This fic started out with the idea of megan_peta and schehrezade sharing a challenge fic, and then blossomed into what we are about to embark upon. The challenge was from Death-Marked Love.

Challenge 42

Shortly after Buffy's death, Dawn becomes increasingly worried about Spike's mental health. After the vampire attempts suicide she decides it's time for action and casts a spell that will make Spike forget that he loved Buffy. Unfortunatley things go awry and Spike wakes up with no memories of Buffy at all. Then the Slayer comes back....



Disclaimer: we don't own 'em, just play with 'em.


Chapter one


Five nights.

Five nights since they had lowered Buffy into a narrow, heartless and eternal resting place, shadowed by a weeping willow.

Five nights that the Scoobies decisively prevented her grave being showered with vampiric dust on the emerging morning sun.

Five nights since the approaching dawn had stolen their sleep, and left them abruptly and confusingly on the alert for suicidal vampires with shockingly white hair.

Five grieving nights where they all wanted to surrender to the pain that led him to stretch his form along the surface of her grave, alone and welcoming his end.

And finally, five anxious nights where the escalating pressure of the Hellmouth and their own emotional pain threatened to take them all over.

This night Giles and Willow had been chosen, leaving them to reflect in the irony of the allusion to the destiny of their perished Slayer. It held them in determined ‘saving’ mode for the vampire she had almost entrusted into their care with her own acceptance of him as a white hat.

So, loaded down with the important things--stakes, crosses and Scooby devotion--they were off. The trek wasn’t exactly worn, but the flattening grass across the cemetery grounds was fast getting there. Reaching the gates of said resting place, Willow allowed her pace to slow, drawing Giles into a sedate walk to their destination.

“You know he can’t go on like this? Sooner or later he’s going to get by us, or decide on another way of getting to Buffy. I really don’t think Dawnie could face losing him, too. They seem really close now that B…Buffy is d…gone.” Minute lapses in breath caused a stumbling conversation to falter from Willow’s lips, and the almost mention of where Buffy now was brought tears to her eyes. “His grief is so raw, Giles. What are we gonna do? We need him to help us with the patrolling. I mean, even Xander volunteers for suicide watch, so he must value Spike just a little, too.”

Giles watched the redhead, his own throat clogged with emotion. Truth be told, sometimes he wished he could just give up-- like Spike had done-- and allow the world to fall into havoc. But he felt duty bound to his dead Slayer. And duty was what he found himself cursing every night that he ‘chose’ to beat this path and drag an almost completely broken Master vampire back to safety.

And life.

Only so far they hadn’t. They hadn’t managed to do anything but prevent Spike from exploding into tiny dust particles at the arrival of a brutal and unloving morning sun. He slept due to a magically induced peace long enough to rouse again once it was dark, and partook in dulling methods on his trek to the patch of ground that shielded Buffy from the world.

“I really am not sure,” he finally answered. “It isn’t like we actually believed Spike really loved Buffy. He’s a vampire. Such affection for a human is just not written about.” Even he saw the narrow-minded stupidity of his words as they tumbled freely into the cooling night air. They had all witnessed Spike’s possessive nature from the moment he threatened his way into their lives. Maybe that was why they had objected so strongly to the crush. Spike’s ability to lean toward genuine emotion and the lengths he would go to in order to protect those that he cared for-- and even more-so, loved-- threatened every longstanding belief Giles had been taught and passed onto the Slayer sidekicks. They knew Spike’s feeling could be genuine, but had not seen the bigger picture. Not known the positive that such an obsession could amount to.

Giles stopped alongside Willow and they watched. Watched an inebriated vampire, crippled with grief sob his very dead heart out and toss another empty bottle of jack to the ground. It was a completely miserable sight, and it astounded Giles that no demon had yet discovered their secret death and attempted to take Spike out while he was so beyond ability and desire to protect himself.

Giles shook his head. In some ways they could all be grateful to Spike for allowing himself to break. It gave the gang something to focus on, something to channel their own hot grief into so that the lot of them remained effectual.

“You might as well do the chant, Willow. Let’s get him home.” Watching the vampire drown himself in liquored courage-- as his least destructive route to dull the pain-- Giles salivated in commiseration. In his mind he spied his own lonely bottles at his flat, and he suddenly just wanted this night over so he could partake in a little misery drowning.

Eum depono reliquum (Put him down to rest)

Suddenly Spike’s tear clogged voice ceased noise and his body slumped over the grave top as if in gentle repose. Willow stepped forward and gathered the formerly discarded bottle of booze, placing it in the knapsack holding a bunch of stakes.

“I think one more of these bottles and I’ll have a full set. I’m gonna take up bottle playing!”

Giles looked at Willow, momentarily startled.

“You’re going to what?” he asked her while scratching the back of his head.

“You know!” She mimed holding a bottle and striking its side with something, but he felt he could do nothing but shake his head in complete incomprehension.

“Jeez, Giles. Like musical instruments. You fill them with different levels of water and hit them with something and play a tune. Easy to see you got nothing but a snobby education.”

He shot her a look of affront.

“I was just trying to make a little with the funnies. Get my mind off the gruesome…okay, babbling not cool.” She stomped her way over to Spike and hunched down next to his prone body. On impulse she took his cold hand in both hers. “We really need to help him, Giles. He can’t keep doing this.”

“There really is nothing we can do, Willow. It just takes time.”

He thought distractedly that the flash he just caught in her eye was fear, but before he could determine exactly why that should be, she had turned away and tried to use her slight frame to heft Spike up off the ground. Giles rushed forward and took up the slack, an unconscious vampire dangling like an oversized puppet between them.

“I don’t think he has much time.”

Her thoughtful statements were often just too much for Giles. Willow had become the thinker of the group-- the planner. She had overtaken him as the one who looked out for the troupe of friends family-- his own head often too muddied to care much about who was slipping and who managed to stay on their feet.

It had only been five days after all and none of them had probably chosen a healthy way to deal with the grief. They either pretended it didn’t exist, or sunk so far into continuous bottles of grog to make the cold front imposed for onlookers much easier to sustain. Unless you were Spike, who hadn’t come up from his drunken haze since he landed in the bubble of alcohol the morning after Buffy was discovered broken and gone.

“I think that the minute he moves towards sober, we’re done for. He’ll find another way to go and we won’t be able to do anything about it.”

In a pique of jealousy, Giles crumbled.

“So, why not just let him? If the bloody pillock is so weak, then let him just go. We can’t be doing this for the rest of our lives.” His voice was bitter, but inwardly he kicked himself for his own weakness-- for refusing to be stronger about what their needs were. He couldn’t deny that they needed Spike. Hell, if he had to travel down the road of truth, he would have to admit that he would feel a little sad if the blond idiot managed to end his own existence. And further in the background of his mind he could hear her, hear the disappointment in her voice at the unworthy demise of one of her cherished enemies. Well, cherished might be pushing it, but he was sure that near the end, Buffy was lightening toward Spike. She was recognising something in the vampire that Rupert himself had almost hoped for when Spike had first come to them after the chip. An opportunity that Spike verbally rejected when Giles had given him the money for help during his stint as demon. But an opportunity his actions had more and more supported.

So the real answer then, was no. They couldn’t let the vampire dust himself. It would break more than Dawn. It would be the loss of their only supernatural protection against demon threats on the Hellmouth. And-- dare he think it-- it could well be the loss of something prophetic on a scale much larger than Angel. It could be the loss of purpose.

His spine stiffened and Spike was hauled higher on one side, Willow struggling to hang on to Spike’s other side.

“You are right, Willow. I just don’t know what we can do.”

She nodded her head, somber and accepting of the long moments of quiet.

“Scooby meeting?”

He nodded, and with struggling pants they continued to haul their load to Revello Drive.




~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~



It was the stairs that proposed the largest hurdle. Through his t-shirt, his ribs protruded and Willow felt bile rise in her throat. For the first time in ages she cursed whatever reason he had for deciding to discard the wearing of his trademark coat. It would have hidden some of the sharpness of his bones from her, allowing her a little less nightmare with her sleep. She knew Spike hadn’t fed since Buffy’s swan dive through the doorway of dimensions, and now his frame was ugly in its gauntness. Despite his extreme weight-loss however, he was dead weight to drag up the stairs of the Summers home. And she wasn’t laughing. Oh no, skinny Spike was way too close to emaciated for her liking, and pun not intended, he was gonna dust from starvation alone if they didn’t do something soon.

Collective gasps-- repeated every night this routine continued-- had greeted them on arrival. Two steps up the stairs and Willow could feel the weakening of her knees.

“Xander? Could you take over? I don’t think I can get him up to Buffy’s room.”

Xander flinched but held his tongue, his feet taking him to Spike’s side without vitriolic comment.

“I see fangless isn’t getting any prettier,” he commented, the uncertain concern tripping off his tongue unawares, like a stalking shadow in the night. “And if he doesn’t bulk up soon, we’re gonna have to book him into one of those power clinics for anorexics.”

The almost mild jibing settled amongst them with ease, all having to face the uncomfortable reality of a ‘savage, evil monster’ killing himself slowly because of his inability to let go of a love that was never shared. Even Xander was sympathetic and, at times, almost frighteningly worried.

The two Scooby men finally bared their burden to Buffy’s bed and, in direct contrast to their previous attitude to the vampire, they lowered him gently before chaining his legs to the bed. They had made a mistake earlier with handcuffs, finding that Spike would resort to knawing at his own wrists to get away, but he wasn’t so proficient with his ankles.

Xander looked at the body on the bed and marvelled that for the first time since knowing Spike, the vampire looked like a corpse. Blue veins were stark against his white flesh, even the shade of his hair blending alarmingly with the sickly and pasty pallor of Spike’s face.

“After the thrashing Glory gave him, who would have ever thought it would be our own little Buffy who’d destroy Captain Peroxide like this?”

They shared a teary moment of commiseration unawares, memories of Buffy fighting the formidable foe flashing through both their minds before eyes once again fell to the man broken by a mortal death. Sense had skipped the border and was hooning down the highway of ludicrous. Xander shook his head at the vampire he didn’t want to understand and made his way out the door and back to the living room. Giles made to follow, then hesitated. His eyes rested on a stake-- one of Buffy’s stakes left behind on the dresser, and he crossed to it and lifted it in his hands. His steps slowly moved him to the side of the bed and his eyes locked onto the chest of the black t-shirt. No dwelling on the face, no seeing the tears as his own flowed down his cheeks, no acknowledging anything other than this was a vampire that lay atop Buffy’s bed, completely worthless to them.

He never raised his fist clutching the stake. In numb fingers he let it fall and thump to the floor before swiping sadly at his wet face and apologising to the vampire.

“Sorry, Spike. I guess I’m no stronger than you are. If I were, maybe I could help you find the end you are looking for. But I’m selfish. If I have to hurt, then I want you to as well. All that loved her has to stay here alongside me and hurt. It’s the only way I can get through.”

Lowering his eyes, Giles moved away from the bed, leaving the stake on the carpet, and belatedly followed Xander. Wrapped up in his own guilt and pain, he didn’t notice Dawn sneak from her room behind him and perch herself at the top of the stairs, preparing for another night of eavesdropping.

On his arrival the genial chatter of inconsequence ceased and the group of friends switched to Scooby meeting mode.



~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~



Through his sleep he knew what they did. Every night they came to collect him, more prepared since that first night when he fought against them until he collapsed on the grass with blood pouring from his ears and nose and the pain made his head throb. He almost wished they hadn’t come up with a magically induced coma to restrain him; the agony of physical pain went a long way to dulling the ache in his chest. Miles further than the alcohol did, and a lot bloody less expensive. What he didn’t know or get, was why they were pulling the great Samaritan act. He was nothing to them, only tolerated perhaps for his strength and potential babysitting abilities.

But knowing didn’t change much. It wasn’t enough to have him alter his nightly routine. He’d thought about it; find somewhere else to wait for a dusty morning, but the monumental joke of it all was that he wanted to be near her and he didn’t know where else to go.

So, every night he stumbled upon her grave in a drunken stupor and talked. Unburdened his heart-- begged her forgiveness for allowing her to die. Screaming at God to play fair and take him instead of her; he was willing to trade. And let’s face it: he was a good trade. Take a filthy ex-murderer off the streets and make him pay in eternal damnation. Give a good girl a chance at life.

But most nights, his broken sobs weren’t enough to distract him from the knowledge that she was probably better off where she was. He had no doubts that she was in Heaven. Where else did a soldier of light retire? He had no clue, and he wasn’t stupid, so that was what he believed. And he knew that if that was where she was, she didn’t deserve to return to this life, to fight and hurt for another indeterminate number of years.

So, he clawed into the earth above, and cried oceans of tears into the grass. And thought that eventually, they would stop coming to get him. But tonight hadn’t been the night. Though he couldn’t rouse himself, he knew that he was back in her room, the scent of her overwhelming his heart. It was bittersweet; the number of times he had been in this room without her knowledge, sucking in the air that she surrounded herself with as she slept. And now he was sprawled out on her bed, the magical numbness of his mind slowly drifting toward the horror of sleep, and the lessening of his pain. He fought against it, not wanting that dimming of his disgrace.

But as he was preoccupied with fighting sleep and the onset of dreams, he slipped and entered that realm. She came to him some nights, offering something, he didn’t often know what. She confused him, more now she was dead and unable to touch him than when she was alive and allusive and contradictory as hell.

Tonight she appeared as if it was that final night. The tears welled as he prepared himself to weather the storm of her disappointment. But it wasn’t that. She stood on her stairwell, inviting him once again over her threshold. He stood at the bottom of those stairs, maybe a metre and a half below her and rested awestruck eyes on her beauty, on her trust.

“I know you’ll never love me,” he’d told her, like a complete wallowing wanker, but he’d known it down deep. Hadn’t she scoffed and fought against that very possibility like the thought was way too disgusting to contemplate? But she had made him feel like a man and he had to tell her that, tell her how important her effect on him to be different had been to him before he surrendered his life in her fight.

This time she repeated her original acceptance of the statement with quiet interest. Instead of turning though-- heading away from him in search of weapons-- she graced him with the light of her smile. His very being burned as her elemental goodness washed over him, granting a benediction no god could ever bestow. Descending a couple of steps, she paused before him and rested her palm against his cheek. His eyes drank her in, greedy and needy and heartbroken for the reality of her.

“Buffy?”

He was overcome with her and collapsed in her arms, soaking the front of her top with his savage grief as he grasped her with strong arms intent on never letting her go.

“Never say never, William,” she whispered against his cheek as she bestowed a small kiss to his lips. This one clung to his lips, much like the one after his Glory torture. But this time he knew it was her.

She stood and moved away from him, her hand hovering just apart from his chest before she shared a sad smile with him.

“Soon, Spike. Wait for me?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Of course, pet. I’ll wait for you forever, you know I will.”

But she was gone, and he searched frantically for any sign or scent of where she disappeared to. But again he was too late, and he had no clue yet again, cast adrift. But sweet, blessed darkness claimed him and he dreamed of nothing more.



~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~



Dawn sat still and forgotten at the top of the staircase, ears primed for any information gathering that the Scoobies still felt she shouldn’t be involved in. She almost growled her frustration at the recounting of Spike’s recovery tonight-- the repetitive nature of his descent into nothingness.

She could understand their concern-- they didn’t want her to know how low he had sunk, how desperate they all felt for him. As their conversation turned round and round with no options or suggestions on how to save the errant vampire, she allowed her tears of helplessness and grief fall from her eyes.

Rubbing distractedly at the wetness of her face, she resigned herself to the knowledge that it was all up to her. She was the closest to him, the one that shared his pain almost equally. But also the one that craved his strength back because she felt she was on the edge of something hollow and disturbing herself. She needed someone who wouldn’t be quiet with her, who would share his space and not keep things from her over concern for her age or pain. She needed Spike back, and so far the Scoobies were failing at saving him.

It was up to her.

With determination adding strength to her heart-sore body, she took quietly to her feet and went to her room. What was needed was a plan.



~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~




“Oh, Spike. Your gaunt, too tight skin does not make you look sexy. Can I help you?”

That perky, too familiar voice encouraged him in his sleep fuzzy confusion to open his eyes. His dream had receded too short a time ago and he thought for a blindingly happy moment that it was her, his love come back to taunt him with her callous rejections and disgust.

But that plastic, ‘too happy to see him’ smile tipped him off and he suddenly backed as far away from the bot as it was possible with his legs shackled to one end of the bed.

“No. Don’t need anything from you. Get the fuck out of here.” His voice was rising with hysteria, feeling penned and cornered by a pack of rabid dogs rather than an organic bot that only looked like the girl he would love forever. But with the devoted lustiness he had her programmed with she wanted to touch him, and the thought of having those non-real Buffy hands on his papering skin brought instant nausea to his throat.

“But Spike! I can make you feel all better. Willow said that I was here to help. I think she meant for me to kill vampires, but I’d rather be helping you. And it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you naked.” Her shining lips remained moist and sparkly, and her bouncy hair bounced as she bobbed her head enthusiastically in the wake of his mounting dread. He began to tremble violently, not only disliking where this was going but feeling terrified like he never had in all his existence as a vampire.

She stepped forward and started to unbutton her top, letting it fall from her shoulders as she kicked off her shoes.

“Let me ravish you, Spike. That will fix everything, and you’ll forget all about the other Buffy.”

The top was slipping down her slim arms, the revelation of her skin causing muted choking noises to squash past the huge lump of emotion in his throat. His eyes burned, his hands twitched, and the second before he pounced he started screaming and thrashing like a wild animal.

“Shut up, shut up,” he spat in between pulling on clumps of hair, of kicking violently at her face, clawing at her midriff.

“Fuck off… get out of my face, you bitch!”

The voluble frenzy and screeching brought a rush of feet up the stairs in witness of Spike’s loss of control. They were too late to reassert order, too late to save the bot from being thrashed and smashed and discarded as useless in a torn pile of synthetic skin and electronics. Only once she stopped gasping and moving did the vampire collapse to his knees, the sobs and vampiric growls uncontrollable.

One glance from Giles and Willow muttered the increasingly familiar words to fully calm the vampire and he was once again placed carefully on the wrinkled covers of the bed. As an added precaution, Willow retrieved the handcuffs and restrained him fully.

They all stood around him as he writhed-- his game face prominent even in his sleep-- none finding the ability to push past the shock of destruction that littered Buffy’s once tidy room. Guilt lay on the edge of all their thoughts, and it wasn’t until Giles cleared his throat of emotion that any of them felt they could force their feet to move.

The group moved almost silently toward the living room, alarm keeping them quiet at first, before Tara took courage and began to stutter what they had all been thinking.

“I-I g-g-guess we w-weren’t careful enough to keep the Buffy Bot away from S-Spike.”

Four sets of eyes met hers and shone with remorse.

“As sad as this occurrence has been,” Giles paused, polishing frantically at his glass lenses while he thought and tried desperately to beat down his rising apprehension, “the Buffy Bot was our only line of defense. Spike really is in no fit state to help with patrolling, so it has become beyond urgent that we find some solutions to these problems. I propose that we reconvene at the Magic Box in the morning and try to ferret out some solutions.”

A round of exhausted nods was his answer and finally the various Scoobies who weren’t already home filtered through the front door and made their way to their own homes. That part of the night to be alone-- left to remember and dwell on those that were missing-- had finally arrived. Sadness was a condition that they had all fell under, and with the self-absorption of each, there was no one left to bring back the levity needed to get through a comfortable night. A comfy bed and pillow held little actual comfort, and for some, the offer was refused before the chance of utterance.

Willow followed Tara upstairs, switching off lights in the downstairs as she went, and the tears she had kept at bay throughout the stress of the night were finally allowed to be released. Even her silent plans and hopes, causing spells and chants to circle and swirl around in her mind, were not enough to cordon off the swell of melancholy the absence of Buffy caused.

As she moved around the room, dressing and brushing her teeth for bed, Willow closed herself off to the other activity in the room. This was the time of night where she allowed herself to close down, allowed herself to blend with the pain that crushed the whole house, the Hellmouth. It was her time of night to grieve, to let go and be inspired by the depths shown by Spike.

Her head was braced against the pillow, her neck tense against the appearance of Tara by her side. Tears shone in her girlfriend’s eyes as Willow closed herself off emotionally for the day and succumbed to the reality of their Slayerless world. A world that no longer even had the security of the Bot or a Vampire do-gooder in control of his senses. Short moments of doom seemed to settle around the room, and Willow sucked in sharp breaths of air.

And then she closed her eyes and imagined spells that would make everything be good again.



~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~



As usual, Dawn had been forgotten. Only the curl of fear causing nausea in her stomach tempered her irritation. They hadn’t noticed, but her door had been open, she’d done the eavesdrop thing and she’d heard. She knew what he had done. The inhuman wails as he destroyed the bot had caused her to leap head first under her pillow for some possibility of blocking the sound. She thought he was dead, had found some other way to make the pain stop forever.

But no. It had been that stupid Bot.

Dawn had heard the graceful pile of junk ascend the stairs, and she felt just as guilty as Giles and the others. It hadn’t occurred to her either to make sure it stayed away from Spike.

What a mess! And now she was cleaning it up. They had all walked out, their stupidity in allowing the bot too close was compounded by the pieces of the dismantled heap of computer chips and rubbery flesh that they left to litter the room.

She’d located one of those extra strong black garbage bags under the kitchen sink, making sure to be quiet and not alarm Willow and Tara now sleeping in her mother’s old room, and made her way back to clean up every piece of the bot she could find. Nothing would be right if Spike woke to find bits of the bot everywhere he tried to tread.

Those moments he woke up-- before he remembered the night before and his new mission in unlife-- well, they belonged to Dawn, and she was hardly going to let those moments be stolen from her over crappy pieces of robot that wasn’t even real.

After finishing in the room, she quickly kissed Spike on the forehead and headed out to dispose of the garbage bag in the trash. With a short, worried look over her shoulder, she took her first step to the footpath that would lead her away from the house and probably into danger. But the sky was beginning to lighten, and she had a stake tucked into her waistband. No girl in Sunnydale should be without her trusty stake. Or even her trusty sisterly Slayer, if she could help it.

The footpath blurred, but Dawn struck on, determined to make her destination in one piece and retrieve the one thing that would fix everything. Well, maybe not everything.

Actually, not much.

Just one thing.

Just Spike.

He was the one thing she could help right now. All the other stuff, the safety of the Hellmouth, she’d leave the solving of that problem to the Scoobies. And hey! If she managed to do this thing right with Spike, she might actually have inadvertently solved the Scooby designated problem, too. He’d be able to help out again.

Buffy would be so proud.

The thought brought her to choked halt. A hand over her mouth stopped her loud sob from reaching extra-sensitive ears and she closed her eyes, squeezed out the remaining tears, and wiped her eyes clear. Her feet struck a steady beat on the path as she pushed herself on.

There. Just up ahead she could see the gate to her destination. Almost falling through in relief, Dawn followed the path through the little courtyard to the place that was Giles’s ‘flat’. With a key she had lifted from Buffy’s old key-ring, she pushed it through the lock as slowly and silently as possible. Pushing the door open, loud snorts and humphs greeted her with the knowledge that her stealth was more than unnecessary.

As she moved cautiously around the sofa to his bookshelves, the toe of her shoe dislodged a bottle of something. Bending, Dawn picked it up before the little remaining contents leaked out over the pristine carpet. The label gave her no real clue what it was, but the smell of alcohol put any confusion to rest. Another tendril of cold misery crept in to strangle her heart.

Almost taken over with a sudden need to leave, Dawn looked rapidly through the names of magic books, picked one and hightailed it back to the door. With one more look back at the man Buffy had considered their real father and his surrender to alcoholic bliss, she opened it and almost ran back home, hanging doggedly to her new possession.

This book would be what fixed everything.

A/N...we crave feedback, so if you took the time to read this, think about sending us a review...its only another couple of minutes

A Massive thank you to Bloodshedbaby, Holly and Megan for sifting through my mistakes and making the chappie all shiney and purty for me!!

Italics - thoughts

Chapter 2 by Schez

It was mid morning and the Scoobies were gathered together in the Magic Box to discuss the shredded Bot situation.

Giles flipped the sign over signalling that the shop was closed; blatantly ignoring the glare that Anya gave him. "It's only for an hour or so," he muttered defensively as he rejoined the others at the research table.

"We have to address the problem of Spike destroying the Bot. Until now we have managed to cover Buffy's d...Buffy not being here with that infernal machine. But now that it's a pile of scrap metal, the demons are going to know that the Hellmouth lacks a Slayer’s protection." Giles sighed wearily. "We need to find a solution- and rather urgently - otherwise it will be chaos out there." He gestured with his glasses to the shop front, then laid them down in front of him in a distracted manner.


"Spike really needs to learn some control," Anya huffed. "I mean, really. What are we going to do now? We need a Slayer! Xander is not built for being pounded every night...well except...Mmphh!" Anya glared over the top of Xander's hand that was now pressed firmly against her mouth and rolled her eyes at him, before finally nodding in acquiescence and sat back quietly.

"Yes, we do need a slayer, Anya." Giles chose to ignore the rest of her comments. "However, we are at an impasse here."

"What about Faith?" Tara hesitantly offered. Her contact with the dark Slayer had been limited to the one occasion that she had swapped bodies with Buffy. She had heard from Willow that Faith had voluntarily turned herself into the LAPD and was serving her sentence, which sounded hopeful. The gentle Wiccan followed the White way and felt that all who tried to redeem themselves were allowed a second chance. "Could the council possibly..."

"No way!" Xander exclaimed as his hand shot to his throat. Shuddering in fear, he could feel her long fingers digging into his windpipe as she straddled him. If it hadn't been for Angel's timely intervention with a baseball bat then, he could have easily been another victim of Faith's.

Willow frowned, trying to suppress the feelings of inadequacy that were evoked at the sound of Faith's name. She knew it was a hangover of her timid teenage years in high school. She had always felt threatened by the dark haired slayer because of her closeness with Buffy and their shared slayer heritage. Something she could never fully understand or be able to share with her best friend. In the deepest, darkest recesses of her soul, Willow had rejoiced at Faith's fall from grace. But now it was time to be mature about things, they needed help and fast.

She looked over at Giles. "Could the Council spring her?"

"I imagine they could, but what assurances would we have that Faith would help and not turn to evil?" Giles slipped his glasses back on and gazed worriedly at Willow. He had always felt he had failed Faith and the idea of her coming back to Sunnydale was not something he relished, but the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.

"Another Slayer? Hmm…Oh! I know! I know!" Anya held her hand up and bounced
in her seat excitedly, her enthusiasm immediately pushing any further thoughts of Faith out of the other's minds.

She turned to Xander and whapped him across the back of the head "and stop thinking about sex with other women, Alexander Harris! Especially ones that try to kill you after sleeping with you …” Anya had managed to get the full story of Xander’s de-virginizing at the hands—well, body-- of Faith from Buffy and Willow one night in the Bronze. She had been curious about Xander’s sexual experiences before her, and it read like a Hammer House of Horrors guest list. Willow had made a flip remark about Xander and Faith and of course Anya had been hooked. She had grilled Buffy until she spilled, and Willow had sat there pouting, realising that her attempt to throw a spanner in the works had failed.

"Hey! No hitting of the Xan-man! and Ahn, soooo not thinking of sexage with the homicidal Slayer, trust me!"

"Good. Now shush, I have a brilliant idea!" Anya's eyes glittered with delight.

"Oh, out with it, Anya, please!" Giles grumbled.


"We need a Slayer, right? Well, think outside the box, guys!" Anya exclaimed excitedly.

"What box, hon?" Xander frowned in confusion. Tara smiled fondly at Xander, her face lighting up with a genuine warmth that calmed whoever witnessed it.

Anya rose and began to pace. "Willow, you recall when we first met, right? You tried to help me get my necklace back?" Anya looked over expectantly at Willow.

"What has this got to do with anything, Anya?" Giles asked irritably.

"Honest to goodness, you people have no memories! Willow, do you remember your vampiric version?" Anya folded her arms and tapped one foot impatiently waiting for Willow to catch on to her idea.

The redhead's forehead was creased as she remembered all the events of those days and then she sat up with a start. She gripped Tara's arm hard in her excitement. "Do you still have the spell?" she yelped.

"What are you talking about?" Giles asked as he ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

"It could work, couldn't it?" Anya asked excitedly.

Willow nodded.

"I still have the spell. It's in the safe, in the office.”

"We'd need something personal of hers," Willow thought out loud.

"Honey, what are you two talking about?" Tara asked gently.

"What? Oh...Well, my vampire self," Willow explained as she mentally ran over what she could remember of the spell.

It had been her first contact with one of the darker aspects of magic - not as dark as the other ritual she was researching. Willow's eyes filled with guilt at the thought of what she had begun to research. It was bordering on the darkest magicks she had ever used. Which was why she had never said anything to anyone, particularly Giles or Tara. Not until it was all ready to go, and since she had no idea how long it would take, Anya's idea would be an excellent stopgap until she was ready.

"What about your vampire self?" Xander interrupted her thoughts, drawing Willow back to the conversation.

"We can bring that Buffy through, Xander. She can be the one to protect the Hellmouth!" Anya explained.

"There's another Buffy?" Xander's faced filled with the conflicting emotions of hope and sorrow.

"Of course! There are probably several in different dimensions, silly!" Anya rolled her eyes impatiently at her secret fiancée.

"Mr Giles, what do you think?" Tara looked over at the silent Watcher.

"I think that it is an appalling idea. What about the people in that dimension? They need a Slayer.” Before he could continue Anya interrupted him with a wave of her hand.

“Pish to that, Rupert. Just before you smashed my necklace - which, by the way, I am still mad about-- the Master snapped her neck. We can just pull her out a few seconds before she dies.” Anya nodded decisively. As far as she was concerned, they needed Buffy and this was as good an idea as any they were likely to come up with. She silently thanked the gods that despite her amulet being destroyed Hallie still considered her a friend and dropped in for a chatter every now and then. It had been her fellow Vengeance demon who had filled her in on all the events that lead up to the sorry reason for her becoming mortal. As Hallie had begun telling the tale, slowly the lost memories had returned and Anya remembered everything. It was invaluable information, which would probably save their lives now.

“She died?” Tara interjected sadly. “Like ours?”

“Hallie mentioned it in passing. Yes, the other Buffy died,” Anya answered softly, realising that her mentioning the passing of the other Buffy had reminded the other Scoobies of their loss. She knew that hearing about another Buffy dying was not good, but she was a practical girl. They needed a Slayer – and if it meant yanking one out of another dimension, then so be it. In a way, they’d be saving her as well.

“Hey, if this is such a powerful spell, why don’t we just bring our Buffster back?” Xander looked over at Willow and Giles hopefully.

There was a moment of silence while they all considered the possibility.

Eventually Willow sighed and broke the silence. “It’s a good idea, Xander. But from what I remember the spell is worded in a way where only something from another dimension can be brought over…”

Giles nodded in agreement. “Yes, I imagine it to be so. I will need to review the spell, Anya.”

“Sure, I’ll get it now.” Anya disappeared into the office and almost immediately reappeared, a crumpled sheet of paper clutched in her hand. Handing it over to Giles, she glanced over at the closed door.

“Can we open the shop up now?” she smiled brightly.

“Thank you,” he muttered as he read through the incantation. Willow and Tara came over and read it over his shoulder.

“In a moment, Anya. We need to discuss the Spike situation.” Giles rubbed his forehead tiredly and handed the sheet of paper over to the two wiccans for them to study.

Memories of standing over the grieving Master vampire with a stake in his hands still chilled him. “Something needs to be done to break him from this destructive cycle he’s in.”

“I know, Giles. Buffy wouldn’t like it if we lost Spike.” Anya glanced over at the door to the shop and checked there were no hordes waiting to give her their money. “If he does succeed in dusting himself, I would miss him. We need to do something – anything.”

Willow took Tara's hand and began to speak.

"Yes, we do need to do something about Spike. It's getting worse - we can't keep guard over him 24-7. I...I...think he will eventually succeed in dusting himself...and well, we can’t let that happen. I don’t think Dawnie would survive another loss.” She took a deep breath and stared evenly at Xander. “I don’t think any of us could cope with losing another one of us.” She waited for Xander rant number one on the evils of Spike and how he wasn’t a member of the gang.

But she was surprised – pleasantly surprised- when. Xander nodded and gave her a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, Wills, he is one of us – okay, the evil black sheep of the family, but he is ours and Dawnie would never forgive us if we let the Big not-so Bad Vamp go poof!”

“Thanks, Xan – that’s really good of you.” Willow’s eyes filled with tears. They had all grown up in the last six miserable days since Buffy had leapt from the tower. Even the most narrow minded of them had accepted that Spike loved Buffy and Dawn. “I never thought you would accept him or that he could…” she choked and began to cry.

Tara ran her hand over Willow’s hair soothing her. “That he could love Buffy and Dawnie,” she finished for her distraught lover as she frowned at the wording of Anya’s spell.

“Man, I always said vamps couldn’t feel love, but after seeing Spike these last few days I…I…just don’t know anymore…” Xander looked down at his hands, feeling off for sympathising with a vampire – but Spike’s real grief had jolted him out of his knee jerk reaction that all demons equalled evil and unfeeling creatures. He recalled his words from the previous night and shook his head. Spike was dying because of Buffy, but instead of going out in battle with her, he was wasting away from a broken heart. A much harsher and more destructive way to die. Which, they had to somehow stop

“Aurelian Vampires are notorious for their ability to love,” Anya supplied. She shrank back at the looks directed at her. “What? Everyone knows this! Well - everyone in the demon community – it’s almost like they retain some essence of their humanity. Darla was obsessed with Angelus – she even left The Master’s court and followed Angelus after a century of following her Sire! Their relationship lasted for over a century and a half – well, until he sunk his fangs into the wrong gypsy girl, that is. And even then the level of her hatred showed the world her love for her Childe.”

She paused for a moment tapping her finger to her lip, “though I have to say, Angelus was an odd duck – he was more in love with torture and the suffering of his victims.” Her face brightened, “but look at Spike and Dru – he adored her and well, she adored her daddy…”

“And broke Spike’s heart and as a result, my head,” Xander interrupted.

“Hey, bottle in the face gal here!” Willow interjected.

“Indeed,” Giles added. “However, this still doesn’t address the issue of Spike slowly destroying himself – we need to find a solution fast. Willow can’t keep knocking him out with a spell…”

“Is there any way we could appeal to Angel?” Willow asked hopefully. “I mean, he’s Spike’s grandsire and might know what we could do?”

Xander shook his head. “Naa, Wills. Angel hates him even more than I used to.”

The remaining Scoobies sighed in unison as they pondered what to do with the grieving Master Vampire currently chained to the bed of his lost love and the one Slayer he had never managed to best.

*********

Later that day…

Willow slipped quietly into Buffy’s room. The redheaded witch had left the others at the Magic Box and had come back to retrieve something personal of Buffy’s for her to use in the spell to call the other incarnation of her lost friend over to their dimension. They had managed to re-word the incantation to allow for them to pull the other Buffy through before she died at the hands of the Master.

Willow had volunteered to head over to Revello Drive and then meet the others at Spike’s abandoned lair in the burnt out factory. They had chosen to do the summoning spell there. It was out of the way and in the last place that the other Buffy had been before she had died, and they all felt a familiar environment was necessary.

She paused at the side of the bed and watched Spike as he slept. His drawn face was pulled into a mask of misery; the dark shadows under his lashes were a stark contrast to his pallor. Willow could see a faint network of blue veins under his skin, something she had noticed last night when they had dragged him up the stairs, ‘he’s really starving himself…’

His cheekbones were razor sharp under the parchment thin skin, throwing his sunken cheeks into sharp relief. She spared a quick glance to his wrists, which still bore the marks of his fangs where he had tried to free himself. They weren’t healing- another sign that he was starved.

“Oh, Spike. What are you doing to yourself? You know Buffy would hate you for doing this.” Willow sank down onto the mattress and rested her hand on Spike’s head, stroking his dishevelled curls and marvelled at the love that the peroxide vampire had for her fallen friend.

The anguish that was pouring off him was almost palpable to the Wiccan. Willow reached down and gently wiped the tears that ran constantly down the recumbent vampire’s face. Soothing him with her gentle touch, Spike turned his face into her hand and sighed. For a brief moment the tears stopped, until Willow pulled away and they restarted as Spike whimpered at the loss of her touch.

“Don’t worry, Spike. We’ll fix it. I’ll get her back, I swear…just don’t tell, okay?”

Willow bit her lips anxiously, this was the closest she had come to sharing her idea of resurrecting Buffy, and she wasn't even sure how conscious the vampire was to hear her almost admission. Not even Tara knew what she was planning. The grieving Wiccan figured Anya’s idea would be a sufficient distraction for the other’s until she had the ritual ready to go – then she would tell them all. Well, not Giles, but she knew that she could get the others to help her.

Spike’s mind recoiled from Willow’s promise – he knew she was only trying to cheer him up by offering such an insincere promise, his Slayer was worm food – gone, never to been seen again. He mentally railed at her for offering false platitudes, but part of him shuddered at what she may be considering. ‘Leave her be, let her rest in peace. Red, luv, whatever you’re thinking, don’t… please, for the love of all that’s holy, please let her just be making nice for the sad git chained to the bed.’

“Just better be safe – can’t have you saying anything to the others.” Willow crumbled some Lethe’s Bramble over Spike’s supine form and whispered a chant of forgetfulness.

Nodding to herself, she turned and grabbed Buffy’s hairbrush and carefully extracted some fine long blonde hairs, tucking them into a baggie that she had extracted from her purse.

“Sleep, Spike.” Willow brushed her lips over Spike’s cool forehead and left the room quietly.

Spike’s hands clenched around the handcuffs, which bound him to the metal headboard and then relaxed as Willow’s magical suggestion of sleep washed over him, letting him descend into the blissful oblivion of slumber once more.

*******

Dawn peeked out of her bedroom door and watched as Willow ran down the stairs and out the front door. She had been frantically reading through the spell book she had stolen from Giles and had finally found a spell to save Spike. She just needed to talk to Spike once more before she cast the spell, as she knew once it was done, she and Spike would never be able to grieve together again.

Determination filled her and she looked down at the book that she grasped in her sweating hands. Even though it meant losing their talks and the comfort she got from them – she knew it was the only way to save Spike. She had lost her mom and Buffy and there was no way she was gonna lose Spike, too. The youngest surviving Summers knew deep in her heart that Spike would eventually kill himself, and then she would really be alone.

Putting the precious tome down on her dresser, Dawn crossed the hall and into Buffy’s room. She liked to come in here – it was all she had left of her sister. Kicking off her shoes, Dawn lay on the bed and wrapped her thin arms around Spike and dozed off.

Spike shifted as the scent of Buffy got stronger in his nostrils, fighting against the magic that kept pulling him into sleep He forced his eyes open and a sad smile softened the harsh lines of his face when he saw his Nibblet curled next to him with her face tucked against his shoulder.

“Lil’bit, wot you doing?” he whispered. His voice was hoarse from drink and his screaming at the bot as he shredded her organic form.

Dawn yawned and stretched. She sat up and loosened the chains and cuffs that held her protector immobile. “Sorry, just was a bit tired after last night…are you okay?”

Spike stood slowly, still feeling the effects of the spell trying to pull him under. He shook it off, determined to not let this time with Dawn go to waste. He stretched and cracked his neck, feeling the heavy cloud surrounding his brain beginning to lift. He eyed his only friend and raised his scarred brow. “Okay?” he snorted and stormed out of the room. He could still hear dream Buffy’s words echoing through his head, stuck on repeat. He was nowhere near okay.

Dawn chased after him.

“Spike, wait! I’m sorry, it’s just I was worried you were gonna, you know…” she skidded to a halt at the kitchen door and watched as Spike lit a cigarette and puffed on it furiously. Behind him the microwave hummed as it heated a mug of blood.

“Don’t Nibs – leave me be, alright?” Spike puffed on his cigarette and stared blindly out the backdoor, watching the sunset.

Dawn wrapped her arms around her waist and sniffed her tears away. Determined that their last talk before the spell wouldn’t be an argument. “You want some Weetabix – Giles left some for you…” She shuffled over to a cabinet and pulled out the yellow box and handed it to her vampiric big brother.

Spike stared at the box in surprise – he was amazed at how quickly he had gone from being a reviled outsider to being one of the Scoobies. Giles’s gesture of providing Weetabix without moaning was just a small example of the change in his status – that and how they dragged his sorry arse back every night to safety.

“Ta, luv.” He reached into the microwave and pulled out the mug, crumbled a Weetabix into it and settled himself back to drink, ignoring Dawn’s eww face. He stared into the mug, the crimson blood liberally coated in crumpled breakfast cereal, which had given him a momentary sliver of pleasure. Now his stomach rebelled – he couldn’t do it – not even for Dawn. He slammed the mug down on the counter and thrust it away with a jerky movement. The blood spilled over the edges and dripped onto the counter. Marring the clean white tiles.

“Gross, Spike!” Dawn sank down onto one of the stools next to Spike and rested her head against his shoulder, drawing comfort from the ease at which they interacted.

“Not as gross as some of the crap you cook up and force feed me!” Spike retorted, a faint smile pulling at his cracked and chewed lips. Spike leant his head on the crown of hers and fumbled under the counter for a bottle he had stashed there the other day. His questing fingers found the narrow neck of the bottle and he pulled it out with a flourish, ignoring the grumbles that emanated from Dawn. He took a long pull on his preferred form of emotional analgesic.

“Hey, Buffy likes…liked my peanut butter banana pancakes.” Dawn winced at the closed off expression on Spike’s face at the mention of her sister. “Sorry, Spike. I didn’t mean too…I miss her too.” Dawn watched sadly as Spike drained almost the entire bottle of Whiskey.

Spike turned and wrapped an arm around Dawn and rested his chin on the crown of her head. “Me too, Nib…me too…” His body began to shake as he cried, and Dawn turned her face into his chest and cried with him. The two of them united in their grief for one last time.

Dawn eventually pulled away – it was time. “Spike, could you make me some dinner?” she asked hopefully. Knowing that she could slip upstairs while the vampire cooked and cast the spell.

“Turned into a soddin’ nanny, haven’t I?” Spike tried to smile as he wearily stood and headed over to the fridge. But he failed- instead, tears glided over his sharp cheekbones

“Thanks, Spike. I’m just going to go wash my face, be right back.” With that Dawn ran from the kitchen, leaving Spike to pull out the makings of a cheese omelette.

********

“Okay, Buffy. I know that you don’t like me messing with magic, but Spike really needs my help, so don’t be mad, okay?” Dawn looked up at the ceiling as she opened the small spell book at the page she had marked earlier.


She took a deep breath and began to chant. Dawn was relying on her residual keyness to help her with the casting – she was a mystical construct so Dawn was hoping that she would be able to make the spell work.

Let the object of heartbreak be forgotten

Aphrodite Goddess of love I call on you to remove the heartbreak of the one called William the Bloody.

Allow him to forget his love for my sister Buffy and no other.

Let his grief be healed and his yearning for his lost love the fallen Slayer be gone

So mote it be…

Dawn took a deep breath and hid the book under her bed. She was shaking at the powerful surge of magicks that had passed through her. The teen had not been expecting the power that had erupted from her as she chanted – but she figured that it must have worked.

*******

Spike straightened and glanced around suspiciously. Something had just happened, he could feel it in his bones – but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“Oi, shortbread. Get down here, your nosh is ready,” he yelled.

Spike deftly served the fluffy omelette onto a plate and put it on the breakfast bar next to the glass of orange juice he had poured earlier.

“Jeez, I’m right here, Spike.” Dawn appeared in the kitchen and eyed the vampire closely. She could see the difference already. The fine lines that had been etched around his eyes and mouth had eased and Spike’s blue eyes were clear of the grief that had been a constant presence since Buffy had jumped from the tower.

“Right, grubs up.” Spike glanced out of the window and watched the sun set.

“Thanks, Spike.” Dawn tucked in hungrily as she watched Spike out of the corner of her eye. Spike rubbed his stomach absently; watching his girl eating her nosh was making him hungry. He hadn’t felt this starved since the early days of his chip, when he had first turned to the Scoobies for help. His demon began to surge and rail against the hunger.

His eyes flashed gold and his fangs itched to extend. With a growl, Spike threw open the fridge and yanked out a gallon carton of blood and drained it in seconds. Reaching for another he finished it off just as swiftly, gorging himself of the chilled blood.

Dawn watched Spike’s antics as she ate, secretly relieved that finally Spike was eating – she figured that he would need a hell of lot more blood to make up for all he had missed out on over the last few days. She made a mental note to visit the butcher’s and stock up for him.

Spike sat down and reached for the mug he had left on the counter, his pink tongue lapped around the edges cleaning up the sides and then with a satisfied groan he drained the lukewarm contents and chewed the soggy Wheatabix, unaware that he was making yummy vampy growls. Much to Dawn’s amusement, they settled into a comfortable silence, Dawn eating and Spike rubbing his for once full stomach.

Spike watched Dawn eat for a few minutes. “Look luv, you alright to stay here until the lover wiccans get back? – I need to head out and stake a few of me old mates.” Now that his hunger was sated, Spike wanted to go and release some energy fighting.

“Uh, sure – Willow and Tara should be back in a few minutes.” Dawn smiled tentatively as she heard Spike humming under his breath. ‘It worked, he’s feeling better…’
Dawn sighed as she watched Spike stalk out into the night. Feeling even more alone than ever now that Spike wasn’t mourning Buffy with her anymore, but at least she was comforted by the knowledge that he wouldn’t dust himself.

Chapter Three by Schez



Megan you are my saviour thank you for betaing



Italics = Thoughts



Quotes taken from – Passion



A/N This chapter overlaps the previous for a brief time – all will be revealed!!!

There was a scent of burnt rubber in the air, underlaid with the sweeter scent of Jasmine and Sage.

The heavens over Sunnydale were electric with power - it was almost as if the elements knew that there would be something significant happening that evening.

Demons glanced up at the sky as they went about their business - they could sense heavy magicks being prepared for use. It was the beginnings of rituals and spell casting that usually caused the most disruption in the ether- when the powers needed to channel into magicks were gathered together.

The air was thick with it and it unsettled them all. And not just the demonic side of Sunnydale - everywhere dogs were barking in their yards and chasing imaginary intruders. Cats stalked the night with fur on end - hissing and spitting at their own shadows.

Other magic users sensed the change in the balance of the elements - and those following the White Way were untroubled by the powers being harnessed
as they were pure and their intent was not for harm but defence and protection.

But those who followed the darker side of magic were troubled; they could sense that something was about to happen, which would impact on their power. Unable to pin point it they began to scry far and wide - but it was too well cloaked.

The usually balmy Californian weather had been replaced with heavy rain and bolts of lightening. The ominous rumble of thunder filled the air as well with sonorous portents of doom as the dark magick users began casting spells to try and disrupt whatever was happening.

Something was in the air.

*****

Willow slipped out of the house and tucked her coat up around her throat. She patted her pocket where she had secreted the stolen strands of flaxen hair and scurried down the path to the road.

She paused for a moment and glanced back at the innocuous house that looked like any other American suburban house - but this one was different. It had bore witness to many supernatural fights in its time. And now it housed two grieving supernatural beings - one forged from ancient mystical energy and the other a Master vampire - brought to his knees over the death of his once mortal enemy and now unrequited lost love.

Willow's tired eyes shot up to Buffy's window and she shivered at the sound of Spike's wails of grief, that had carried on, even though he was asleep. "I swear, Spike, it'll be okay - I promise." With that she turned and headed off in the direction of Spike's old lair - The Factory.



Once the scene of death and destruction of hope. Now it would play host to a more positive train of events.

Dawn peeked out from behind the curtains to check that Willow had gone before returning to the book she had stolen from Giles earlier.

She had been surprised at how easily she had been able to translate the text in the book. Dawn figured that it was some residual effect of being The Key. The teen was sitting cross-legged on her bed and scribbling rapidly on a pink notepad.



She had found the relevant spell and was now tailoring it to her and Spike’s needs. She was determined not to lose him by misspeaking a few words, and had carefully outlined the parameters of the chant. After spending time with Tara and watching her, Dawn had learned to respect magic and it’s use.



She was not gonna make a mistake by just leaping headfirst into magic – unlike Willow, she thought guiltily.

***

Willow glanced over her shoulder - she could hear footsteps and it was beginning to bug her. She stopped and slipped into a doorway and waited. After a few moments, a vampire appeared from around the corner. She was only newly risen; dirt clung to the Sunday best cloths that her family must have lovingly dressed her in. Willow watched the older maternal looking woman draw level with her and she reached for her stake hidden in the small of her back. Willow frowned when her hand came away empty. 'Oh goddess, I must have dropped it!'

Her vampiric hunter passed her and then paused in her tracks. She turned to face the door and sniffed the air. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," she hissed around a mouthful of gnarled teeth.

Willow released the breath she was holding and clasped her shaking hands in front of her in a frantic effort to calm herself. 'Where's Spike when you really need him!' Willow rolled her eyes, 'oh right, passed out from being a big weepy vamp. I am sooo gonna bite him if I get turned!'

"You looking for this, little one?" The vampire threw a stake at Willow's feet and she jumped in surprise and fell into the alleyway. Glancing up through her hair, Willow saw the motherly looking vampire smile at her - revealing her sharp incisors. "Aren't you just the cutest? Come to Mama!" The vampire took a step towards Willow and reached down to grab her hair.

"I so don't have time for this!" Willow pushed herself up and batted the vampire's hand away - her unexpected actions surprising the vamp enough that she allowed Willow to push her away. "I have a ritual to conduct and I don't have time for creepy interludes in alleys with weird vamps who want to be my Mom!" Willow propped her hands on her waist and glared at the now gaping vampire who stood in front of her.

"I'm a vampire! You should be scared of me!"

"Piffle to that, lady. I have seen scarier stuff in my science lab!" Willow shrank back and made an intricate gesture with her hands, muttered the word "Incendre," and then neatly side-stepped the now burning Momma vamp and headed off down the alley.

******

The mood in the factory was rife with nerves and anticipation.

Anya and Xander were heaving what remained of the long dining table to one side. It was charred in places and burnt completely away in others.

Giles and Tara were conferring over a book as to which symbols they would use for the ritual- they had already purified the area with some cleansing chants and were now reading over the final part of the spell.



Tara knew deep down that Giles was making chitchat to distract himself from something she couldn't discern. They had already established what symbols to use and were really only waiting for Willow to return with something personal of Buffy's to use as an anchor in the spell.

Giles tried to suppress the feelings that were threatening to envelope him in a miasma of rage and sorrow. He glanced up and around the burnt out factory remembering the last time he was here. He whipped off his glasses and busied his hands by cleaning them on the front of his shirt.

"Mr Giles, are you alright?" Tara asked tentatively.


Giles smiled briefly at the sweet girl standing next to him looking up with such concern in her eyes. His smile faded as his mind filled with memories of beating Angelus around the body and head with a baseball bat; after shooting him in the shoulder with a crossbow bolt. "It's alright, Tara - this place doesn't bring back any fond memories at all."

"Oh." Tara bit her lower lip and then hesitantly reached over and patted Giles on the shoulder.

Giles sighed as he recalled Buffy's desperate pleas to him after she had managed to pull him to safety from the burning building. 'You can't leave me. I can't do this alone'.

They had both cried in each other's arms that night. Giles had sensed a change in himself from then on - once Jenny had gone from his life he had nothing else but Buffy and her mission to focus on. A part of him had died with Jenny, which would never be replaced. ‘Why did you leave me? I can’t do this alone, Buffy, all for that cuckoo Dawn who pushed you out of the nest…’



And then only a few short years later he had now lost Buffy - his surrogate daughter.

He really loathed this place and was unsure about what they were planning to do - to bring over a girl who was Buffy and yet, was not. But he knew that they had no choice. The Bot had been a sickening but useful substitute for Buffy - but now she was gone. And a part of Giles was glad; it had turned his stomach every time that vapid smile had been focussed on him. Spike was right to shred her - but now they needed to find someone who would keep the balance here on the Hellmouth.

Which was why he stood here in the ruins of a place that had nothing but bad memories for all of them barring Tara and Anya. Xander and Willow had been brought here and nearly bleed to death over the bones of the Master, which had resided on the very table Xander was currently pushing to one side.

No, this was not a good place for the original Scoobies; Giles shook his head and replaced his glasses in a fluid and practiced move.

"All clear, Tara," Anya called briskly as she dusted her hands on the seat of her pants.



"Hand me some chalk and I'll start on the Aramaic bits." She nodded her thanks at Tara and knelt and began to carefully inscribe the relevant symbols for the opening of a trans-dimensional portal. Xander stood to one side and watched his secret fiancée with pride as she rapidly began to fill the area with strange calligraphy.

Giles knelt on the other side of the room and began on the Latin inscriptions that were to be used to call the other Buffy through the portal once it had been stabilized.

Tara stood to one side and began to pull out the incense burners, bowls and various other magical implements that Willow had packed. She was beginning to get nervous about the ritual and was starting to wonder if it was more than any of them could handle. She knew that both Anya and Giles were practised magic users, she was used to handling magicks as well. But Willow- in comparison to the others and herself- was a comparative novice and this troubled her.

"Hey guys!" Willow's breathless voice broke the silence that had descended on the factory as everyone went about their allotted tasks. "Wow. I nearly got chomped by a vamp on the way over here!"

Tara hurried over to Willow and ran her hands over her pale neck. "Are you okay?"

Willow nodded. "Yup, I set her on fire and escaped!" She omitted mentioning that she had managed to drop her stake at some point and quickly changed the subject before Tara could call her on using magic to destroy the vampire and not a stake. "Wow! This looks amazing!" She walked over and examined all the symbols that Giles and Anya had carefully written on the floor.

She glanced up and around the room. "Weird! It looks smaller than I remembered."

Giles rose and cleared his throat. He tucked the piece of chalk he had been using into his jacket pocket. "Willow, did you manage to get anything of Buffy's?"

"Oh yeah, here!" She reached into her pocket and pulled out Mr Gordo, who she tossed over to the Watcher. Willow tucked her hand into her other pocket and nervously checked that the hair she had taken from Buffy's brush were still there - she had plans for them.



Giles eyed the stuffed toy and then handed it over to Tara; his eyes misted over slightly and he whipped off his glasses and began to polish them.



“This is good, Willow. I sense Buffy’s aura all over this cutie.” Tara petted the pig and then gently placed him in the centre of the circle that she had just created with some enchanted sand.



“So, do you think we are ready?” Xander stepped forward and hesitantly placed a hand on Willow’s shoulder.



She reached up and patted his hand and smiled over her shoulder at him. “I think so…Giles?”



Giles scanned the room and then nodded. “I believe we are.”



Giles was starting wonder if maybe this wasn’t the best thing to do – but when he looked over at Buffy’s friends and saw the grief that lingered in their eyes, and also now the hope- he knew that there was really no other option but to follow through. He also realised that in a sense they were offering this other Buffy a chance at life.



He also acknowledged a self-thought that had been plaguing him since the idea of bringing over another Buffy to help them fight. His adopted children would be safer with a Slayer to help. They needed more power alongside them when they more than Spike in his grief was able to give them. The Hellmouth needed a Slayer to protect it – to defend it from the demons who seemed intent on causing chaos. But alongside this, Giles also wondered if the others would be able to accept a different version of Buffy, who may look and sound like her but would also be a bird of a very different colour.



“Okay, Wills, where do we stand?” Xander clapped his hands together and rubbed them nervously.



“Umm… Xander – you and Anya on that North and South points – Tara, honey, you take East and Giles West. I’ll be in the centre and be doing the chanty stuff. Is this okay?” Willow looked over at Giles for confirmation; he nodded and smiled in encouragement.



There was a silence as they all took their places. Willow stood in the centre of the circle, clutching the book to her chest. At her feet sat the bowl containing Mr Gordo. She knelt down and carefully placed the large sunstone crystal she had been carrying with her into the bowl next to the stuffed pig. Quickly she placed a variety of other crystals around her which she was going to use to channel all the power she could draw from the others to boost hers. Looking over at the other empty circle in front of her, Willow took a deep breath.



Xander stood still, his hands hanging at his sides as he watched Willow prepare to cast the portal spell. He caught Anya’s eyes and gave her a nervous grin that was returned by his girl.



Tara and Giles stood opposite each other, ready to cast their part of the ritual – the summoning. Tara was chewing her lower lip nervously, while Giles stood straight and calmly smiled at her – trying to reassure the blonde Wiccan.



“Ready?” Willow’s voice brought the other’s attention to her and their murmured assent was all she needed.



I call on the Powers for their help.



This humble supplicant asks for their assistance to open that which we need.



Unbeknownst to Willow, as she began to chant, Dawn was beginning her own spell on the other side of Sunnydale.



Tara, Giles, Xander and Anya felt a slight tug at their minds as the crystals began to glow, and an eerie light began to fill the warehouse. Minutes passed as Willow continued to call for assistance and gradually the circle in front of her began to shimmer with a blue light.



The portal was beginning to open.



Outside a rumble of thunder filled the ether as the power both Willow and Dawn channelled interacted with the sky. A massive crack of lightening hit the ground and the earth shook for a brief moment.



Willow’s eyes flashed silver as she began to whisper the stabilising aspect of the ritual and the portal shimmered once and then solidified.



Xander and Anya were both starting to feel their strength weakening and they struggled to stay upright. Sweat poured down Xander’s face as he gritted his teeth, of all of them he had no magical powers and felt the strain the most.



Willow raised her hands – this was the signal for Tara and Giles to begin their summoning.



Tara took a deep breath as Giles clasped his hands in front of him.



Their voices were low but filled with strength and determination.



We call on Buffy Anne Summers – warrior of the people – defender of the innocent and helpless. Come to us, we call on the Slayer, not of our dimension, not of our world bring her to us. Come to us …come to us



There was a slight disturbance in the portal and a slender form began to appear in the shimmering blue circle – it was small and gradually began to solidify as Tara and Giles continued the summoning ritual.



Willow’s body was taut with effort as she used her own and the two other’s strength to keep the portal open. This was the vital part of the spell and she needed to stay strong. Crackles of electricity sparked from her fingers and arched over to make contact with Anya and Xander.



For a brief moment, images appeared in the portal of the alternate universe – but none of them saw as they were absorbed in the ritual.



For a second, the Master and his two-favoured Childer appeared.



Outside, the storm reached its zenith and the rain was sheeting down.



Then, an image of Angel lying beaten and tortured in his cell.



Another crack of lightening hit the factory roof and it shook briefly and then stopped.



For a brief second, a flash of Oz and Larry appeared as they fought in the factory.



And then the room filled with a bright white light and a massive clap of thunder signalled the completion of the ritual.



*******



Everyone scrambled to their feet and peered anxiously over at the huddled form that lay on the floor where the portal had appeared.



Giles hesitantly walked over, followed by Xander and Anya. Xander paused by Mr Gordo and swept him up and tucked him away in his pocket.



Tara went over and pulled Willow into her arms. “You okay, sweetie?”



Willow buried her face in Tara’s neck and nodded tiredly. “Did it work?”



“Ohhh man, what the hell just happened?”



Everyone jumped at the familiar sound of Buffy’s voice – something that they had all missed for so long, and now she was here.



Willow and Tara rushed over and joined the others and stared in surprise at the diminutive blonde that had shakily risen to her feet.



She was dressed in olive green combat trousers and a tight fitting t-shirt, while heavy work boots completed the look. Her hair hung in a long braid down her back and swung slightly as she looked up.



Willow and Xander gasped at the sight of the horrific scar that ran across Buffy’s full mouth. Anya cocked her head and curiously appraised the newcomer – for once she kept her frank comments to herself. Tara stared at the small woman and frowned at the muddy aura around her – this Buffy had suffered a lot and was much harder than theirs had been.



“Where am I?” Buffy demanded as her hand reached into her jacket and pulled out a stake. Before she could say anything more, she wavered and then collapsed into Giles’s arms.



“Right. Well, I wasn’t expecting her to collapse…” Giles carefully cradled the small girl against him and glanced over at Willow. “I imagine that us calling her here has tired her out.”



“Maybe we should get her home and make her comfortable?” Tara interjected.



“Great idea, Sweetie.” Willow leant tiredly against Tara. “I could do with some shut eye too…”



With that they left the factory, their success in the ritual pushing aside any thoughts of clearing up after themselves. After all, they had what they wanted and the ritual was a complete success.



As was the spell across town.





*********



A faint flicker of light emanated from the circle where Buffy had appeared and then it began to flash wildly. Instead of being a solid blue as before, there were streaks of emerald green running across it.



The crystals that lay in position still shimmered with stored power and flared for a brief moment and then exploded – their power spent.



The three figures that had appeared as the crystals had flared were showered in a hail of shining motes of crystal.



“Well, that was unexpected,” the tallest figure muttered.



“Not so bored now!” The female vampire stepped forward and examined the empty factory curiously.



“Wow – you step out for a bite of Cordy and the house gets messed up by freakass graffiti artists!” Xander stepped up next to his leather-clad girl and wrapped his arm around her waist.



“Children…Children – something is different here. I think this is definantly not our home.” The bat faced vampire stepped out of the circle and stared curiously at the symbols written on the floor.


Xander slid into his game face and sniffed the air. “Sure aren’t in Kansas anymore, Wills…”

Jane: thank you for your comments. My 'flamer' couched her criticisms--ones that made little sense--amongst a beginning sentence that claimed I am an *awesome* plotter (I thought this was a very clumsy word!) but that I should basically sack my beta. Anyone who writes in this fandom knows how important enthusiasm is, and Holly has it in spades. If it wasn't for her I would still be nothing more than a reader. I myself did four years of a major in English and Australian Literature, and I know my style is not one that is too difficult or flowery to eventually get me into the published realm, if I am so lucky. Her experience is solely in dry medical research and such, with the only qualification in literature as a reader. I do not know what kind she reads out of the Buffy fandom, but I am guessing it must be pretty restrictive.

chapter four
by Megan

This issue has consumed me the past few days, and made a number of people, lawyers and the like, infuriated in my honour. Thank you for standing by me.



Spike wandered.

He felt light all of a sudden; free. But the weightlessness felt strange, like something had been stolen from deep within him, and he felt so little about the absence of whatever it was that he couldn’t help but be a little bouncy.

He ran at vamp speed till he made it to the first cemetery of the night. He leapt high on top of a crypt to test out the lay of the land; locate freshly turned graves and wandering fledglings. He tested his agility by throwing an axe into the air, allowing it to spin several revolutions, before snatching it confidently out of the air mid-turn, the handle almost returning to his palm like it had been magnetized. Not even a nick on his fingers from fumbles. Everything seemed just perfect…and he felt content.

A frown marred his brow at that. Never in his unlife had he ever been anything so unremarkable as content. But along with that mediocre feeling was the very real sense that something within him was missing.

The local cemeteries had a morbid sense of death about them, and not the punny side of death, but the side that indicated that it had been neglected on patrol for rather too long. Fledglings were out and about, pulling new mates from the ground. The place appeared to be flourishing. It seemed rather unusual that any short absence from patrolling would result in such an influx of vampires.

For a moment all he could do was stand and contemplate his confusion. The part of his brain that would remind him when the last time he walked through was, and what even happened on his most recent patrols, seemed to be in permanent lock down. He was unable to recall anything at first effort, and at second effort his head began to hurt. A tense pressure built up in his frontal lobe as he struggled to grasp hold of some information related to his nightly activity. But truth be told, even though he knew this patrolling was something he did-- and regularly-- he was buggered if he could remember even a single time of doing it.

Odd.

But he accepted and wandered on, entering into subtle kafuffles here and there whenever he came across one of the prolific newly risen vampires that might be a threat to his little group of friends. And that thought caused something strange to twitch between his eyes, but again any protracted thought on the topic had his head pain resume. Funnily enough, as soon as the thought was just accepted at face value, the pain receded to a comfort level even he- as used to pain and violence as he was- was alright with.

So, without another title to give them, he had to presume he could call the Scoobies his friends. As far as friending humans could go with a vampire. And thus making sure their lives- particularly Nibblet’s- remained safe, was much more than a duty. It was his purpose. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember having any other.

Anyway, the night was quiet, and for some reason he failed to understand, it felt wrong to be quiet. It felt like he was missing something. But he couldn’t hang on to that feeling without his head attempting to explode, and he gave it up to the idiosyncrasy of the night. His mindless stroll through the night led him to a place hidden by sweeping Willow branches, and as he looked upon the headstone, another stroke of pain arced through his brain. ‘Buffy Summers,’ it read, and confusion compounded with the throbbing in his head as he fell to his knees and struggled to regain quiet.

On all fours, he pushed his way backward and away from the grave, a feeling so overwhelming and painful-in his heart as well as his head- that only receded the further away he got. Not understanding much of what he felt this night, he quickly tore through the trees into another part of the graveyard, letting his steps slow and the pain in his head disappear along with the thoughts of familiar.

A few more distracted steps brought him to stand before a vamp with extremely good taste in leather. Spike cocked his head to the side as he swept his eyes from the stranger’s boots-completely bitchin’ as far as he was concerned- to the leather pants and jacket, to focus on the dark hair, eyes and pasty face of Xander Harris.

Spike jerked back with an instant grief, and was speechless.

He lifted a hand and allowed a finger to point at the newcomer’s chest. He worked his lips, pushed them into the beginnings of a sentence-- but no volume escaped. He allowed his ears to search for the heartbeat he was finding it difficult to believe he was desperate to hear, and suddenly felt a dark curl of foreboding settle around his stomach when it was quite definitely absent.

Finally, shock lent him words and he did his best to fumble and fuck them up as they tumbled past his lips.

“You!”

Harris nodded.

“You’re a vampire!”

Again Harris nodded, allowing the head action to be partnered with an evil grin.

“So are you,” was his pearl of wisdom, and it jerked Spike into action.

With a desperate shout of, “bloody hell!”, he hit Harris with a vicious upper cut and took off back to Revello.

When he skidded to a halt within the front door, he was taken aback by a stranger standing away from the Scooby group. She stood strong, but rigid; power surrounding her as well as controlling her. The Scoobies were refusing to take turns in both explaining and yelling their view of something or other. And as he tried to comprehend what they were all in a state about, his eyes slipped again to the dainty morsel of a girl dressed down in army type uniformity that called as little attention to her looks as possible. She obviously didn’t like attention-- as made plain by her skimming the edge of the fiery argument going on in front of her-- but the wicked scar, obviously a battle memento, insured that all eyes would stick on her. He was rather impressed by the disfigurement for the battle she must have gained it in.

He was mystified by it all, obviously having walked in on the tale end of something rather big. There was something familiar about the girl, and more than just the emanating power that was driving his demon wild. He already had his suspicions about the tense situation overtaking the living room, but observing the look of devastation on Dawn’s grief ravaged face, he quickly clued in that the new bird was at the centre of the bother.

“What’s goin’ on?”

His eyes swept from Dawn to the blond- something about the stranger continuing to pull at him- but a dim ache in his head forced him to not think about it too hard.

“They brought Buffy back!” Dawn almost screamed at him across the room. He was about to ask who Buffy was when Giles, the fatherly calming influence, stepped in.

“This isn’t our Buffy, Dawn. This is Buffy from a different dimension. The dimension Anya created in her last granted wish before that dimension’s Giles destroyed her amulet.”

Dawn looked stunned, and betrayed. “You were planning to bring another Buffy into my home without even warning me-- or Spike-- about it first?”

The Scoobies shared a guilty look. Then quietly mumbled incoherent apologies.

But distraction proved why it was a curse as another voice entered the fray and a stake came sailing at Spike’s heart, followed rather closely by the mostly quiet petite blond. In concert with her move was a panicked, high-pitched scream of fear.

Spike dodged the blond’s initial attack, but she was used to improvisation and ended up behind him with one arm around his neck and the other positioning the extremely pointy stake over his chest. Coming to an abrupt stop and facing him with wide horror-filled eyes was Dawn, great balloon-like tears almost flooding her face.

“Please?” She attempted to pacify the new girl, to appeal to her with her misery, but for the moment she was ignored, though each small step she took forward resulted in the stake pressing closer to pinch the skin over his heart.

“Might be an idea to stop there, Pidge. Unless you want dusty Spike to tuck you into bed tonight!”

Dawn nodded slowly, carefully, the pain of loss all too visible in the stress lines of her young face.

“I don’t know who the hell you people think you are, but you can send me back to that other place right now. You don’t know what you’re fooling with. You left Sunnydale at the mercy of The Master. I need to kill him.”

Her voice sent a barrage of tiny shocks along the surface of his skin. It seemed familiar, but not. Powerful yet dark in its bearing, but innocent in elocution. The need it sparked within Spike made his head ache.

“Actually,” interrupted Anya, “we saved you just in time. The Master killed you in that dimension.”

Spike could feel her stiffening against his back, yet the stake stayed true to destination. He didn’t move.

He couldn’t move. The sensory overload of having her hot body pressed up against his brought something so near to his grasp that he almost fell over with the howling pain that seared through his brain, just barely managing to hold off on impaling himself on her stake. The loss of her heat, of her strength from his knowing was both hurtful and a relief. The pain in his skull receded to tolerable yet confusing levels, yet her distance seemed like a rejection. He felt it personally, down very deep within.

“I understand the confusion, Luv. But nobody here is out to hurt you. Put the stake down, Pet.”

Spike felt a curious lack of fear by her proximity, almost like he was used to this particular threat and had reached comfort with it. He’d surrendered a trust to it. The thoughts had nothing to back them up in his rather lacey memory, and as he was so apt to do tonight, he decided to just let it go before a nice decorative hole burned right through his skull.

She pushed the stake closer to his skin through the thin t-shirt, and he revelled in the collective gasps throughout the room.

“You are a vampire. You’ll hurt me. I don’t need to worry about them. They’re human.”

Spike suddenly felt an overwhelming test of nausea at the thought of doing any damage to her.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Slayer.” He blinked while looking at Dawn, startled that her title had fallen so easily from his lips but prepared to believe it was because he could sense her power.

Which he could.

Of course he could.

“Do you have a soul? Like that one that the other vampires were torturing?”

Spike raised himself up straight, affronted by the comparison of who he could only guess to be Angel, and gasped as the wood formed a groove on his skin.

“Oi, I’ll have you know that my unsouled self is far better at taking care of those he loves than that poncy git ever was.” And he blinked again, not having a clue why he believed that thought so strongly. The knowledge seemed new, recently established and so not connected to his Yoda’s defection just over a century ago. But he had no foundation, no clue to who the great Angelus had betrayed lately.

He shrugged as, in a lightening move, he slipped from her restraint and turned to determinedly knock the stake from her hands. Her eyes grew wide in apprehension and he could smell the beginnings of fear on her skin before she clamped down hard on it and fell into a fighting stance.

He sighed, annoyed, and the Scoobies all came to a crashing halt in their observation, random confusion as to why Spike was not sobbing at Buffy’s feet while thinking all his wishes had come true. His distance, and almost lack of true interest, was distressingly strange.

But the moment was still tied up in the new Buffy, the marked Buffy, the only Buffy that Spike seemed to know of. Dawn only just began to see that Spike had no real memory of whom this woman in front of him was. Not only was he acting non-emotional, but he didn’t even recognise her. The realisation came to her on a giant wave of uh-oh, and she slowly backed up away from the older, more witchy people of the group. Hiding behind Xander and Anya, she felt the first tugs of guilt that maybe her spell…backfired…just a little?

Spike had made no attempt to engage the new Buffy in combat, mindful of the nic-nacs around the place that defined who Dawn thought her mother was. So, instead of antagonising this girl- she didn’t look a day over eighteen- Spike stood back and just watched her. He wished he could do it with a fag dangling from between his lips. He had to forgo that desire, though; someone had told him he couldn’t smoke in the house. Any effort to try and recall who that actually had been reactivated that pain that was started to bug the crap out of him. Was worse than the bloody chip.

But in allowing his body to remain in a restful state, he seemed to be able to zero in on her heart-rate- this little blond Slayer with the wicked scar- feel the subtle pinkening of her cheeks, and caught with a little grin of cocky satisfaction her many darting looks at his face and body.

“Right then. Introductions look to be in order.” Spike thrust out his hand, almost desperate for her to take it so he could see if her hands brought back flashes of recognition, too. But the contact was too brief, though slightly electric. He had the feeling he had received much higher voltage touching from someone else. Again, he just couldn’t remember whom.

“I’m Spike, the resident vamp good for kiddy sitting and demon demolition.”

She smiled at him, and he was struck by a force so strong that he was incapable of deciphering it. It was the sun, though for some reason he saw storms. This girl reeked of power, was physically strong and independent, but Spike found himself picking up on vibes…enough vibes to suspect that she wasn’t as hardened on the inside as she was on the outside.

“My name is Buffy, and I am the Slayer. They’ve taken me from an important battle.” Her small finger had pointed at Giles and Willow, wavering slightly with the magnitude of her situation. Then she appeared to squint, and took a hesitant step closer.

“Don’t I know you?” She looked intently at Giles as confusion marred her brow.

“But I just spoke to you. You’re the reason I came to the Hellmouth. You summonsed me to fight The Master.” She stopped as she internally worried over the facts. Her face easily revealed her struggle with the situation, and finally a hardness eclipsed the uncertainty in her eyes as it masked the rising fear within her.

“What the hell have you people done to me?”

Against her earlier judgement, she shrunk back against Spike in some effort of protection. He felt different to the other vampire that she’d taken a risk on trusting, more needing of the faith in him. Not to mention he was seriously hot.

A room full of alarmed expressions faced her.

“We saved your life. You could be a little grateful.” Anya, ever the blunt one, jumped in with her tactless justification, much to the gasping horror of everyone in the room.

“Ahem, as…apt…as that description might be, we brought you here to be the Slayer.” Giles could barely look at the girl, so close to being his surrogate daughter, yet so very different. Duty warred within him, yet her reaction toward all of them had him re-questioning the motive behind their desperate retrieval of another Buffy destined for death.

“Our…er…Slayer situation here, in this world, is rather complex, I’m afraid.” Giles’s quick removal of his glasses served to both blur the image of this faux Buffy and give him courage for his speech. “Suffice it to say that we are without a Slayer at all in the world right now, and we needed help.”

A round of Scooby nods encouraged him to continue, and so he placed his glasses back on gingerly, cringing at being able to clearly see their newest addition once again.

“The universe you came from was created about three years ago by a Vengeance Demon. Before that, you didn’t exist. And you were about to die at the hands of the Master. We brought you here so that you could have a second chance, as well as gaining added protection for the Hellmouth. Though, it would appear that Spike is suddenly up and about again.” Giles clapped quizzical eyes on the vampire. “You seem remarkably lucid, Spike. And sober.”

Spike glared back at the Watcher.

“And why wouldn’t I be lucid, Rupert? I don’t drink when I’ve got patrol to take care of, as well as the Bit.”

Dawn stepped cautiously back into the mix and interpreted the building of a number of awkward questions about Spike’s sudden change in attitude, and abruptly blurted a change of topic.

“Where’s she gonna stay?”

Willow swivelled her attention to the teenager. “Well, here. She is your sister, Dawn.”

Five sets of eyes focused on Willow.

“No, she’s not!” Dawn spat in utter rage against the presumptuous witch, furious over the lack of thought in announcing her another sister. One who so was not!

“I don’t have a sister,” Buffy denied.

“What sister?” asked Spike.

They spoke together, still standing close to one another as their voices drowned the others’ out. Spike could feel another headache erupting behind his eyeballs as he struggled to make sense of this stranger in the house, one that all the Scoobies seemed to recognise. His struggle increased his pain.

“What the bleeding hell is all this about then?” His voice expressed all the pain, and repressed rage that the headache instigated, which the Scoobies were determined to misinterpret as confused grief over Buffy. Questions were delayed for the night.

Dawn, freaked about being exposed in her magic expedition of the night, rushed in with a suggestion.

“Spike, you don’t look so good. Maybe you should head to bed for a while. We’ll sort this out.”

Spike looked at Dawn, suspicion encroaching on his battle with the ache in his head. But as it added to the rage of hurt, he decided to follow the suggestion. With a mumbled ‘night’ to those expecting it in the room, and a ‘welcome to the Hellmouth’ to the newest member of the gang, he climbed the stairs in obvious discomfort and disappeared behind the closed door of Buffy’s bedroom.

Dawn rounded on the group assembled uncomfortably in the living room, and released her fury. Pointing at the glorified Buffy stand-in, she reigned in the scream clawing to be released and spoke in quiet, but furious bursts.

“She…is not…my sister.”

“Of course,” answered Willow, completely abashed in her lapse of sympathetic grief. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, Dawn. I’m so sorry.”

“It is imperative that we all remember that this is not our Buffy.” Giles’s rebuke was accompanied with a snarl. Willow flinched away from the group, sensitised to the rumbling of disfavour her blunder had instigated.

Nobody noticed the shrinking back of Buffy against the stairwell as the obvious point of who she wasn’t, was emphasised violently.

Tara placed a reassuring arm around the distressed red-headed witch.

“Dawn, we didn’t mean to upset you. But Spike was in really bad shape, and he destroyed the bot. It’s pretty bad out there. Too bad for us to handle on our own. We needed a Slayer, and you know Faith isn’t an option.”

Giles took pity on Tara, knowing that he was the one to give the final approval for the spell to bring the other Buffy to their world. He wouldn’t allow Tara, or even Willow to take the brunt of the younger girl’s frustrated anger.

“When Anya mentioned this Buffy, we thought it was a good solution. I’m sorry that we didn’t consider how you would feel about all this.”

The Scoobies were nodding in agreement, most faces drawn in remembered pain for the real Buffy, while the current one stood propped against a wall feeling lonely and slightly afraid now that Spike had left her to stand on her own against this strange group of people. She didn’t know how to relate, having been on her own fighting evil for so long. She was feeling crowded and misplaced, and as she shrunk back against the stairs, and eyed the closed bedroom door, she wondered how wrong it would be if she snuck up there to him and away from all this confusion down here.

All their reassurance to the teenager, though, was getting on her last nerve. They were all so apologetic to her, sorry that her feelings were hurt by Buffy’s sudden and unexpected arrival. Well, hello. She hadn’t exactly expected her night to end like this, either. In fact, she wouldn’t mind a bit of sympathy. Coming from a soon to be defunct dimension; escaping certain death with her neck still attached. But no, she was ignored-- just the lookalike replacement brought in to take over the Hellmouth so they could all sleep at night.

The youngest one’s voice reconnected in her brain and she heard them mention her name.

“She’s not Buffy,” this one called Dawn continued.

“She is, actually. Just not the Buffy we all know. But she is still Buffy.” Anya’s contribution made the others cringe, expecting an outburst of teenage proportions.

What they received was a grittily determined Dawn, her jaw clenched in raw anger.

“She is not my sister. If she is to stay in my house, then she will go by a different name.”

All eyes turned to the quiet girl who still quietly contemplating the risks of joining the vampire upstairs.

Buffy looked at the teenager—not much younger than herself-- and could see the terror and anguish that her sudden appearance had caused. Though she had no knowledge or details of what had gone on here, she knew that pain. That loss of everything that held meaning. And she compromised. She clashed eyes with Dawn and refused to look away.

“You can call me Anne,” she conceded, and was rewarded with her first hesitant Dawn smile.

“Thank you.” Dawn’s voice shook with her gratitude.

Calm settled on the room and the first tentative smiles were shared between them all.

Then heavy footsteps clunked down the stairs and a highly strung out Spike leapt from a higher step to land at the bottom in a rare display of his vampiric grace. He raised a shaking finger and pointed at Xander.

“You’re a vampire!”

Xander pointed at his own chest, opened mouth, and spoke nothing. He shook his head instead.

Frustrated, Spike repeated, “you’re a vampire.”

Xander straightened and took a few steps toward Spike. “No, I’m really not.”

Spike tilted his head and tried to listen for the heartbeat of normal Xander and became agitated because there were too many for him to single out the one he was searching for. His head pounded with the left over traces of his effort to sort out what was going on after he’d left. He was too tired, confused and achy to work any of it out. But he saw the flush of pumping blood circulate beneath the covering of the brunette’s skin, giving it a lovely rosy flush, and felt tremendous relief at the ‘alive’ part that was Xander.

But then he remembered the other¾ the vampire other¾ and his confusion soared.

“But I saw you. In the cemetery. And you were dead.”

Xander looked at him, spooked.

“What kind of dead? I mean, was I dead on the ground, all bloodied dead? Or an evil bloodsucking dead?”

“Yeah,” was Spike’s succinct response.

Several annoyed and pointed looks encouraged him to expand.

“The undead dead.” He was nodding like it all was perfectly clear, even though he felt nothing had ever been more seriously convoluted and unclear to him in his entire life and unlife combined.

“Uh oh.”

A chorus of groans was the reaction to Willow’s echo of doom.

“What exactly is with the ‘uh oh’, Wills?” Xander stood closer to Spike, closer to the door for escape, thoroughly wigged by the idea of an undead him.

“Um, guys…remember the last time Anya and I did the spell and Vampy Willow came to visit?”

Xander’s eyes shot open as wide as bowling balls.

“Wha…?” Speech was caught up in his panic responses.

“I think…maybe…I mean…it’s possible…”

“Oh, do spit it out, Willow. We might not have much time.” Giles polished his glasses with a pristine white hanky, anxiety making his movements harsh.

“Maybe we brought more than Buffy…I mean, Anne, through the portal. Um, did we forget to clean up the circle before we left? That might not be so much of the good. There was some weird crackly thing going on, like a major infusion of magic in the air…I sort of noticed it while I was walking to the factory. Things might have, maybe, gotten… a little mucked up?” she offered in her little timid girl voice. “Maybe…” She paused, frowning on her over reliance of ‘maybe’ in her fumbling explanation and sorting out of the feasible outcomes in regards to the spell.

“I think it’s possible that maybe something from that dimension slipped through.” She glanced round at the collection of horror-struck expressions giving her all their attention. She responded with a rather nervous giggle. “I think we have a Vampy Xander on our hands.”

“You think,” came a cocky, overtly confident voice from the door. The resultant scream burst from the throat of Live Xander as everyone took in the pasty, leather tasty goodness in the doorway of Vampy Xander.

Before anyone had the chance to act, Xander had Spike’s discarded axe in his hands and had hefted it in a wide arc through the door. It lodged deeply in the doorframe as the dust of an unsuspecting VampXander filtered through the slight breeze to land atop the ‘welcome’ mat outside the door.

Several shocked statue-like bodies took up space behind him, nobody pushing beyond their shock, until Spike burst out laughing.

“Well, that’s gonna be a fucker to fix. Good thing you’re the handyman, Xan!”

Continuing to break out in almost hysterical guffaws, Spike clapped him heartily on the back and nearly knocked him outside, then returned upstairs and shut the bedroom door.

A smile teased the corners of Xander’s mouth and he realised he still held the handle of the axe. He gave a little tug, but the blade of the axe remained embedded in the wood of the doorframe. He gave it another more determined pull, yet still it remained stuck. He shrugged and allowed the newly named Anne to step forward and yank it from the wood. He turned to face the others and the first face he focused on was Anya, his smile reaching beaming proportions.

“Guess this time I did get to kill myself.” As the crowd finally gave into amused snickers, his eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the floor backwards.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~




The force of the passing was deeply felt. Moments of severe pain halted the progress of the desired cloaking. Devastated grief cut into her gut and ripped her insides out, forcing a howl of epic sadness to be released from her burgundy lips. Red hair curtained her face as she fell to her knees and growled and sobbed in terrified loneliness. Her mate was gone, struck down in this new world before their feet could be found. Before their fangs could tear flesh.

Her body was racked with shuddering finality. Their new home was less one member, and with grim determination and an ugly, bitter smile, the vampiress resumed the incantation that would hide her and her Master from the threats of this new world.

Their invisibility would give them time, give them freedom to find the murderer that cut their family to two.

Willow closed her eyes in magical induced ecstasy as she felt the barrier take its place around the mansion, sealing their existence from the outside world. Regaining her feet, she used them to find her Master and collapsed in grief at his feet. He sat in a large chair¾ adopted as his new throne¾ and ran his permanently clawed fingers through the smooth fire of her hair.

“It will be alright, Childe. We will find those who have struck our number down and wreak vengeance. Are the barriers secure?”

“Of course, Master. No one can find us. To the people here, we do not exist.”

The red-head was poised in her power, anxious to already be under way to find those responsible for killing her mate.

“Excellent. Sleep now, I think. And tomorrow, we will start our revenge.”

Willow nodded in perfect supplication, her mind racing ahead to the torture she would inflict on those that had dared to take Xander away from her.

They would pay.

“I will find them, Master.” She lowered her head to the hard strength of his thigh and closed her eyes, her hand stroking the length of his leg between her face and his crotch, brushing a devoted hand over his cloth-covered cock. “I’ll find them.”

A/N...okay then...comments? Good or bad, I'm getting a tough skin!