by
Lisa Y. Drexel
[Chapter Nine] [Chapter Ten][Chapter Eleven]
~~~~~~
Life goes on...
~~~~~~
Exhausted and emotionally spent, Willow stared numbly out of Oz's van car window and studied the front of her apartment building.
Her and Angel's apartment building.
She could feel the sob just itching to break her fragile control. Goddess, she really wanted to cry.
Just cry.
For so many things...Angel, Buffy, herself...for the parents she never knew (if she even had any), the parents that never loved her like she was their own child, the mortal life she was really, really hoping to have and most of all, because right at this moment, her life just sucked.
The van stopped and she heard Oz quietly clear his throat beside her. "Willow, we're here."
She just nodded as she wiped her face and opened the van door.
Oblivious to everything around her, she walked up to her apartment door and started to open it.
~~~~
"How is she?" Vachon asked Spike as he watched the other vampire pour himself a glass of blood.
Spike looked up from his breakfast and met Vachon's eyes. "A lot better, mate. She revived about a half an hour ago, finished off the OJ and is now taking a long, hot bath," Spike said, grinning. After knocking down the first glass, he poured himself a second one. "Her moods have evened out, and she actually spoke two complete sentences to me before disappearing into the bathroom." Spike paused, closing his eyes as a small smile curled his lips. "Thank you," he added softly as he opened them to meet Vachon's eyes.
Vachon couldn't help but grin back at Spike. It had worked. Relief filled him and almost immediately, he felt the tension level in his body drop by nearly half. His nina was going to be just fine.
"Good," Vachon said. "So, did you talk to MacLeod or Richie before they left? What's the game plan?"
Snorting, Spike picked up a piece of paper that had been lying on the counter and walked over with it and his breakfast in hand. After sitting across from Vachon at the dinette table, he pushed the slip of paper across for Vachon to read.
"They left me a note," the blond vampire said. "I had a Do Not Disturb post-it note on the door," Spike added, smirking.
Vachon picked it up and quickly skimmed it. "So, what's the plan after they do all this?"
Spike shrugged, as he began staring at the table, running his finger around the base of his glass. "Wait, I guess. The funeral's in a couple of days. The wake, if Joyce and Buffy's father decide on one, will be tomorrow. We can't do anything until then, other than bunker down, mourn and prepare..."
"And the funeral? When's that going to be? Day or night?"
Spike leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. It depends on whether Joyce is speaking to me or not," Spike said softly as he lit a cigarette. "After this afternoon, I'm not sure..."
~~~~
"Why?" Xander asked in the otherwise silent car. "Why...I mean, I know why, but couldn't he have waited just a few days until he got pelvic with her?"
"Xander," Cordelia warned as she glared at her husband.
"No, Cordy, I'm not going to be silent. I don't understand. Why?"
"Because he had to," Joyce said softly, her voice wavering. "For Mike."
"What do you mean? For Mike?" He glanced back at her and frowned. "I don't want to upset you, Joyce. But it just seemed so inappropriate. "
Xander could hear Buffy's mother sigh impatiently as she turned in her seat and leaned against the door before she answered him. "Xander, I understand why you're upset. I probably would've been too, if I hadn't talked to Buffy about this link myself..."
"And?" he asked impatiently all the while inwardly punching himself for being such a prick. He couldn't help it. it hurt him to think that Spike couldn't even wait until after the funeral before sleeping with Mike. Did Buffy mean that little to him that the vampire could betray her in that way?
Sighing, he glanced back in the rearview mirror and saw Joyce wiping her eyes. "Do you remember how upset Spike had been before Mike arrived?"
Xander nodded slowly, remembering the fear he felt when he saw the emptiness in Spike's eyes. the desolation. and he shuddered. "Yeah, he was a real mess."
"A real mess," Cordelia added softly. "I was actually afraid of him, and it's been a long time since I worried about my blood staying put around Spike. His eyes, they were so bleak. lost."
"And after Mike showed up?" Joyce asked as she glanced over at the Immortal sitting next to her. He met her eyes and nodded.
"I get it!" Xander said, nearly shouting. "She calmed him. But they didn't need to. "
"Xander?" MacLeod asked, interrupting his rant.
"Yeah?"
"How much do you know about this bloodlink?"
He sighed, turning on his right hand light signal. "That Mike's blood changed Spike. Gave him his soul. That when they 'open' the link. they can read each other's thoughts and feelings. Is there more?"
MacLeod nodded slowly. "Unfortunately, yes. Do you know why I came down here with Richie?"
"I assumed it was because of Morden...wasn't it?"
The Immortal took a deep breath and began to speak. As Xander listened to what had happened to Mike in Seacouver. over a thousand miles away from Spike. he could feel his anger ebb away. Although he and Buffy had discussed the changes the blond vampire had gone through. his metamorphosis so-to-speak. Xander realized now that he never did give the link as much consideration as he should have. It was just so disturbing to know that Buffy, whom he thought should be the princess to someone's prince, was never going to have that absolute intimacy with Spike that the vampire had been accustomed to. It wasn't right. It was almost as if she settled for Spike after realizing that Angel was no longer available. Out of everyone that Xander knew, he believed that the slayer deserved to be loved and cherished above all else. And although it appeared to Xander that she had been loved when she was with Spike, to know now that she wasn't revered like he believed she should've been, grated on him more than he liked to admit.
"And she. Buffy. accepted this?" he heard himself ask. "She wanted this?"
Joyce let out a soft laugh and squeezed his shoulder. "Xander, Spike loved and still loves my daughter. wherever she is. He always will. Buffy knew that. Mike knows that. And Buffy never resented Mike's influence, because she knew that if it weren't for Mike, Buffy would've never let Spike into her heart to begin with."
MacLeod cleared his throat and met Xander's eyes through the rearview mirror's reflection. "When Mike and Spike first split and thought they had closed down the link, they found out that that wasn't quite true. They were still feeding off each other's emotions. even though she was halfway across the country. And when she took her first head, she and Vachon were in Toronto. thousands of miles away from Sunnydale. their link was blown wide open. They couldn't turn that off. And finally, you have to remember with vampires, especially Souled-Ones, sire-childe bonds are depended upon to work through strong emotions and physical pain. Once Mike and Spike opened the link last night, Mike has basically taken in all of Spike's pain in order for him to keep it together."
"So, she's like his tranquilizer," Cordy said softly.
"Okay, I can understand that. I even understood that last night. But what does that have to do. "
"Because Xander, no matter how much Spike loves my daughter, he loves Mike as well. And if she was as messed up as Mr. MacLeod said she was this morning, then Spike had to do whatever he could to help her. Buffy knew that and accepted his feelings for Mike. And she even wanted Mike to be there for Spike when she died. just as my daughter was there for him after Mike left!" Her eyes glared at him through the rearview mirror. "Can you just drop it?"
Xander's mouth snapped closed as he physically flinched at Joyce's painful entreaty. Damn, why do I have to be such an asshole? he asked himself as he pulled into the hospital parking lot.
He stared at the building, flashing on over a dozen times that he and Buffy had visited this same morgue during the last decade of slaying business. And in all that time, he never really believed that he would go here to help identify his best friend's body.
He always thought it would be the other way around.
~~~~
Willow was just slipping the key in the door when she felt it. Fear coiled in her gut as she stumbled backwards as her knees threatened to collapse: he was here.
Somewhere.
She could feel his lust and anger thrumming in her mind.
"Willow..." his chillingly cheerful voice called out.
She turned around, trying to pinpoint it, all the while waving Richie back towards the van. "Angel?" There was something else tickling her senses...almost as if it were another Immortal. Could it be? She asked herself. Or was it just her feeling Richie?
"Hello my little witch, looking so sad today..."
Something grabbed her hand, and she screamed before she realized it was her mentor. "Come on, Willow, back to the car. I feel an Immortal!" He said as he pulled her towards the van.
"Bye-bye my Little Tree..."
Richie pushed Willow inside and jumped in after her. The van was rolling before he could even close the door. "What the hell was that?" he yelled. "That was Angel, wasn't it? I recognized his voice!"
"Oh dear Lord, the bloody spell! How could we have been so stupid!" Giles groaned as he shook his head. "Can you tell if he's following us?"
Richie shook his head. "The only Immortal I feel is Willow."
"Willow?"
She shuddered uncontrollably as she felt Angelus' evil swirling in her mind. He was still close. "He may've ditched Morden, Richie. I still feel him."
"Oz, go directly to Spike's. And Amy, do you have your cellphone with you?"
Amy nodded as she pulled it out of her purse and tossed it over to the elder watcher. Giles quickly dialed Spike's phone number. "Hello...Spike? Giles here...is Mike awake yet? Good, can you have her move Buffy's car out of the garage and watch for us. We had a run-in with Angelus...no, Willow's fine....I agree...he is a pillock...unfortunately, the bloody pillock's following us too...yes, quite right....I know I forgot about it too...Good day." He closed the phone and handed it over the seat to Amy. "Oz, when we get to Spike's house, the garage door should be open. We can park in there." He reached for Willow's hand.
Willow looked up at her mentor and felt something inside of her break as a loud sob escaped her lips. She couldn't believe that she had forgotten about the daylight spell. Wasn't it just eight hours ago when she had been lying down on the cot in the living room listening to Spike slip outside to have a cigarette after the sun rose? Why did she totally space that out? "I forgot, Giles!"
As he tugged her over to him and held her to his chest, Willow cried into his jacket. taking comfort in the scent of the man who was more of her parent than the two people who attempted to raise her. "I know, Willow, I forgot too. He was counting on us to be too upset to remember."
"He wants to hurt me, Giles. I can feel it."
And she could feel it. It was like an insidious virus sweeping through her body. cloying at her self as it attempted to invade her soul with its blackness. Shuddering, she buried her head in his chest as she tried to get a hold of her rampant emotions.
"I just don't get it," Richie said softly as he squeezed her free hand. "I mean, why is he so determined to kill Willow? From what Spike said, drinking from Mike didn't change him that much."
Giles let out a harsh laugh as he patted Willow's head. "Spike downplays his change. for whatever reasons. The Spike that we met eight, nine years ago could have cared less whom he killed or why he did it. He was, at one time, considered one of the deadliest vampires to roam the Earth...leaving corpses and chaos behind him wherever he went." Giles took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "He tried wiping out humanity himself by putting together a demon whose sole purpose was to destroy man."
Willow felt herself being drawn into the conversation and sat up to wipe her face clean of tears. Something else to focus on. something other than Angelus and Angel. Inwardly flinching at even the thought of him, she took a deep breath and pushed the vampire who held her heart out of her mind. After she leaned back against the back of the seat, she turned to Richie, who was sitting on the other side of her. "Don't get Giles wrong. Spike has always been different from other vampires. he could always love. That in itself made him an anomaly among demons." She paused for a moment, and found herself smiling despite herself. Spike always was a contrary being. as a demon-vamp or as a Souled-One. "With Spike, it didn't occur to him until after the demon zapped one of his minions and was nearly sent to hell himself that Spike had a bit too much humanity in himself as well."
"Well yes, it was definitely short-sighted of him," Giles added. "Spike's change. his disgust of all things prophetic and mystical was most likely a result of being a victim of Angelus' unwanted attentions for all those months after Angel lost his soul."
"And being stuck in a wheelchair for five months," Amy added.
"And Dru leaving him," Oz said, adding his two-bits into the conversation.
"If he hadn't met Mike when he did, most likely he would've eventually gotten bored with St. Louis and the Souled-Ones and would've left. reverting back to his old ways."
"Spike's soul is what kept him from being the Spike we all feared. Nothing else," Willow added.
"So, to answer your question, yes. Angelus' fears are well founded. He knows he will be stymied just as Spike was if he allows himself to succumb to his bloodlust with Willow."
Willow watched as Richie groaned, rubbing his face tiredly. "I'm almost sorry I asked," he whispered.
She couldn't help but agree with him.
~~~~
"Mike?" Spike called out as his knuckles rapped on the door.
"Come on in, Spike." She called out as she sunk into the water, feeling oddly shy with Spike, even after their time together.
She watched as the door opened and he stuck his head in, grinning at her. "Giles called. He needs you to move Buffy's car out of the garage and keep the door open. They had a run-in with the prick. We forgot about the spell."
Mike felt a pang of regret, knowing that if she had been a little less emotional earlier, she would've remembered that little tidbit as well. "Is she okay?"
Spike walked into the room and kneeled down by the tub. His fingers reached over and caught a water drop as it began to roll down her face as he gave her a sad smile. "Yeah, physically. Emotionally, I don't know."
She leaned into his touch and sighed softly. "Thanks for what you did. It's funny, after all these years of going through this, I still don't know quite why it works. It's like being re-booted." She snorted, her eyes closing at the image of her as a computer. "I guess my operating system got overloaded."
Spike chuckled as he leaned over the edge of the tub and kissed her gently on the lips. "The analogies you come up with...mind boggling." He stood up and grabbed a towel. "Done with everything?" He asked, his eyes traveling lavishly over her body.
"If you mean, am I done cleaning up, yes? Anything else is up for discussion," she said as she stood up, her shyness forgotten under the need to get underneath Spike's skin.
He held out the towel and she backed into it, letting him wrap her wet body with his embrace. Once he fastened it, his arms tugged on her waist, pulling her back flush with his front. She could feel his smile as he nibbled on her neck, his lips sending little coils of need throughout her body.
After kissing her neck, he placed his chin on her shoulder. She could feel his chest rise once and the cool breeze of his breath touched her bare skin. If their link hadn't told him how aroused she suddenly was, she was sure he had just smelt it. "I'm an asshole, aren't I?"
Shaking her head, she pulled away from him enough to turn around. Once facing him, she kissed him soundly on the lips and grinned back at him. Yeah, but I love ya anyway, she whispered into his mind.
His smile disappeared as his dark eyes pierced hers and she felt the tendrils of his touch in her mind. And, no matter what. I'll always love you.
Somehow those words. said without the pain and angst of the night before or the intimacy of earlier that day. touched a part of her that had been hiding in wait since she had left him, six years before. It was almost as if, finally, everything fell into place with her life. She had been drifting aimlessly, hanging on to Vachon for fear that she would just disappear under the waves of need and want of what she couldn't have, if she let the Spaniard go.
Gods, it felt so good just be herself.
Smiling through her tears, she pulled out of his arms and left the bathroom, with Spike right behind her.
It was time to get back to living...something she almost forgot how to do.
~~~~
A time to be...
~~~~
"Well, we managed to get most everything done," Giles said as he looked up from his cup of tea and met the oldest Immortal's curious gaze. "Joyce called Hank, Buffy's father, and he's driving in from LA tonight. We're to meet him at the house in a couple of hours."
"How's he taking it?" Spike asked, sitting down next to the elder watcher.
Giles shrugged as his eyes shut. "A lot better than he would have if he hadn't found out about her calling," Giles said grimly as his mind flashed back to five years ago when the slayer's father had been abducted by a group of ambitious vampires who wanted to get back at the slayer. In that one weekend during his kidnapping, Hank Summers received not only a crash course in all things demonic, but had the singular pleasure of seeing his daughter, as well as her former and present vampire lovers in action as they rescued him. Never again did the slayer's father take his daughter's love for granted, knowing that she had such a finite amount of time to live.
As Joyce would say, it was nice to see that the man finally gained some sense, even if it was over five years too late.
"And everyone's houses? Are they protected?" Vachon asked, sipping at his ever-present glass of bloodwine. As Giles watched the red, thick liquid sloshing about in the glass, it suddenly occurred to him how uncomfortable the vampire had to be, surrounded by so many humans and yet unable to feed off any of them. No wonder he wants us gone, thought Giles as he nodded. "Every place except Angel and Willow's apartment. Angelus' impromptu visit prevented us from doing what was necessary there."
Spike shrugged and looked over at MacLeod. "She was going to stay here anyway. That was already decided."
"Until she can protect herself, she's better off with as many of us as possible," the Scottish Immortal added. "If Morden comes around, we can issue a challenge before he sets his eyes on her."
"So, what are we going to do?" Spike asked, leaning back against the chair. He shook out a cigarette and glanced back at both the closed sliding doors before slipping it between his lips. He turned to Vachon and nodded at the back kitchen door. "Can you switch the fan on, mate, so I can smoke?"
Smirking, the other vampire did so, and suddenly the low-level rumbling of the fan filled the air.
"I mean, how the hell are we going to get the prick where we need him?"
Giles took another sip of his lukewarm tea and shook his head. "I don't know, Spike." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I called Wesley, Faith's watcher, and they're flying in tomorrow so she can take up patrolling and whatnot. Maybe a fresh mind can come up with a plan. I can't seem to think past what happened last night to beof any use whatsoever," Giles admitted, feeling the weight of Buffy's death. Shaking his head as if to clear his mind, he looked over everyone's head and stared out the dark kitchen windows, seeing nothing as he thought about what he had just said. "But whatever we do, it'll have to wait until after the funeral. We all need this time...time to just be."
And for the next three days, that's what the Scooby Gang did...took time to just be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Time to just be...
The words Giles had softly spoken in the kitchen seemed to haunt Spike, until he finally managed to get some time by himself.
Mike, still drained by not only the link but also from lack of sleep, had fallen asleep in the living room in the middle of a heated discussion between the remaining houseguests on different ways to get Angelus where they needed him to be. No one but Spike even noticed it, until the Scot asked her direct question and got a soft snore in response.
Four pairs of eyes stared at her incredulously, while Spike chuckled softly, admiring her innocent beauty as she slept. just as he had been for the last five minutes.
Finally deciding that it was indeed time for her to go to bed, he snickered quietly as he lifted her limp body into his arms and disappeared into the bedroom. Once in the privacy of their own room. the same room that had been Buffy and his, and even before that, Mike and his. he slowly divested Mike of her clothing and slipped her underneath the mound of blankets that covered the bed. Leaning against the bedroom door, he stood there and watched the steady cadence of her breath and sighed to himself when he felt the all-to-familiar stab of sorrow filling his heart as the link hold on his emotions lessened. He had noticed the beginnings of it while he had been in the living room and as her sleep deepened, his emotions became more and more his own. leaving him to feel the harsh pain of Buffy's death that he had been spared since Mike's return in his life.
Time to just be...
Taking the watcher's words to heart, he left the bedroom and stepped out the backdoor and flew up into the air. not really knowing where he was going until he got there.
It wasn't until his feet touched the ground, did he realize where he had gone. Shady Oaks Cemetery. The place where he had kissed the slayer the first time. The place where he had finally allowed himself to show his feelings to this strange warrior-woman-child that had somehow stolen his heart in the past year and a half.
He sat down on the ground, leaning against the same headstone that he had six years before as he watched her pace frantically in front of him while she dealt with her own feelings towards him. Once comfortable, he lit a cigarette and found himself taken back in time as the memories of Buffy and his time together began to surface.
Although he had known, via Mike, that Buffy had loved him as well, he also had known that she had nearly as difficult a time accepting her feelings towards him as he had towards her.
What a quandary they had been in back then. How does one fall in love with one. s mortal enemy? Although they weren't on opposite sides anymore, there was just something about their relationship that always grated on one another's nerves. A kind of confrontational approach to one another. It was so different from the way he had shown Dru his love or even from the way he loved Mike.
When he had been in love with Dru, it was almost reminiscent of an incestuous love. There were so many different roles he played when he was with his Dark Princess: protector, lover, caretaker, father, brother. Sometimes he wondered what the hell he had really meant to her. Did she love him like he loved her? With Dru, he never knew. At least, he never knew for sure. For years...nearly a hundred years, he believed that she loved him. But then Angelus returned and with that, her love seemed to disappear as if it had meant nothing to her. Almost as if he were a rest stop or something of the sort, until her 'daddy' came home.
With Mike, their love was like a cool salve that healed all his wounds...a kind of acceptance that he had never experienced...even in his mortal life. She was a gentle breeze in his demon soul, and later on, his human one. She lit up all the dark spots in his mind and took him into herself...body and soul...washing them free of his past sins. She made him laugh; she taught him how to love, and with her in his life, he knew he would never be alone again.
With Buffy, it was a challenge...always a struggle to be better, to make him a better person...to make the relationship flourish. And yet he reveled in that challenge...feeling so alive when he basked in her love.
She was like a shooting star, Spike thought to himself, grimacing at how Nancy-boyish that sounded. She lit up his world...forced him to be a better vampire...and disappeared in a showery display of lights...leaving only the memory of her love.
Gods, he missed her. He missed her quirky sense of humor. Her deluge of quips. at hand at every crisis or event. He even missed the slayer part of her...the way she took charge...battled ferociously for what she believed in. He missed her half-smile that curled her lips when he did something that pleased her.
He missed her.
And, he decided, it was nice to feel that, for a change.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the past, Giles had always dreaded dealing with Hank Summers.
He was an arrogant ass who, until he found out about Buffy's calling, had allowed his daughter to slip out of his life, believing that a few, well-placed gifts would suffice in his stead.
And later on, once he learned of Buffy's fate, he became the type of parent of whom the council had warned its Watchers: overbearing, interfering and whiny.
Fortunately, that only lasted until Joyce gave him what she called, the 'what-how.'
But now, as Giles spied on the broken man who sat before him, all that anger and resentment that had been building for years just disappeared. The watcher finally realized the man truly loved his daughter but didn't know how to do so properly.
And why should he?
To love and accept a slayer, one had to accept all the qualities that came with her calling. The appearance of violence...the strong will. The take-charge attitude...all the things that Buffy had that made her such a successful and long-lived slayer.
And all the things that drove her parents to the brink when their daughter was growing up.
As Hank sat on the couch, his face cradled in his hands, Giles couldn't help but feel for the man. All those years wasted, because he hadn't known of her fate. While Hank was struggling with the guilt and anger of his 'juvenile-delinquent' daughter, she was, in reality, just saving the world.
How horrid that must be for a parent.
No wonder the council tried to remove the girls from their homes before they were called. No parent should have to suffer through this.
"There was nothing he could do?" Hank asked, still unable to speak Spike's name. Even after six years, Buffy's father had a hard time accepting Spike's role in Buffy's life. Hank had first seen Spike as a social-reject and a hoodlum who had somehow stolen his daughter's heart and repeatedly demanded that Buffy to leave the younger man. And of course, things didn't improve when Hand discovered that Spike was indeed a vampire...a two-hundred-year-old vampire...the very same being that Buffy had been destined to kill.
The entire relationship did not sit well with Hank. Although Joyce and Giles had managed to calm him down some, Hank's general distrust and distaste for Spike never faltered. The elder Summers just learned to silence his feelings around his daughter and the vampire.
"No, not a thing," Giles said. "Xander and Cordelia confirmed it. Everything happened within seconds of each other. Buffy's death, Angel losing his soul...Willow."
"The Tet offensive," Hank whispered, more to himself than to Giles.
"What, Hank?" Joyce asked.
Hank frowned and met Giles' curious gaze. "Did you know that I was in 'Nam? Only for about six months. Right before the Fall of Saigon. But I talked to some older soldiers, who were around during that time...and this just reminded me of the Tet Offensive. Attack your enemy when you least expect it...attack them on multiply fronts and take as many casualties as possible in the shortest amount of time."
Stunned at the other man's insightfulness, Giles could only nod in agreement. How astute, he thought to himself. I wonder what other surprises this man has hidden underneath his arrogance?
Finally, Giles cleared his throat and looked out the living room window into the darkness. "Well, yes...it was definitely a planned assault. And yet, there had been no signs that it was going to come to pass. A slayer's death. especially one as strong and as long-lived as your daughter. should've had a prophecy attached to it. Yet, there was nothing," Giles whispered, fighting that hopeless anger that suddenly filled him. He failed her...failed her calling and his...
A warm hand clutched his, tugging him out of his guilt. "Rupert, don't," Joyce said quietly. She dropped his hand and stood up. After walking over to the window, she sighed. her breath catching with obvious sorrow. "Hank, she lived this long...she was twenty-four years old. She saved the world so many times that it's almost redundant to even discuss it. This was her fate...the moment she was born. The moment she was conceived...that warm May night that we made love underneath the stars. There was nothing anyone could do. She even died once already. beat her fate to live another eight years."
"But Joyce, she was our daughter...our baby. "
She nodded to her ex-husband as she wiped an errant tear that trailed down her face. "That she was. But I do know that you can't blame anyone other than God himself for this. And even that seems a bit presumptuous. Spike did everything inhumanly possible...but he, like the rest of us, was helpless to stop it. That he managed, in his broken state-of-mind, to save Willow from a true death is a miracle. That he's here now, ready to bring Angel home, protect Willow and bring those bastards who did this to our daughter, to their knees, should be enough for you." She lifted her eyes and faced him. "It is for me," Joyce added softly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Where are you?" Oz asked, sitting down next to the blond witch.
Amy gave him a small smile and shrugged. "Just thinking," she said as she hugged her legs close to her chest.
"You know, it's not safe out here," Oz said as he extended his preternatural senses around the backyard. checking to see if they had any unwanted guests.
Amy rested her head on his shoulder and nodded slowly. "I know, that's why I did a perimeter-protection spell to warn me of any visitors. alive or undead."
Oz chuckled softly. "Always prepared."
She nodded again. "Most of the time," she said. "It's so quiet."
"It's late."
"No, not that kind of quiet. Quiet, energy-wise. Buffy was like a beacon on the Hellmouth. her life-energy filled the darkness. singing so loudly against the evil that sometimes all you ever heard, was her song. It's so quiet now." <# that. s beautiful!>
Oz felt that familiar catch in his chest and shuddered in response. Buffy had been such a godsend to him. She accepted the wolf. kept him as well as the rest of the population safe when he changed. She was supportive when he left in search of a way to control the wolf and welcomed him back home when he failed to find the answers he so desperately needed.
Months later, Amy and Willow found a spell that gave him the power to control the beast inside of him. And so after that, he finally let himself fall in love with Amy. another witch that stole his heart.
He never regretted it.
And now, years later, he had everything that he ever wanted or desired. Amy's love, his music...a place to call home and friends to fill his heart.
After all these years together, to lose one of those same friends, was almost as if he lost a limb. Years had passed since Ms. Calendar had died, and even then, he wasn't a real member of the Scooby Gang until his senior year, so her death didn't affect him like it had Willow, Xander, Buffy and Giles. Although logically he knew they weren't indestructible, he had begun to believe otherwise.
Buffy's death reminded him all over again, how fragile life was, even for the strongest of them.
"I miss her too," he said as scooted behind her and wrapped his arms around hers. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he closed his eyes and found himself replaying what had happened at the Bronze the night before. That sickening crack that rang through the club as Buffy's head hit the wall...it would haunt him till the day he died.
"I'm worried about Willow too," Amy said. "She's so out-of-sorts now."
"I know," he said, remembering the horror on her face when she realized that Buffy was dead and Angel had lost his soul. "She lost her best friends, babe. Her and Angel were inseparable. And since Willow had been fifteen, Buffy had been the driving force in her life. Almost every major decision she had made or action she had taken, had been for Buffy."
Amy chuckled ruefully. "Can't the same be said for Xander? And Giles?"
"Yeah, it can. And that's why we need to take care of them. Cordelia too. As much as she would deny it, Cordelia's been there since the beginning as well."
She nodded in agreement as she leaned her head back against his shoulder to stare up into the star-lit sky. After nearly five minutes of silence, she bit her bottom lip nervously and turned to him. "I want a baby. After last night, I realized that we need to continue. Buffy didn't get that chance. No child for her to give a part of herself to. I don't want to see us...everything that makes me me and makes you, you die at the end of some demon-vamps fangs. I don't want that. I need to pass on my gift."
Although Oz had similar thoughts, especially after hearing of Cordelia's pregnancy, he tried pushing it away...afraid of passing on the wolf. Afraid that Amy wouldn't want a child with him.
"With me?" he asked, trepidation filling his voice and body.
"Of course, silly. With you," she said, kissing him softly on the cheek. "Only with you."
"What about the wolf?"
She shrugged nonchalantly, obviously not bothered by the thought. "We'll deal. Just like your aunt and uncle did with your cousin Jordy. And the way your grandparents did with your uncle. And who knows, it might not get passed on this time around. It wasn't to you, your mother or your grandfather. You just got bit."
Oz found himself releasing his breath, not even realizing he had been holding it until he felt his body relax. She was right. Like always.
Like his Amy.
"Alright. Let's do it."
Grinning, she whipped around and settled down on his lap, with her legs around his waist and her arms clasped around his neck. After kissing him long and hard on his lips, Oz let his body drop and minutes later, they were making love underneath the stars in the protective circle of their backyard.
Moments like these were what life was about.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are you okay?" Cordelia asked as she laid her head on his bare chest.
Xander snorted humorlessly as his fingers lightly danced across her back. "As well as is to be expected," he whispered. "Happy about the baby.... sad about Buffy. Still angry at Spike. Furious at God. Lost...worried...nervous, anxious..."
Cordy chuckled softly even as her eyes filled with tears. How true, she thought to herself. He just listed every emotion that I'm feeling as well. "Me too," she whispered. "I remember when I found out about all the things that go bump in the night. I was so self-involved, that at first I was just shocked that something this evil had the audacity to interfere with my life."
"I remember the old Cordy...of the Cordettes. You were such a bitch," Xander said, laughing softly. "And yet, so brave. Every time I thought you were going to let us down...knew for sure that you were going to let us down...you surprised me. I fell in love with that bitch who knew herself like no one else. Who told the world what they needed to hear, whether or not they wanted to."
"Well, loser-boy, you weren't too much of a prize either!" she said haughtily. "But even then, your courage and determination to do what needed to be done tugged at my heart. Underneath those horrid clothes and dorky jokes was a young man who had more courage than most adults ever dreamt of. I was in love with you before I even realized it. Every time I went out with some jock or cool guy, I always found myself wondering if they would be able to defend me against vampires or demons, like you could."
She lifted her head and leaned up to kiss him chastely on the lips. "Before I even knew I needed a hero, you were mine," she whispered against his mouth.
"Thank you," he said softly before hiding his face in her hair. "I miss her," he said. "Do you hate me for that?"
Her eyes filled with tears as she shook her head no. "No Xander, of course not. I miss her too."
His chest began to shake as his quiet sobs filled the room. Cordelia held her husband, wishing that her love could heal the emptiness she heard in his voice.
The same emptiness she herself felt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
For Willow, the next three days passed in a flurry of activity, leaving the youngest Immortal in the household not only mentally and emotionally exhausted, but physically as well.
From the moment Oz had pulled his van into Spike's garage, she felt like she had been going non-stop and on automatic. Once they all stumbled inside, cursing her lover's alter-self and their own stupidity, the group set about packing up their things and putting Spike's house into some sort of order.
Much to Richie's delight, Willow had already taken fencing classes in college, following her innate interest in the sport. Although she had no idea how opportune those lessons would later on be, she found herself drawn to the beauty of the dance of sword-fighters after having spied on a practice session between Vachon and Mike four years before when Willow and Angel had gone to St. Louis to visit the Immortal.
After coming home, she made it a point to take a beginner's class and much to her delight, found that she had a natural aptitude for swinging the deadly blade. It wasn't until after that first practice session with Richie, that it occurred to ask if what had happened to her was normal.
Richie, who was wiping his sweat-soaked face with a hand towel, shrugged at her question, grinning impetuously. "Yeah, it's normal. I remember begging Mac to teach me fencing after I watched him fight a challenge. I didn't understand those feelings inside that I had...that need to do something...to hold a blade in my hand. It was just there. Mac grinned at me and told me to sign up for a class at the community college, where I could learn proper fencing."
After taking a big swig of cold water, Willow looked up at him. "Did you do it? Take the class?"
Richie frowned, shaking his head. "No, never had a chance. Life got in the way, and suddenly we were in Paris and the opportunity slipped by. And it wasn't too long after we got back to Seacouver, that it became a moot point."
"Why?"
His face darkened as he lifted his head to meet her interested gaze. "I died. Tessa, Mac's love of his long life and I were shot by a crack addict. She stayed dead and I didn't."
Willow felt her eyes tear up as she thought about the similarities of his First Death and hers. Richie and her both lost someone they loved on the last night of the mortal lives. Someone who was fated to die and stay dead, whereas they both were forced to continue in this crazy, preternatural existence.
"It's just not fair," she whispered to herself, not even realizing that she had spoken out loud until she felt her mentor's arm pull her into a comforting hug.
"No, it's not fair. It's life. You, out of nearly everyone, know this, if you really think about it, Willow. You've spent the last nine, ten years, risking your life to fight the kind of evil that I never imagined even existed until I met Spike. Takes a brave soul to do what you've done," he said as he rubbed her sweat-soaked head.
Her heart, which seemed only to be held together by the weakest of bonds, seemed to crack apart once again as a wave of pain crashed through her. Ever since she had revived in Spike's spare bedroom, she had forced most of that pain she felt down deep inside in order to remain strong...for Spike, for herself, and now it seemed, it was time for it to come out.
Richie seemed to expect this and said nothing as he gently lifted her small body into his arms and walked over to the sofa-bed where Vachon spent his sleeping hours, and sat down, with his legs extended.
Although Willow was only peripherally aware of Richie's movements, she let it go, reveling in the warm, almost parental comforting Richie's arms provided. It had been so long since her adopted parents ever showed this kind of love and concern for her, that she had nearly forgotten what it was like to be held like that.
Only Giles, and yes, later on Joyce, ever showed this kind of love towards her and she found she was sorely missing it. It's funny how you never realize what you're missing until you've got it again, she thought to herself as she burrowed her face in his dampened shirt.
Richie seemed to understand this need of hers, and it wasn't until later that she discovered why: he too was bereft of parental love most of his life until Mac and Tessa came into his life. The Immortal and the artist did for him, what Giles had done for her.
It appeared that Willow and her mentor, had more in common than she had ever believed before. Just another serendipitous moment in my life, she thought to herself as she drifted off to sleep. My life seems to be full of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
And there goes that plan...
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two nights before Buffy's funeral
Even as Angelus could feel himself doing it, he was powerless to stop it. A part of himself raged against it—mentally slamming his fists against his thoughts—anything to stop where they were taking him.
He was brooding.
Actually brooding.
God damn soul has tainted everything! he thought to himself as he began to pace the room he had been staying in for the past day.
How did this happen?
He was not the wimp that had possession of his body for so long as he, the demon, was forced to watch travesty that his soul bestowed on him. Using the demon—its strength and reputation—its characteristics—to fight the good fight.
It was sickening.
And yet, here he was doing exactly what his souled counterpart did for nearly a hundred years: brood in a dark dank room—ignoring the pleasures that being a vampire could give him.
This is what he feared the last time—that somehow his soul's goodness had tainted his demon. By forcing his demon to participate, however unintentionally, with all those sickening acts of goodness, that his demon had been corrupted by his soul.
And in retrospect, the last time he had been in control, his actions were far from beneficial in regards to living long, healthy unlife. Not even Angelus could deny that attempting to suck the world into Hell wasn't an intelligent thing to do. If he had only just killed the slayer bitch when he had the chance, none of this would've been an issue now. With the Buffy dead, everything else would've fallen into place.
One, Spike wouldn't have betrayed him..
Well, maybe not, Angelus silently admitted. He did torment his childe nearly as much as he did the slayer. By toying with Spike for as long and harsh as Angelus had that spring all those years ago, the elder vampire pretty much guaranteed Spike's defection. And after that, everything else that happened was happenstance. It was like a row of dominos—knock one down, and the rest soon followed.
If Dru hadn't deserted Spike in Oklahoma, then Spike wouldn't have gone searching for the nearest group of Souled-Ones, which was in St. Louis. And if Spike hadn't been in St. Louis during that time, he wouldn't have met Mike Evans—the blond Immortal that stole his childe's heart and loyalty. And if Spike hadn't met Mike, he wouldn't have drunk from her—discovering the magic elixir that was Immortal's blood—eventually changing his childe from a demon-vamp into a Souled One himself.
And Willow—most likely she would be dead by now.
Or would she be? Would Angelus have known what an Immortal was if he hadn't had to deal with Spike, Mike and the rest of those Immortals for the past six years?
Growling under his breath, he flopped down in the chair by the window and nearly laughed out loud at where his thoughts were taking him.
He was doing it again—brooding.
What was he going to do? If Morden's plan didn't work, Angelus was screwed. He knew, even if he never spoke of it out loud, that there was no way he could stay away from Willow. She either had to die, or he would die...
No more Angelus...just Angel with a soul, and all those wonderful little benefits that came with being a Souled-One.
Angelus could feel her, even now, miles away from her—her being tugging at his demon—the need and want to be with her—taste that delicious, endless supply of blood...What was it that his childe said? Something about the blood of an Immortal being so rich and so alive that Spike knew that after that first sip, that if he could drink from her for the rest of his unlife, he'd never hunt again.
And with Morden around, Angelus was tempted just to tackle the fucker down and drink from him—to find out for himself what the hell the big deal was.
But, if the vampire found himself bound to Morden until the end of time, he would just throw in the towel. One, the fucker didn't even belong in this time. What would happen to Angelus if Morden left? Or for that fact, what would happen to Morden? That's the only reason why Dru hadn't fed from her lover...in her madness she somehow understood the ramifications towards her that feeding from her Immortal would bring her. How she managed to not give in to that urge that was nearly driving Angelus into madness, he didn't know.
"But whatever it is, she should bottle it and sell it. She could make a mint," he muttered to himself as he felt his senses begin to stir. Seconds later, his bedroom door opened and in walked Drusilla, with Morden right behind her.
Giggling, she twirled around, her hands out wide as she stared up into the ceiling. "My Angel," she whispered, stopping to look over at him.
Angelus couldn't help but smile back at her. She was so beautiful—his creation. More than any childe he brought across, he made Drusilla what she was...forged her madness in the blood of her family and friends...
"Dru," he whispered as he stood up and walked over to her. After placing his hands on her shoulders, stilling her, he met her mesmerizing stare with his own. "You have any good news for me?"
Grinning slyly, she leaned over and pecked him daintily on the lips before turning around in his arms to face Morden. "My pet has found a spell...an Immortal spell...it will make all those awful Immortals speak to the stars—listening to the whispers inside of them...making them weak so we can play..."
Angelus' eyebrow arched as he met Morden's eyes, noting the smug smirk that was curling his lips. "Meaning?" Angelus asked.
"It's a Quickening spell...you do understand what a Quickening is, don't you?"
Angelus rolled his eyes impatiently. "It's like Immortal's souls—but with power."
"That's a simplification, but apt nonetheless. When an Immortal beheads another, he absorbs all the power that his opponent has. The memories, personalities—good or bad—are incorporated into the victor's Quickening," Morden explained as he gently pulled out of Dru's arms. He began walking around the room, studying the décor with little interest as he appeared to be gathering his thoughts. "Most Immortals have no problem assimilating these personalities into themselves. Usually their opponents have already suppressed whatever tendencies that were inside of him that were not their own, so the winner only has to tackle one Quickening. This spell fragments the Quickening—making all those personalities more viable—more real. It should pretty much drive a person mad. Easily. And fortunately for us, my sources have told me that Duncan MacLeod has come here to help everyone else out. MacLeod is the only living survivor of a Dark Quickening."
"Dark Quickening...it sounds familiar, but what is it?"
Dru suddenly turned on her heel and faced Angelus, laughing. "All that darkness inside of them—curls up and strikes! Like a snake and bites...snap...snap...snap...and takes over—bringing death and blood wherever he goes..."
"Really?" Angelus asked, finding himself grinning. "So, if we do this spell, we'll have four Immortals running around—crazy—with an evil MacLeod in the mix?"
"Two, maybe three Immortals crazy. Mike, Ryan and MacLeod have all taken heads, so their Quickenings are filled with other voices. Willow, on the other hand, will be impervious to the spell, because she's still clean—so to speak."
"What about Ryan? How many heads has he taken?"
"Not nearly as many as MacLeod—of course—because the kid is young. But he has defeated some older Immortals—which means he's got a pretty powerful Quickening for someone as young as he is."
"And Evans? What about her?"
"She's the unknown in the equation. She's been pretty busy the last six years, but she's mostly fought the younger crowd. She's only killed one Immortal that was worth anything...Mughal. He was over 600 years old and a headhunter. She also has that link to both of the vampires—Spike and the Spaniard—they may be able to help her keep it together. And finally, she may not be strong in the same sense as Ryan and MacLeod, but there's something different about her. Her ability to read Quickenings gives her an edge that most of us don't have."
Angelus nodded slowly. "Well, it's a start. And if we can get rid of some the do-gooders, we can get on with the plan."
"I agree."
"So, we can we get started?"
"By the time the funeral happens, everything will be in its place. I've finally managed to procure a few spellcasters to help us out and they should be here within a day or so."
"Good, I can't wait to see the fireworks."
"It'll be so pretty, my Angel," Dru whispered sensually.
"Yeah, it sure will, Dru."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The night of Buffy's funeral
Richie wasn't sure how long he had laid there in bed, before sleep finally claimed him. Although he wouldn't dare speak of it, he was more than a bit nervous about Willow. As strong as she was mentally and magically, she had very little physical strength to work with.
And after three days, his fears hadn't lessened.
If anything, they had only gotten worse.
How could someone so small and petite survive in the Game? he asked himself for the thousandth time. From where Richie stood, it seemed nearly impossible. No matter how quick or agile Willow was, it didn't give her the edge she needed to win a duel. The streetfighter in Richie was tempted to teach her how to win, no matter what the consequences. If he taught her to use whatever advantages she already possessed, Willow might have a chance to live through the next century. But if he didn't, Richie doubted if she would survive her first year outside the protective shield the Hellmouth provided.
A part of him wanted to believe that he was being a bit dramatic about the situation, but deep down inside, Richie knew different.
And so did Vachon. He caught the pained look on Vachon's face as the vampire watched the youngest Immortal struggle with her sword. Even if Willow spent eight hours a day just working on her upper-body strength, Richie doubted if it would do any good in the long run. There was only so much she could work with...if she didn't have the strong physique necessary to win, she wouldn't win—no matter how many prayers all them whispered.
So, Richie's choices were limited.
He could teach her how to win, or he could teach her how to fight.
If he did the latter, she would most likely meet her death in less than a decade. If he did former, Richie may just lose whatever respect he had managed to garner from Mac after nearly fifteen years of struggle.
Gods, Richie missed the Old Man. Methos would know what to do, how to do it, and would have no moral compunctions about Richie teaching Willow more unsavory methods to guarantee her survival. There would be no condemnations uttered underneath his breath—no pained silences achingly reminding the two of a time before when they were close. Just a type of acceptance—and maybe even pride—in knowing that Richie had done everything he could possibly to do to guarantee the survival of his student.
And Willow deserved to live.
She had a life—she was in love with someone whom she could live with for centuries—someone who was as immortal as she was. And the good that she could do...
When Richie thought of all her accomplishments in the just the few short years she had been mortal, it blew him away. This young woman had already been so entrenched in a battle for the good of all—that Richie innately knew that the Powers would shudder at the loss if she were to die.
The thought of letting this jewel die nearly tore at Richie's heart...he couldn't...and yet, what kind of person would he be helping to mould if he taught Willow how to cheat? Would she become the very same type of person that she had been battling against all these years? Would she lose that goodness that seemed so innate in her soul that you could see it with every act she performed, every time she took a head?
Groaning softly, he rolled over on his stomach and hugged his pillow. God, he hoped not. But what difference did it make if she was going to die in the next few years? Everything would be lost anyway.
Great. A moral quandary, he thought to himself, shuddering uncontrollably. He was so far over his head in this, Richie wondered why he hadn't drowned yet. This was a debate better made for Immortals ten times his age—not him, who had yet to celebrate his 32nd birthday. Granted, he had been Immortal for nearly thirteen years; had seen more than most Immortals well into their second century of life; and had taken far too many heads for such a young one—but still, Richie Ryan knew his limitations. He was a 32-year-old struggling young Immortal who had bit off more than he could chew.
Maybe Vachon could help, he thought to himself and then nearly snorted out loud at how outlandish that thought would have been if Richie hadn't been in the situation he was: asking a vampire to help teach an Immortal how to survive...
"One for the history books," he whispered to himself as he turned his head and stared out across the room, watching Mac sleep restlessly on his own bed.
Finally closing his eyes, Richie let out a huge yawn, feeling every bit of his age as the exhaustion of the past three days claimed him.
It was hard to believe that less than a week ago he had been sitting at Joe's with Mike and Vachon—arguing about whether Jim Morrison was a vampire or not, and just plain enjoying himself with his two friends. It had been three days since he and Mac had arrived in Sunnydale—and other than slipping off to sleep for a mere few hours every night, Richie had barely any downtime to call his own. Be it worrying or training Willow—arguing with Mac about the right way to train her—protecting the human members of the Sunnydale crowd—patrolling Sunnydale with either Spike or Vachon, Richie had been on the go constantly, and his exhaustion proved it.
And that wasn't even including the emotional stress that he, and everyone else, had been under for the past few days. Between worrying about Mike, Spike, Willow, Angelus, Morden and Dru, and finally mourning Buffy's passing, it was just too much.
Just too much , he silently repeated, flashing back to the events that occurred earlier that night...seeing the clump of dirt as it hit the slayer's coffin...hearing Spike's soft growl of denial...Mike's normally open face, closed off and strained...Willow's constrained sobs...Giles' silent shaking...
Just too much...
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Quickenings were strange things, Willow decided as she ran the sharp edge of the knife across the taut skin of her forearm. Hissing softly, she watched as a thin line of blood well up through the split skin only to be followed a minute later by flickering blue lightening—weaving in and out of the wound...healing it.
Noting the tingling that accompanied the lightning, she leaned over, grabbed her pen with her uninjured hand and began scribbling her observations down.
After nearly five minutes, she looked up from her notebook and saw that her wound had healed.
Amazing, she thought to herself. "Still human, and yet I heal better than a vampire," she said softly as she picked up the warm washcloth she had procured from Spike's bathroom not a half an hour earlier for just this, and wiped her arm clean of blood.
She did not need to wave any bleeding appendages about while staying in the same home that also housed two vampires.
It just wasn't a healthy thing to do.
"As if slicing your arm open would point to a happy, sane kinda person, Rosenberg," she muttered, dropping her pen and notebook and letting her body fall backwards until she hit the carpeted floor underneath her. Blinking her eyes, she stared up at the ceiling, noting with the same odd detachment she had been feeling since everyone had returned from Buffy's funeral, that Spike really should hire a maid—there were enough dustbunny's residing in the corners of the room to make her cringe—and Willow was not a neat person.
And with Mike here now, Spike's house could only get worse. The odd couple of the immortal sect were back together and that could only spell disaster for Spike's anal tendencies.
Grinning to herself, Willow found her thoughts slipping back to the past—when Mike and Spike were still together and had just moved into the very same house Willow was in now. Mike had been so excited—still reeling over the fact that the Immortal woman was in a steady enough relationship that the idea of buying a house together wasn't outrageous—much less being enough in love to make that kind of commitment.
Spike, of course, took it all in stride. He wasn't new to long-term relationships, having spent over a hundred years with Drusilla, and was intrigued at the prospect of actually buying a home as opposed to 'acquiring' one as he had done for most of his immortal life. Mike would only roll her eyes at the vampire after muttering something about 'blood money' and vampires.
How did Mike do it? Did it ever bother the Immortal woman that she was in love with a vampire that was once known as one of the most deadliest vampires to roam the earth? Did she ever stay up at night, pondering the roles of souls and demons in a vampire's being? Did she ever question her own goodness in light of her love of a vampire?
Willow knew she did. And she was in love with Angel's soul who just happened to be residing in a body animated by a demon known to all of the preternatural world as Angelus, childe of Darla...grandchilde of the Master...
A familiar pang twisted her heart as her eyes watered.
Goddess, she missed him. It had been three days since Angel had lost his soul again, and a part of Willow was ready to just give up.
She wasn't cut out for immortality with a capital I. Her body ached, her mind was constantly distracted by Angelus' ongoing presence in her soul...
And she was afraid.
Afraid that she would never be strong enough to wield a sword like Richie, Mac or Mike. That she would never be able to take care of herself—be independent enough to survive in this dangerous world that had been cruelly thrust upon her—and finally that by the quirks of fate, that she would end up living whatever life she had left alone...with no Angel to hold her and tell her that he loved her...no Angel to encourage her to fight...
Just alone.
Groaning to herself at the depressing turn of her thoughts, Willow forced herself to sit up and continue her research. This was something that she could control—her education. And, she had to admit, it intrigued her—this new existence of hers.
It was fascinating enough to Willow that it just may be impetus enough for her to fight to survive the next few weeks. As a magic practitioner as well as possessing a scientific mind, the existence of Quickenings appealed to both sides of her mind. It was like having a soul that was magnified tenfold—which in turn meant that its powers were that much stronger as well. Psychically and psychologically.
She picked up the notebook and turned the page, reading what she had written earlier...
"The only detectable thing that's changed since my First Death is the overt possession I have now of a Quickening. Amy says that she can see the Quickening in my aura—encircling my old aura with a blue-white sphere that was so bright it nearly blinded her. I then tested myself, and was surprised to find that spellcasting came a bit easier—as if the presence of the Quickening broke through the last of my magical barriers. Instead of having to reach that trance-state that I have spent the last seven years working at, this time it came easy—almost as if I were born a witch like Amy was, instead of having to work at it as I have done for all these years. Of course, I was just floating a pencil this time...who knows what will happen if I try something more difficult.
"I've also meditated a few times—searching inside of me for that change, much like the methods Buffy used to do when using all her slayer senses. I can see the Quickening in my mind's eye—pulsating with life—almost an entity in itself. Is this what it's like when you have a demon? Is this why I still have a connection to Angel even though his soul is gone? Could it be that my then latent Quickening linked itself to Angel's demon much like Mike's did with Spike's?
"That would make sense, in some weird, warped way. It would explain why I'm drawn to Angel/Angelus...why I can feel his presence—his emotions—even though my love, Angel, is gone. How this happened, I don't know. Maybe when I performed the restoration spell on him, the magics involved detected my Quickening and linked us...knowing that this link would bind him to me for lifetimes.
"Another thing I noticed when I meditated. In my altered state, I took a walk around the house in search of the other Immortals staying here. Unfortunately, I ran into Mac first and nearly ran back into the safety of my room. Not only could I see his aura—so intertwined with his Quickening that I couldn't discern the two—but the colors and emotions flying out from him almost overwhelmed me. Good, evil, happy, sad, distraught, content...all of them...with such an intensity, I couldn't help but wonder how he has survived all these years.
"But then I found Mike and Spike, sitting in the living room, watching DS9 reruns. They were laying lengthwise on the couch—he holding her in his arms—his hands clasped around her stomach—her head resting on his shoulder—their auras were nearly indistinguishable from each other—melding in and out of one another with each breathe Mike took. As I stood there, staring at the two, I tried separating them with my mind—and found it was nearly impossible. Both of them carried an incredible darkness—reminiscent of Angel's own aura—interspersed with a whole multitude of different colors and shades in a swirl of madness that I could only coin as the Quickening—with an equal amount of light that, like Mac, shone very brightly.
"I scurried out of the room in search of Richie...his aura had to be easier to read. He didn't have the years that the Scot did or the bond with another that Mike and Mac possessed, so maybe he would be the best test subject.
"I found him in the kitchen drinking a beer with Vachon, who was sipping his ever present glass of bloodwine.
"A side-note – Souled-Ones...
"Now, Souled-Ones—like Vachon and now Spike—they're different. Especially Souled-Ones that never were demon-vamps, such as Vachon. For over 500 years, Vachon has been a member of the Undead Club, but he always had his soul. Any 'evil' that Vachon has done since he was turned, rests on his soul, not the demon—as in the case of Spike and Angel. So, in turn, in some ways, Vachon's aura is much darker than Angel's or Spike's. Although before Vachon was brought across, he was a good man from what I gathered...he wasn't a killer or rapist. Just a soldier who followed orders.
"But comparing his aura to Spike's—I could see that although Vachon had some ways to go in order to cleanse his aura—it wasn't nearly as dark as Spike's. As a human, Spike was a killer, Vachon wasn't. But as a Souled-One, Spike lived a much more pious lifestyle than the Spaniard had. Spike, having been 'evil' so-to-speak, had yet to take a human life once he had changed from being a demon-vamp to a Souled-One. Vachon, on the other hand, couldn't say the same. In the big picture of things, I know that most of those lives that Vachon took once he was brought across were for survival purposes only—but there were times when he too, played with his food. Those instances were the black marks on his aura.
"End of side-note...
"I turned my attention to Richie and let out a huge sigh of relief; I had found what I was looking for.
"With Richie, I could discern his soul from his Quickening. They were separate, but connected. His soul for the most part reminded me of Xander's. He obviously made some bad choices in his human life, but for the most part lived a good, as in an non-evil-way, life. His Quickening carried that brightness that Amy saw in mine. Although it wasn't as thick as Amy described mine to be, it did surround him—like mine does with me. The next layer—still his Quickening, but not, was that same crazy mix of colors that I saw in Mike and Mac—not nearly as manic, but it was still there. Those must be representative of the Quickenings Richie has so far acquired since becoming Immortal. And then there was his soul-aura...
"Before either of them could say anything, I left the room and returned to my bedroom to find myself staring at myself in the mirror. My brightness was much wider—purer than Richie's—but, I still possessed a bit of those colors as well...could that be my link to Angel considering I haven't taken any heads?"
Closing the notebook, Willow stood up and began gathering her supplies for another meditation session. After lighting the incense and candles, drawing her circle with sand, she sat down in the middle and began.
She needed to understand, somehow knowing that this was the answer she was looking for...
~~~~~~~~~~~~
As Spike ran his fingers through Mike's hair, he looked up at the other vampire and sighed. "Just spit it out, mate. I can see you've got something on your mind."
Vachon sighed as he stared out the picture window into the darkness. "I'm worried about Willow. And so is Richie."
Ignoring the stab of panic that clenched his undead heart, Spike waited for Vachon to continue. "Go on."
The Spaniard sighed again—this time more loudly. "She's too weak—physically—to play by the rules. Richie knows it, MacLeod ignores it—and worst of all, Willow knows it as well."
"So, we break them," Spike said with a casualness that he didn’t feel. "Isn't that what Buffy did for all those years? Break the rules?"
"It's different for Immortals," Vachon said, turning around to face Spike. "They have all these stupid rules—this code of honor that they all abide by—"
"Bullshit!" Spike interrupted. "That first bloke that Mike faced—that shot me? What was his name, Mughal?"
"Yeah, Mughal. But he wasn't planning on challenging her that night when he shot you guys. He was going to use her as bait. It's a whole different story when they actually duel. One on one, no guns or extraneous weaponry...no Holy Ground...no interference..." Vachon's fangs dropped as his eyes flashed yellow. "They might as well be knights for all the supposed honor they carry. If Willow doesn't play by the rules, there's a possibility that she'll be hunted by other Immortals for doing just that.
"And yet, if she doesn't go that extra length, it doesn't make a damn bit of difference—'cause she'll be dead within a decade of her leaving Sunnydale."
Before Spike could comment, he felt Mike's body tense. His arm tightened around her as she lifted her head up from his chest, and stretched her body languidly against his. After yawning, she turned her head to look at Vachon. "Have you talked to either of them, Jav?"
He shook his head slowly.
"I think you need to talk to Richie first. If I know him, he's already got an alternative plan up his sleeve and is just thinking of a way of pulling it off underneath Mac's interested nose."
Snorted derisively, Vachon could only shake his head. "Honor is all well and good when you're over six feet tall and have the upper body strength of a mule." His eyes changed back to brown as a pained expression crossed his face. "I remember what it's like to be smaller than most of my opponents. I learned every dirty trick I could to make sure that I would survive. That's why I loved being a vampire for so long. As long as I stayed away from those older than I, I never had to worry about anyone being stronger than I was. My strength lay in the age of my sire and myself, and nothing else."
"I hear ya," Spike said softly, instantly flashing back to those first few days he spent as a newly turned fledgling. Although Angelus was always stronger than he, Spike still reveled in the power he could wield over all those same mortals that had terrorized him as a human. William may've been a murderer and thief, but there had always been someone who was bigger and stronger than him. He lived most of his adult mortal life fighting to stay alive—against those same men.
The memory of their blood still warmed his undead heart—even with a soul.
Spike wasn't sure how long it was going to take for him to feel the guilt that he should be feeling for taking their lives. Most likely, that regret wouldn't be felt for decades to come.
Shaking his head ruefully, Spike couldn't deny the guilt he felt for not feeling guilty over that and had to just shrug it off as one of those weird ironic moments of his life.
He felt the mental caress of Mike's as she tried soothing him, and he gently kissed her neck in response. Only she would try to comfort him for feeling bad over not feeling bad, he thought to himself as he observed Vachon nearly gliding across the room to one of chairs that sat next to the couch.
After Vachon poured himself another glass of bloodwine, the Spaniard leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "I hope you're right, Mike, because I like Willow. She deserves to live a full life—outside the Hellmouth's protection."
Yawning, Mike nodded her head and turned around in Spike's embrace. "He will take care of her. I'm sure, right now, he's channeling his own mental version of Methos—trying to figure out what the Old Man would do in Richie's shoes. Even if he has to risk Mac's disapproval, he'll do what's right for Willow. Richie got his own personal code of honor—a lot more palatable than Mac's is—that's why I thought he would be such a good teacher for Willow—which won't let him let her down," she finished with a whisper.
Spike glanced down and wasn't surprised to see her eyes closed once again. He could feel her exhaustion ringing in his mind and it was all he could do not flinch in guilt over it. It was his fault, and yet he couldn't help but resent her 'human' nature as well. He needed her to be awake...it kept him sane.
If he had it his way, she would stay up for the next 48-hours—hell, make it a week, he thought ruefully--anything to keep the pain away. But obviously it wasn't going to happen. No matter how hard Spike tried keeping Mike involved in the conversation, she kept falling back to sleep. Soon, the bond would be lessened and Spike would finally have to deal with the awful realities he witnessed earlier that evening—mainly Buffy's funeral and the get-together that followed.
"Spike? Are you alright?" Vachon asked, startling the other vampire.
"She's falling asleep again," Spike whispered, gently pushing her hair off her face. "The link's hold weakens when she's asleep."
"Ah."
"Yeah, ah." Groaning to himself, Spike slipped out from underneath her sleeping body and turned her over on her back. She didn't stir until he lifted her up from the couch and began carrying her across the room.
"Spike?" she whispered, half asleep.
"Time to go to bed, love," he whispered. "I'm going to tuck you in."
She nodded, her eyes still closed as she burrowed her face even further into his neck. Before he left the room, he turned around and met Vachon's humor-filled gaze. "I'll be right back, mate," Spike told the other vampire before turning back around and heading for their bedroom.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Looking back, Mac shouldn't have been surprised that it had been Kronos that first broke through the mental bindings he had placed around the Quickenings. He was, after all, the leader of the Four Horsemen...the Immortal that possessed more presence and mental fortitude than almost anyone else that MacLeod had encountered in his 400 years.
That, plus he had the help of his 'brother', Caspian, and with the aid of the link with Methos brought about with the Double Quickening, Silas as well.
The only one missing from the little party in MacLeod's head was the Old Man himself, which in itself was not necessarily a good thing. Mac could've used some of the ancient Immortal's dry wit and wisdom about right now.
But in its stead, Mac found himself basically alone, fighting against the various voices inside his mind. After Kronos, Caspian and Silas, came Kalas, Grayson and hordes of others that MacLeod had fought through out the years—even the ghostly whispers of Ariham haunted his mind...
Koltec urging him to finally kill Richie—like he was destined to...
Kronos taunting MacLeod with thoughts of death, murder and yes, even world domination...
Caspian's lustful entries...about Mike, Willow...hell, even Richie...
Every place he ran, they followed with half-spoken promises of pleasure and power...if only he would just give in and let them have a voice...if only MacLeod would listen.
The Scot had no idea how long he fought against them, time and time again, taking their heads, when he finally lost. All it took was a wrong step, and suddenly he was the one wounded and he was the one on his knees with the sword held above his head. He looked up—needing to know whom it was going to be—that finally bested him in his mind when they couldn't in life...
And he wasn't surprised...
Kronos' scarred face sneered down at him...
The sword swung...
And that was all Duncan MacLeod remembered before he disappeared into the mist that was his mind—that he was no longer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mike bit her bottom lip, stifling her third sigh in as many minutes, and closed her eyes—inwardly praying that sleep would come soon. She wasn't sure what it was that had woken her up—the soft murmuring of Spike's dreams or the quiet, but unsettled feel that seemed to blanket the house. Whatever it was, it was abrupt enough to rip Mike from a deep sleep into complete wakefulness.
And now, a half an hour later, she had yet to fall back to sleep.
Safely embraced in Spike's arms, she could hear the whispers of his dreams as they dribbled into her consciousness. Dozens of pictures of the blond slayer flashed through his mind into Mike's. In each one, her beautiful face was softened even more by his unconsciousness—a testament to the love he had for Buffy. Even in the one scene that broke his heart—her death—an almost ethereal light was encompassing the blond slayer as she sat propped up against the wall—her neck at an awkward angle...And then Mike would feel the sharp stab of his agony as it seared its way through his body into hers...Spike's silent screams at the gods for letting his lover die such a senseless way...
It took almost all of Mike's strength not to physically flinch at her mate's horror. Over and over again, Spike dreamt the same thing—his mind swirling in a whirlpool of madness—nearly dragging Mike down with him. And each time his mind would hit the replay button, Mike felt another bit of her self-respect dribble away.
How could anyone expect her to sleep in this house... Buffy's house, her mind silently supplied...in Buffy's bed—with Buffy's love of her short life?
It was impossible.
Mike couldn't help but feel like an interloper in her home...a house that she had bought... took two weeks to find just the right one, she thought to herself, feeling her mind begin babble. Remember how excited you were when you found it? The picture window—so impractical for the home of a vampire—called to you...remember how you pleaded, cajoled and finally ended up just plain begging Spike to trust you? 'We'll order those metal blinds,' you said. 'The same ones that we ordered for the apartment. It'll be perfect,' you added seconds before you felt Spike's heart give in as he growled out a 'yes.'
And six months later, Mike went to St. Louis—leaving the house, all the furniture that her and Spike spent another week choosing...most of her belongings that Mike had shipped from that storage bin in St. Louis that held not only her things, but her father's as well...
Left it all behind so he could start a life with Buffy...
And now, the slayer was dead.
And Mike was back—laying in her bed Buffy and Spike's bed! —remembering the harsh sound of the clump of dirt as it hit the coffin hours earlier haunting her thoughts with the finality of it all... no more Buffy...
—attempting to slip right back into the life the Immortal left six years before.
It wasn't right.
And even as Mike thought that, she intellectually understood why things had to be done the way they had. Spike needed Mike—for the stability that the link provided—so that Spike could keep it together long enough to help capture Angelus...make sure Willow was in good hands...hold everyone together...because, if he didn't, Spike himself would lose it...and quite possibly and unknowingly hurt everyone else he cared about in the process.
But does that mean you have to sleep with him? that annoying little voice inside of her piped up. Does that give you a right to be held in his arms—to have him make sweet passionate love to you...Does that give you a right to take what's mine?
Mike's eyes snapped open as her heart took off—fear sliding its way under her skin when she recognized the mental voice... Buffy?
Silence.
Never before had Mike felt such disquiet after a Quickening. But was it even a Quickening? The logical part of Mike wanted to scream out in denial for even comparing the two, and yet she couldn't seem to think of it—that essence of Buffy that had slammed into Mike in the bathroom of Joe's Place three nights before—killing her in the process—as anything else.
Richie swore he felt it, and even went as far as describing it as a mini-Quickening...
But then Vachon insisted that he felt, for those few precious seconds, a vampiric presence.
Mike's gut was telling her that it was both. That somehow because of the amount of blood sharing that had gone on between Buffy and Spike, Spike had managed to pass on a bit of his new essence to Buffy. The same essence that made Spike a Souled-One instead of a demon-vamp. And after six years, that bit of Quickening-vampire mixture became her own—imprinted with her consciousness...
That it became Buffy—just as the Quickening that Mike possessed was hers. That somehow, that bit of self of Spike's—which was, in reality, a mixture of Mike and Spike—that he had passed on had somehow become Buffy's.
And when Buffy had died, it returned home—to Mike. Why it didn't go back to Spike, Mike had no idea. It might've helped the vampire adjust better—if he could feel a bit of Buffy's essence inside of him.
But nope, that wasn't the case. As luck would have it, it came back to the mothership—where Buffy was going to haunt Mike until the end of time.
Shaking her head, she realized that wasn't correct either. Something's not right here, she thought to herself. It hadn't always been like this, she reminded herself, remembering how when it had first happened, Mike could feel Buffy's presence even more distinctly than at the present, and yet never felt the type of animosity that she was presently experiencing.
"Something's happened," the young Immortal whispered as she slid out from under Spike's arms and off the bed.
She needed to get out of here...away from him and Buffy's ghost...Away from the guilt and mind-numbing fear that she was going to lose him... can't lose Spike...my love...my heart...my soul...can't...can't...can't... and find herself again.
That decided, Mike pulled her nightgown on over her naked body, grabbed her robe and cigarettes, and quickly left the bedroom—heading to the one person who had held her hand for all those years that she had been alone...the one person who was an expert on helping Mike find herself...Vachon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Querida, what's wrong?" the dark-haired vampire asked as he affectionately tucked a lock of her hair behind an ear. "You're shivering," he observed, sitting up in bed as he noted her pale, drawn face. He flipped on the dim light—filling the room with a nice, warm glow—and nearly growled at how awful his nina looked in the light.
She was terrified.
What in the hell did that asshole do to her? he asked himself as he pulled the young Immortal into his arms. Mike buried her face in the crook of his neck, sobbing softly—her body shaking with fear and something else...
Taking a deep, unneeded breath, he extended his senses to Mike—using the link that had developed after six years of making love and feeding from the Immortal—and was almost instantly bombarded by a myriad of images—Buffy, Spike, Drusilla...ghost...a whispered threat...
And guilt...such guilt haunted his nina...guilt that she was alive while Buffy—a warrior—a champion of the Light had died... might be my fault...prophecy...my fault...
Stunned, Vachon pulled out of her thoughts and silently groaned. Only Mike, he thought to himself. Only she would blame herself for something that was so far beyond her control, it was outrageous to think otherwise... "Michelle, one doesn't control prophecy. You know that," he whispered against her hot, wet cheek. "It's the will of God or whomever calls the shots."
Sighing heavily, she shook her head no as her hands clutched his bare chest in desperation. "No, Vachon. Don't you see? She could still be alive—up there in his bed—if it weren't for me. I killed her and took her place—four nights ago she slept on the same bed as I am now...four nights ago, she made love to him—told him that she would always love him—four nights ago, Spike felt as if everything in his life—other than a little bit of missing me—had finally fallen into place," she paused for a moment, sat up and pulled out a cigarette. After lighting it, she turned around, clutching her legs close to her chest as she rocked her herself. Softly, she began to speak again: "He and Angel finally repaired their relationship—they didn't go back to being lovers or...or that sire-childe thing that they had going—but they did become friends...very good friends. Best friends," she added, blowing out a mouthful of smoke.
"And now it's gone. All of it. Because of me. And don't tell me I'm nuts, I've been there, with Wesley and Giles for two days searching for something to explain what happened." She snorted without humor.
"Mike, she was the slayer. Who's to say that she and Spike would have even gotten together if you hadn't come into the picture. Remember, you're the one that told him how he felt about her."
"But—"
"No," Vachon said, shaking his head. "I'm not letting you take the blame for this. You know, as well as I do, that she wouldn't have let herself be with him if he hadn't gotten his soul...and you are the reason he has a soul."
Shaking her head in denial, Mike shot up off the couch and began pacing in front the couch. "But she died because of this fucking prophecy! That's the only reason and I don't know how I'm going to tell Giles that. It's going to break everyone's heart. Willow had to die, so she could become Immortal. Angel had to lose his soul so he could become a Souled-One. I'll betcha it was Dru that came up with this plan to somehow snare Angel—and the Powers used that situation to make everything else happened that needed to happen."
"Even if that's so, nina, why are you taking the blame?" Vachon asked, schooling his face to keep it on Mike even as he felt Spike presence at the top of the stairs.
Mike clenched her jaw and stared off to the side. Vachon saw her body shake and once again felt a wave of fear fill the room. "Because I heard her—inside of me—accusing me of stealing her life."
Vachon began shaking his head even as his mind kept telling him that there was something more to this...something else in her mind...
"No, no, nina, no! You gotta quit this!" Growling, he pulled her stiff body into his arms and called out over his shoulder. "Spike! Get your butt down here!"
Just as he heard the steps creek with the other vampire's movements, everything went to hell.
to be continued...
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©2000 Lisa Y. Drexel