after Dawn graduated,”
Spike said.
Buffy held up her hands. “Dawn graduated?”
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “I looked after her, Buffy. Just like I said I would. Kept her in school. Kept her safe. Until the
witches came. Thought you were one of ’em, too. Thought they’d found us. But it is you, isn’t it? You’re home
now…”
“But, the others, Spike,” Buffy said urgently. “I don’t understand, how are they not here?”
“This is what is, Buffy,” he told her, sounding impatient now. “This is what’s real. You. And me…” He reached to
touch her face. She recoiled sharply from his fingers.
“But, William…”
“William?” he said, eyeing her closely. “Name’s Spike, yeah?”
“Right,” she said. “Right. You don’t have your soul…”
Spike laughed darkly. “Throw that in my face, will you? No soul. Not like your precious Angel. Who didn’t turn up at
your funeral, by the way. No garland of ivy from the World’s Greatest Ponce. Oh, and where was he when your
darling precious sister lost her sight? Not bloody here.”
“Where were you?” Buffy countered.
“At the bottom of a mine shaft, since you asked,” he spat back. Before she could say anything, he continued.
“Yeah, I know. I failed her. Failed you,” he said, “But I am still here. I’m here. And now you’re here. So everything
will be fine. Again.”
Buffy shook her head. “No, Spike. I can’t… stay.”
Spike got quickly to his feet. “Don’t say that,” he snarled. His imploring gaze fell on her like the weight of a stone.
“Don't say it.”
“But I don’t belong here,” she explained, trying to sound reasonable, even while knowing how unreasonable she
sounded. “Don’t you see that? I don’t even know what happened, or how I got here, but I have a life and someone…”
She caught herself. That someone was him. Or part of him. Surreal World just got surreal-er.
Spike’s eyes flashed, glinting predatory. She knew Spike. He was dangerous. A killer. An evil, disgusting thing.
An evil disgusting thing that had managed to care for her sister when no one else remained?
Buffy looked up at him. His face, so heart-wrenchingly beautiful in its grief, stared down at her as though she
embodied the resolution to all of his searches. And yet, she could think only of her William and their child. She had to
get home. The Little Bit couldn’t be born in Sunnydale. No way in hell.
Buffy had to get home. Whatever it took.
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.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends