Chapter Two
“Buffy in the Sky with Demons”
Written by Phil and CJ
*
The door to Spike’s crypt squealed open, and Xander’s voice rang out “Spike, you home?”
“Would you leave if I said ‘no‘,” a voice mumbled from the chair. Spike was emotionally exhausted after the evening with Dawn. The last thing he needed tonight was a rousing game of “kick the Spike” with the whelp.
Xander gave him a sarcastic smile as he walked in and sat on the couch, then reached into his pocket, fished out a packet of cigarettes and held them out to Spike, “You left these at the Magic Box earlier. I was around, so I figured I’d drop by and give them back to you.”
Spike eyed the package suspiciously. They were his brand, but the box was unopened and still in the wrapper. They weren’t his. Did Harris just buy me a pack of smokes as an excuse to drop by and chitchat? He knew he should have been nice and not let on that he knew what Xander was up to, but that wasn’t his style, so he replied, “Those aren’t mine.”
Xander looked slightly panicked. “Yeah, they are. See, they’re your brand. And you’re the only one who smokes.”
“Nope, not mine,” Spike said calmly, handing the small box back to Xander. He chuckled just a bit, letting Xander know he was wise to his little scheme.
“You couldn’t just make this easy for me, could you?” Xander glared at him and tossed the package back to him.
Spike smiled. “Yeah, I could. It just wouldn’t be nearly so much fun.” Then he extracted one of the cigarettes from the new pack and lit it. “So, mate, what can I do you for?”
“Well, as horribly awkward as this whole idea is, I need to talk.”
Spike cocked his head and lifted an eyebrow at that.
Xander continued, “I mean guy talk. And since Oz has been gone for over a year now, and Giles has gone all solitary confinement, you’re as close as I’m going to get to finding another guy to guy talk with.”
“I’m deeply touched.” Spike said mockingly.
“Shut up, Spike.” Xander wasn’t amused and started getting up to leave.
Spike jumped up and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Then, with what almost seemed like kindness, he said, “Nah, mate, you need to talk. I’ll listen. I’ll be good. Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers in a mock salute.
“Spike, there’s no way you were ever a Boy Scout.”
“No, but one time I did eat an entire troop.” Xander gave him a horrified look, so Spike added, “Kidding, just kidding.” Xander calmed down and returned to sitting on the couch. Under his breath, Spike couldn’t help but mumble, “Kidding. Sure.”
Xander began letting out the problem that had bothered him enough to seek comfort in conversation with a vampire that had tried to kill him more times than he could count, “It’s this whole wedding thing. It’s really giving me the wiggins. I mean, one day I’m the glorified bricklayer living alone in my parent’s basement, the next I’ve got a steady job, a nice apartment, and I’m picking out invitations for my wedding to a girl lots of guys would kill for.”
Spike looked blankly at him. “And the problem is…?”
“Aside from the fact that I’m too destroyed over…over Bu-God, I can’t say it.” Xander’s eyes were watering up.
“Over Buffy’s death,” Spike finished for him.
Xander noticed how empty the vampire’s eyes looked as he said those words. He looked like he’d had his soul wrenched out through his chest, leaving only a large painful void in its place. But he would have had to have a soul in the first place for that, Xander thought. “Yeah, too destroyed over that to feel even the slightest bit happy. But every once in a while I do feel happy, and then I feel guilty for feeling happy and, and I’m just tired of feeling at all.”
“Bollocks,” Spike declared, “She died so you and Anya and the whole sodding world could live. And part of living is enjoying that life. She loved you both very much, and you know if she were here now she would be nothing but happy for you. You bloody well know she wouldn’t want you to be making the happiest time of your life miserable because of her.“ He had gotten a little quieter toward the end.
Xander looked taken aback, “Wow, that was actually good advice.”
“Well, when you’ve been around for over a hundred and twenty years, you pick up a few things,” Spike replied, now slightly out of it, memories of Buffy replaying in his head.
“There’s another problem, too.” Xander looked down at the ground. “I don’t think I deserve her. Anya’s the only reason I went from Captain Loser to Mr. Grown-Up Guy. What if she realizes how much better she could do than me?”
Spike looked deathly serious, “Listen, Xander, the girl loves you. A lot. Probably more than you could bleedin’ imagine. So what if you think you don’t deserve her? Being worthy of love has nothing to do with it. You can’t control it. You fall in love with that one person you know is right, and that’s all there is. It’s powerful. It’s irrational. It’s all-consuming. And it’s eternal. You two love each other. Whatever you do, don’t forget that. And most importantly don’t ever let go of it.”
Xander had a feeling that Spike wasn’t just talking about him and Anya anymore. For the first time, hearing Spike talk about Buffy hadn’t totally weirded him out. It had actually made him feel pity for the blonde vampire. Xander remembered when he’d first met Buffy and how he had pined for her back in high school. Those memories only served to plunge him back toward the sadness that was growing in his heart again. And now, on top of his grief over Buffy, he was feeling bad for Spike too. It was too much for him. He needed to be somewhere else. Now.
He got up from the couch and started to say a quick good bye to Spike, who never got out of his chair. “Just remembered, I gotta go look at some more stuff with Anya. For the wedding. Thanks for the little talk. It really helped.” He was almost at the door when he turned around and looked at Spike still sitting there, on the verge of breaking down. He felt like he had to do something.
“Hey, Spike, you know that problem I was having trying to find somebody to have a little guy talk with? Well, the same thing is happening with the whole finding a best man for the wedding thing. You wouldn’t want to…?” Spike shot a shocked and bewildered glance at Xander. “Right then. Stupid question. Forget I said anything.” Xander turned to walk out the door.
“I would be right honored,” Spike said sincerely, still somewhat taken aback.
“Great. That’s cool, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night at the Scooby meeting.” Xander couldn’t believe Spike had actually said yes.
“Right, then. Tomorrow night,” Spike answered.
The door slammed shut behind Xander. As he walked through the cemetery, he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Spike had just given him some of the most heartfelt advice he’d ever gotten in his life, and now the vamp was going to be the best man at his wedding. Out loud, he mused, “Gee, this has to be one of those ‘you know you live on a Hellmouth when…’ moments.” Just then he heard a faint popping noise in the distance. He could have sworn it sounded like automatic gunfire, but in Sunnydale? “Who uses guns in Sunnydale?” he asked the empty graveyard. He shrugged it off and walked toward home now at a slightly quicker pace.
“What the bloody hell?” Spike spoke into the silence of his crypt. William the Bloody, scourge of all Europe, killer of two Slayers, was going to be best man at a Scooby wedding. And it was all her fault. “If she’s looking down on us right now, she must be having herself one bloody good laugh.” He pictured Buffy laughing. She hadn’t done that for a long time before that night on the tower. She was so beautiful when she laughed.
He realized he was beginning to fall asleep. He couldn’t do that. Whenever he fell asleep thinking about her, he would have the dream. He couldn’t take that tonight. He had to find something to do to stay awake.
He picked up the TV remote and turned on his television. “Phoebe, Pru, get the Book of Shadows quick. We need to vanquish this Stink Demon now. And… ooh, I really like those leather pants. Are they new?”
“Bloody Hell!” Spike gasped and quickly began punching buttons on the remote. After flipping through the channels a number of times, he decided there was nothing to be seen on the telly tonight. Then what was there to do? There was no way he was going to patrol tonight. It was the bot’s night to patrol, and he wasn’t about to run the risk of bumping into that. “Might as well go have m’self a drink,” he mumbled, then grabbed his duster and headed for the door.
**
“Are you really sure you that know what you’re doing?” Anya asked in a more than slightly worried voice as she handed the tightly wrapped parcel over to Willow.
The witch nodded grimly. She had been sure about this for months. It had only been a question of when to do it. Now, she had run out of time. She took the package from the other woman’s hands and proceeded to tear the brown paper from it, her actions becoming increasingly animated, as she got closer to her goal. Finally, it was all off, revealing a lead box with an elaborately carved symbol on the top. Willow immediately knew that she had at last come into possession of the one final ingredient that she needed to make her desperate plan come to fruition. She could already sense the power emanating from within the container. It sent shivers up and down her spine and stiffened her resolve. I can do this, she thought. I’ve got to do this. She looked down again at the box and ran her fingers across the symbol, a white crown that was the mark of a powerful Egyptian God.
“Osiris,” she whispered in an awestruck voice. “It’s genuine. I’ve got it, Anya. I’ve got the urn.”
“Well, actually I’ve got the urn. It’s not like you’ve paid me for it or anything. You have no idea how much trouble I went through to get you that thing. Rare Egyptian artifacts are, well...rare. I had to use every icky contact that Giles has to find it. It isn’t as if you can just order one up on E-Bay, you know. It took me months. Hey, are you listening to me?”
Willow really wasn’t. She had too much to plan for without listening to any more of Anya’s prattle. Oh, she was okay in small doses but she was so, so trivial. If Willow had to listen to her wedding plans one more time she was going to scream. Like she cared what kind of pate’ they were serving at the reception. Didn’t Anya realize how important this moment was? Brushing all thoughts of Anya aside, she carefully lifted the box off the counter and placed it into her backpack. I am going to do this. Buffy is coming back.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Anya again. “You aren’t going to take that now, are you? Shouldn’t we wait for Giles? Or Tara, at least. That thing is far too dangerous for you to be monkeying around with all by yourself. It’s Necromancy, Willow. You can’t get any darker or more powerful than that. All sorts of really bad things can happen if you make even the slightest miscalculation.”
Willow shook her head. “No, I don’t have the time to wait for them. Besides, they wouldn’t…” she trailed off. “Well, it’s just that they might not understand, that’s all. I just don’t have the time for a debate with either one of them.”
She sighed inwardly. Debate was the least she could expect from them on this subject. Tara had been giving her nothing but grief about her research into resurrection spells lately. If she even suspected that Willow had actually set the process in motion, there would be no telling how she would react. Tara had very definite opinions on what could and should be done with magic. This was one of those “should not” topics. Willow doubted if she would ever get her lover or Giles to bend on this issue and she no longer had the time, or even the inclination to try. It had to be done and she would be the one to do it, even if that risked alienating the others. It was simply too important.
“Ok, then. I guess I can’t talk you out of it at all, can I?” Anya asked, obviously looking for reason to put off the spell. “At least wait until you’ve had time to talk Giles. It’s really his urn. I had to use store credit to get it you know.” She sounded hopeful.
Willow just stared at her, growing more annoyed.
“Is that all you can think of?” Willow shouted, “ This is our friend’s life we’re talking about, not some stupid balance sheet. This is Buffy.”
“I know very well what you’re talking about, but it just seems wrong that you’re not letting anybody else know what you’re doing,” Anya replied defensively. “At least let me tell Xander. He was just as much her friend as you were and I really don’t like keeping secrets from him. He’s going to be my husband after all.”
“No,” snapped the witch. “I can’t wait for anyone else. Not even him. And if you tell him about this Anya, I’ll make you very sorry.”
With that, Willow stormed angrily out of the Magic Box, leaving a very frustrated and confused Anya in her wake.
She was so angry in fact, that only when she reached the Summers house about a half an hour later, did she realize how much that last sentence had sounded like a threat. She hadn’t meant anything by it, not really. It was just that what she was doing was so important that she couldn’t waste time dealing with other people’s doubts. She didn’t need all the criticism and second-guessing. She had vitally important work to do. The others had no idea what was going on, how much danger they were all in. Only she knew the truth. That the bot was destroyed and something very bad was roaming the streets of Sunnydale.
She’d found it this morning, after it had failed to return from a routine patrol. Bits of the bot were strewn all over the Wilson Memorial Cemetery’s entrance drive like so much discarded junk. It had been torn completely to shreds. Willow had known then and there that the masquerade was over and that she couldn’t wait any longer. Without the bot, the carefully constructed fiction that Buffy was still alive would quickly collapse. Deep down, she’d always known that it was only a temporary solution anyway, but she had been hoping to delay it long enough to master the spell needed beyond a shadow of a doubt. Now she had to take a much greater risk but she had no choice.
“Dawn?” She called out as she entered the house. “Tara?” Good, she thought to herself when she got no answer. They were both out. This will be easier alone.
She quickly went into the room where they had stored the Bot. Buffy’s room. That’s where she had hidden all of the necessary spell components. Dawn avoided it like the plague and Tara had no skill in robot maintenance. Willow took out the top drawer of the cabinet where she had stashed her precious cache of materials. Among the various oils and herbs were two vials that she absolutely needed. One contained bits of fingernail clippings, hair, and skin particles. The other, blood. All Dawn’s, of course. She had needed something with Buffy’s DNA patterns and the two sisters were identical, genetically speaking. She had felt a little guilty about that. The last thing she had wanted to do was hurt the girl but she had needed that blood and asking her for it openly would have aroused Tara’s suspicions. Besides, what real harm could one little sleep spell do to her?
Willow carefully removed the last piece of equipment needed for the spell from its hiding place, an ancient scroll case carved out of ivory and covered in Egyptian hieroglyphics. The Book of the Dead. She could still barely believe that she had a genuine copy of the most important book ever written on the subject of necromancy. It had been almost dreamlike, the day she had found it all those months ago. There had been no real reason to go to the shop that Doc had occupied. None at all. Spike had warned her that the demon had probably cleared the place out. She’d gone anyway, in the desperate hope that the expert on resurrection spells had left some sort of information intact for her to find.
And he had. Although most of the shelves had been emptied and the place apparently ransacked, she had been able to find the scroll, thanks to a handy magic locator spell. Since then, she’d studied the texts intently, sometimes for hours at a time. It hadn’t been too hard, once she’d gotten a handle on the translation spell. Now she was finally ready.
Willow gathered everything up and hurried into the room that she shared with Tara. It had been Joyce’s room, but they had converted it over to their needs and now it was a good place for concentrating the forces that she would need for the spell she was going to attempt.
Resurrection. Just a year ago, the very concept of bringing back the dead would have been unthinkable to her. But Dawn’s abortive attempt to bring Joyce back had gotten Willow wondering. It was obvious that someone who had died a natural death would not be able to be revived magically, at least not with the soul intact. Buffy had died by supernatural means however, and her soul could be anywhere, even trapped in the very vortex that she had closed with her sacrificial leap.
She began setting the spell components up, lighting candles, making the necessary marks needed to create a protective circle. Everything had to be perfect. The energies that she was about to harness were extraordinarily powerful and if they got out of control, the results could be disastrous.
Soon she was ready. She muttered a few short words, creating a spell of opening and the box that held the Urn of Osiris popped open. She placed the precious artifact in the center of the circle and took a quick breather. Showtime, she thought and launched into the spell.
Chanting in the halting Sanskrit that she had memorized, Willow quickly began to feel the power arise within the confines of the protective circle she had created. Her skin bristled with the energy, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She continued to chant and the power continued to grow within her as she did. She began to lose track of time as the mystical energy built slowly towards its climax. It’s working, she thought. I am going to succeed. I am going to save her.
Just as she reached the final stages of the spell, she was startled by the sound of the bedroom door being slammed open. Tara stood there, her eyes flashing in anger and her entire body trembling with apparent rage.
“Willow!” She screamed at her. “What the Hell are you doing?”
***
The huntress moved with blazing speed, circling her prey, dodging when she needed to, always just beyond the reach of the beast’s razor sharp claws and teeth. She was pure poetry in motion, gliding along like a force of nature, taking delight in the chase and not caring at all for world around her. She existed only for the hunt... and the kill. Nothing else had substance for her; the hunt was everything.
Suddenly the beast stopped running, rearing up on its hind legs and launching a desperate assault straight at her throat. The beast was fast, cunning, and extremely strong, but she was not afraid. She countered every lunge, every snarling attack of claw and tooth until she felt it begin to weaken. Holding back until the last minute, she allowed it a final chance for victory, acknowledging its savage courage, even as she plunged her spear into its heart. She felt its essence surround her as it left the dying carcass, and took delight in it. The hunt was over and she had triumphed once more. The huntress was elated, as she should have been, but even as she carved up the animal in preparation for her feast, she felt an absence at the very core of her being, as if there was a gaping hole somewhere within her. She felt, incomplete.
She could not remember a time when she had not felt the void deep inside her. It seemed to her that she had been on this vast plain forever, endlessly stalking and killing, knowing the thrill of the hunt but never being able to fully enjoy it. At nightfall, when the others that inhabited the plain with her gathered and shared their kills, she stayed away. A part of her yearned to join in, to share their fire and their stories and their sisterhood, but she was unable to bring herself to give up that last link to ...what? The huntress couldn’t say. She instinctively knew something was wrong, but she was unable to comprehend what it was. All she knew was that she was missing something, that she was utterly alone.
The girl stood on the edge of the clearing, unable to move or utter the smallest sound. She, too, was unaware of how much time had passed since she had been there. All around her, she could see the others moving about, talking, laughing, and playing. Engaged in a party, they were obviously enjoying themselves but they seemed to ignore her presence there among them. She could sense the peace and joy that permeated the gathering, but her inability to join in deeply saddened her. She so desperately wanted to join them because she knew them all. They had all been precious to her at one time and she longed to be able to be with them again, to share in the laughter and sheer bliss that they all shared with one another. No matter how hard she tried though, she just couldn’t move.
Her eyes kept being drawn to a table in the middle of the party, where a woman and a young girl were busy putting plates and dishes out, laughing and obviously delighting in the pure joy of the moment. She knew that she had loved them both, just as she knew they had loved her. She ached to go to them, to be with them forever, but somewhere deep inside of herself, she knew that she couldn’t, that a part of her was missing. She continued to watch them, not moving or even thinking, entirely caught up in the moment. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the woman looked directly at the girl, her indescribably beautiful face touched with just the faintest trace of longing.
“It’s not time yet darling,” she seemed to say, without saying it “You’re not finished.”
The world dropped away and she found herself in another place. Harsh and cold emptiness surrounded her. The place had a familiar feeling to it, and instinctively she knew she’d been here before, just as she knew that she was not alone. Another girl stood to the side, a girl much like herself. As she became more and more attuned to her surroundings, she could now see her clearly. Beautiful and savage. Pure in her ferocity and lust for killing. The Slayer.
The girl had no idea how she had known that but the knowledge seemed to be ingrained into her very consciousness. She was the Slayer. But then, who am I?
“Well, Princess, that’s a tale in itself, isn’t it?”
The voice seemed to be coming from all around her. Then she saw him- a short, badly dressed little man wearing a stupid, battered hat, whom she known once and who she had very nearly forgotten. Who she had hoped to forget. Whistler. And suddenly, it all came flooding back
“Oh,” thought Buffy Summers to herself, “Crap.”
****
“I should have known,” Tara spat bitterly, as she took in what was happening in front of her, “I didn’t want to believe you’d actually go this far, but I should have known.” She couldn’t pull her eyes away from the circle where Willow sat, eyes black as coal from the forces she was channeling.
“I don’t have time for this Tara”, she snarled back, her face a mask of rage and power, “If I don’t finish this part of the spell soon, it’ll all be ruined.”
“G-good, it should be ruined. You can’t do this Willow. I know that you’ve changed a lot, but you’ve gotta know somewhere deep down that you just can’t do this.”
“Of course I can do this. Don’t you see me doing it? I’m doing this because it has to be done, and I’m the only one to do it. Who else is gonna do it, Tara?” Willow sneered, “You?”
“It‘s wrong, Willow! Giles knows it and so do I. Why in the Goddess’s name can’t you see that?”
Willow snorted. “You both sit there in your little ivory towers, telling me what’s right and what’s wrong and what’s proper and you do... nothing. You never do anything! The rest of you always left it to her. To us. And now she’s gone and we have to get her back. If I’m the only one with the guts to do it then... fine. Just stay out of my way.”
“This has nothing to do with how much guts you’ve got, Willow. I know you’re w-way more powerful than I am. It doesn’t make you right.” Tara saw her words weren't making much of an impact, and quickly decided to take another approach. “Look, I know how much you miss her. We all miss her. We all loved her. But she’s gone. She made the choice and we should respect it. It’s the balance, the nature of how the universe works. If you tamper with that, you risk destroying everything we care about.”
The red-haired witch just shook her head; her eyes still black from the magic.
“Don’t you dare tell me how much you loved her. Don’t you dare! She was everything to me, Tara, everything. She was my best friend. I was a big nobody before I met her. I was the loser that followed Xander around like a lost puppy dog, the one who got picked on, got forced to do other kids’ homework, and got pushed out of the lunch line by people like Cordelia. Newsflash, Tara! I’m not that pathetic little girl anymore. Do you have any idea what I could do to any of them now? I could make them all scream. I’ve become that strong… strong enough to make and take life and it‘s all because of Buffy, so I‘ll be damned if I‘m not going to bring her back when I know I can.”
Tara just stood there, letting herself be pummeled by her lover’s rage.
“ Don’t try to pretend you cared about her that much. If you did, you wouldn’t question this. You’d accept it and help me. But you don’t. Dammit, even Spike and Anya cared more about her than you did. At least Anya helped me get what I needed. You and Giles just sit around congratulating one another on how morally righteous you both are.”
Tara was aghast. In all the time that she’d known Willow, she’d never thought her capable of this kind of rage and desperation. The thought that the person she had loved so much could do something like this and treat her fears so casually and with so much contempt was almost more than she could take.
“You’ve got to stop. Now”, she added forcefully. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you do this.”
Willow stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. And then she laughed. A bitter, painful laugh, full of anger and loathing. It was so incredibly horrible that Tara could almost feel her soul freeze at the sound.
“You won’t let me do this? How are you going to stop me, little witch? I’ve got more power in one finger than you’ve ever dreamt of. You’ve got no real power,” Willow’s features twisted into an ugly leer as she continued, “Face it honey, you can’t stop me and we both know it. I don’t need you for this and what I do need you for isn’t really at the top of my agenda right now. When it is, I’ll let you know. Now get the Hell out of here before I get really angry.”
Willow pulled her gaze away from her horrified girlfriend and began to chant again, the energy once again surging throughout the protective circle.
As emotionally devastated as she was by Willow’s outburst, Tara knew she had to do something to stop her. Gathering up her resolve, she launched a spell at the circle, desperately hoping to break Willow’s concentration again long enough to permanently disrupt the resurrection. The energy sped towards Willow and flared as it crashed into her wards, creating a multicolored burst of light, but doing no actual harm to the circle.
Willow stayed stationary for a moment and then lifted her head back up, staring intently in Tara’s direction. A bolt of energy caught Tara in the chest and knocked her backwards into the bedroom wall. She felt a searing pain in her head and lost focus for a moment. Blood began to seep onto her face from a welling cut on her forehead. She struggled to her feet, ready to try once more, even though she could feel the energy drain from her. This wasn’t Willow, she was sure of it. This wasn’t the woman she loved. Something had taken hold of her, causing her to behave this way.
“What...Tara?”
She turned to see Dawn standing in the doorway, confused and horrified at the damage. The girl looked past her guardian to where the other witch sat, completely lost in the spell-induced trance again. Tara was gripped with a sudden fear for the teenager’s safety. If she got caught in one of Willow’s spells…
“Dawn, get out of here, now!” She shouted at the bewildered girl.
“But, what’s happening, what’s…?” Dawn replied, more lost than ever, and seeming to be on the verge of hysterics.
Tara tried to calm her down. “Dawnie, it’s okay. Everything will be all right. I-I just have to talk to Willow.” As she said it, she groped around looking for something to wipe the blood out of her eyes. Dawn was already moving forward however, right up to where Willow sat. As she reached out to touch her, Willow seemed to snap out of it.
“Get that miserable brat of here, you bitch!” She screamed at Tara.
Dawn was stunned. She looked in horror at her guardians. Overwhelmed by utter panic, she bolted out of the door again, leaving Tara to face Willow’s wrath.
What am I going to do? She thought. I can’t stop her. I can’t even slow her down. Added to that was the question of Dawn’s safety. She was gone, fled into the night, where anything could happen to her. Faced with the worst possible decision to make, Tara decided that the younger girl needed her the most right now.
“This isn’t over, ” she said coldly to the other witch, leaving in search of Dawn.
“You got that right,” Willow muttered, as she continued the spell.
*****
Buffy still for what seemed like the longest time while she tried to piece together exactly where she was and what had happened to her. Her companions said nothing. The other girl crouched on her haunches, sniffing at the air like some kind of dog and showing no sign of acknowledging either Buffy’s or Whistler’s presence. For his own part, the little demon messenger seemed content to merely stand along with her, occasionally shifting his weight from one foot to another and looking somewhat bored. For some reason, that really pissed her off.
“I’m sorry, am I taking time out of your busy schedule? Got someone else you can torment through all eternity or something?” He didn’t respond, which made her even angrier. “I mean that’s where I am, right? Some kind of Hell dimension? Cause if it is, then I gotta say...so not impressed. No lakes of fire or even a guy in a red suit with a rusty pitchfork? Phfffft.”
Whistler shrugged. “You’ve been watching too many Daffy Duck cartoons, kid. Doesn’t work like that. And actually, there is no Hell, although I hear Los Angeles is getting close.”
“Was that supposed to be funny?”
“Well, it was when Rip Torn said it,” Whistler said defensively, “but then again the man has impeccable timing. I’m telling you, he carried Gary Shandling for years. Well, him and Jeffrey Tambour. Nothing like a good character actor to really put some life into a script, right?”
Buffy groaned. “Oh yeah, I’m definitely in Hell.”
“Geez, quit feeling sorry for yourself for a couple of minutes, will ya? I told you. You’re not in Hell. You’re not even close. But you do have a major problem.”
Buffy let out a bitter chuckle. “So, let me get this straight. I’m dead, right? But I’m not in Hell. So where am I… some kind of limbo? Purgatory? You’re not telling me this is Heaven, are you?”
“No, of course not. Yeah, I suppose you could call this limbo, in that it’s a place in between the various realms of existence and yes, you are technically dead.”
“Oh, just technically? Gee, I feel so much better now,” Buffy rolled her eyes. “So exactly how dead am I, technically? In the middle of getting the ‘kiss of life’ dead, or buried six feet under, rotting, smelly corpse dead? Oh, and if I’m dead, why am I standing here talking to you out in the middle, of well, this place?” She gestured at the wasteland that completely surrounded them. “ How can I talk at all?”
Whistler shrugged again. “Short answer is you can’t and you aren’t. You just think you’re standing in a desert talking to me. You don’t have a body anymore so you can’t actually do any of that stuff. It’s just your consciousness trying to deal with the fact that you no longer exist in any physical sense. It’s all totally rad and cool...in a metaphysical sort of way. You’re completely formless, which is kind of too bad, cause you did have a really nice form.” He finished with a smirk on his face.
“Oh great. I’m dead and formless and being sexually harassed by possibly the most annoying demon that I’ve ever met. And I know a lot of them, believe me. You’re absolutely sure this isn’t Hell?”
“Been there, asked and answered, move on.”
Growing more frustrated, she tried another approach. “Ok, fine I’m dead. I accept that. Now why am I here? I mean out here in the middle of nowhere, in this wilderness that you say I’m creating?”
Whistler got a sly look on his face. “That is the $60,000 Bonus round question, ain’t it, sweet cheeks? But you’re asking the wrong guy here, sweetheart. I didn’t put you out here. You did. You, and nobody else but you.”
She was completely blown away by that answer. “But-that’s-how can I do anything? I’m...”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re dead. I’m not really here, and this is all a scenario created by your mind, such as it is, cause that’s all that’s left of you. Blahdy, blahdy, blah. We’ve covered this already. This isn’t getting us anywhere, kiddo. Like I said, you have a problem and obviously you need somebody to talk you through it, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. So simply stated, you are here because you couldn’t be where you’re supposed to be.”
“ Wanna try that again without the vagueness? Where am I supposed to be?”
“You know, for the Chosen One, you can be a real thickie sometimes, girl. You died to save the world. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember,“ she shook her head sadly, “But that’s not why I did what I did.” A name came unbidden to her thoughts. Dawn. She remembered it all now. The horror of seeing her sister cut and bleeding, the cracks in the very fabric of the universe opening up, threatening to destroy all living things, everywhere. But at that last second, all there had been for her was the thought that Dawn was in danger and had to be saved. Nothing else had mattered. She hadn’t given the countless billions of lives that were endangered a second thought. It had all been for that one precious life, the one thing that she could never have lived without. They gave her to me. The monks created her out of me. She’s mine.
“I’d do again, you know,” she looked straight at him. “I’d do it all over the same way in a heartbeat.”
That seemed to touch a cord with him. “I know you would have,” he nodded in apparent acknowledgment of her sacrifice. “You did what had to be done. Nobody’s blaming you for it. Except yourself, of course. And that’s always been your trouble. You blame yourself for stuff that you never had any control over. You deserve some peace, an eternity’s worth of it in fact. Why not just accept that and move on, instead of torturing yourself like this?” He said it very gently, almost sweetly, but something about what he said jarred her, tearing at her very soul.
Torturing myself? Well, he had a point, she supposed. She’d been able to save Dawn and her friends and managed to stop Glory from killing, well everybody. Why did she feel so empty then, so utterly incomplete?
“Soul” she muttered, half to herself. “That’s what I am now, right? Just a lost soul wandering in the desert...forever?” She felt numb. Not afraid exactly but just numb. And empty.
“You’re not lost. You’re right here. Both of you.”
That startled her. “Both of us...?” Realization hit. For the first time, she looked over at the savage girl, who had been sitting there during the entire conversation with Whistler, not saying a word. Buffy examined her closely, growing more horrified as she realized what had happened. What had been done to her.
“Yeah,” said Whistler in a very quiet voice that nevertheless struck her like a ton of bricks crashing down on top of her skull. “You got it. She’s you.”
******
Willow could feel the energy surging through her again, as she began the final portion of the spell. A part of her still raged at Tara’s foolishness for interrupting her during the ritual, but she quickly suppressed the thought. Added emotion would be very dangerous to her during this last crucial phase. All that mattered now was seeing this through to the end. It was working, she could feel it.
Like water seeking a lower level, the magic poured into every inch of her being, changing, altering, becoming. She felt an awesome power imbuing her with the kind of strength that she had always secretly longed for but had never been able to bring herself to admit to wanting. But she had always wanted it. Buffy had always been the powerful one, the one that they all turned to for protection. The one who had saved Willow so often. No longer. This was her time.
“Let my will be done!” She screamed, and everything went black.
********
Buffy stared at Whistler, trying to take in what she had just discovered. It wasn’t working.
“How...what? Wait...t-this just isn’t possible. How can I be two different people? How can she be me?”
Whistler sighed. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t see this one coming. You were bound to have to face this eventually.” He grinned. “Welcome to eventually.”
Buffy had pretty much reached the end of her patience by this time. She grabbed him by his ragged shirt collar, and tried to lift him into the air. To her great surprise she couldn’t even budge him.
“Relax honey, you’re only going to pull a muscle or something. You can’t hurt me.”
“”Why?” She asked bitterly, “Because I’m dead?”
“Naw. That’s got nothing to do with it. It’s because you’re not the Slayer. She is.” He pointed to the other girl. The one who looked exactly like her. Well, except for the fact that her face was streaked with mud and she was almost completely naked. Other than that…
“And I’m…?”
“Buffy Anne Summers, of course. Born 1981. Died May 2001. Former high school cheerleader. Sunnydale High School Class of 1999. The girl who wanted to be Homecoming Queen. The one that dated varsity swim team guys. You know. The one that never wanted to be the Slayer? Who hated the concept of having to give up her comfortable little suburban existence. Hated it to the point that she built this wall of denial between herself and that part of her that made her miss out on all the cool things she wanted to do before she got called.”
“Wall? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” Although a part of her was beginning to realize that she knew exactly what he meant.
“That right, kid? Come on, you can’t lie to me. I can see our thoughts as you think them. I’m in your consciousness, remember? You and I both know that you’re responsible for this. You built the wall in your subconscious, brick by brick, year after year, until you finally managed to completely wall the slayer off from the rest of yourself. Oh, you could always call on it when you needed to. But deep down in your soul, you shut the slayer part of you out until it became a separate entity.
“Now, you see that’s the thing about you. No other Slayer has ever done that. Usually, the power takes them over a bit at a time, until there’s nothing left but the Slayer. You’re the first one to ever keep that from happening. It’s what makes you, well made you, truly unique, and I’m guessing is what kept you alive as long as it did. It’s also what probably killed you in the end.”
“I don’t know…”
“What I’m talking about?” he cut in. “Ok, let me run this up the flagpole and see if you salute it. Tell me something. That last moment, when you jumped into that portal. What did you feel? I mean really feel?”
Buffy thought about it for a long moment.
“Relief,” she said finally.
“Exactly. It was all over then, wasn’t it? The pain, the guilt, fear, anger, frustration. Loneliness. All of it. The whole miserable bloody mess that we laughingly call life. Of course, there is all the other stuff too.”
“As in?”
“Love, joy, fun. The thrill of just simply existing? But you really didn’t have that any more did you. Not after...”
“After mom died,” she finished for him sadly.
“Uh-huh. You said it yourself to old watcher pops. You were shutting down. Big-time. All that baggage from the last five years was catching up to you. It was getting harder and harder to access the Slayer when you needed her, and when you did, it was harder and harder to get back to, well… you. It got to where you just couldn’t do it anymore. Not until the very end. Am I right?
Buffy simply nodded. What else was there to say? They both knew he was right.
“So you took the swan dive of a life-time and saved the world. And now you just want to rest, right?
She nodded again.
“But you can’t, can you, sweetheart?” He said it in a very gentle way, like a father cooing to his newborn daughter.
She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, even though on some level she knew that they really weren’t there.
“N-no. I-I just can’t,” she admitted. Why can’t I? Isn’t what I’ve done...had to do, enough? Why can’t they all just leave me alone? What more do I have to do for them?”
Whistler shook his head. “Nix on the them part, hon. None of this has anything to do with the Powers or anybody else. Nobody except you. This is about what you want. What you expect from yourself. I told you, nobody ever expected you to live past your sweet 16. You’ve been a free agent for a long time, Buffy. You’re not bound by prophecy anymore. You’re completely outside the box. And what’s even more remarkable is that everyone around you is too.”
“What?” she asked, even more taken aback. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you think it’s a coincidence that the Order of Tarnis picked you to safeguard that sweet little package of theirs? They knew that you weren’t under any obligation to destiny, fortune or anything else like it. They knew they could count on you to accept what they were offering and to make it the center of your life. And you did, didn’t you? Lock, stock, and the proverbial barrel. You didn’t have to, but you did.”
“Yeah,” Buffy nodded once again. “But you’re wrong. I did have to. You couldn’t know her and not love her. She’s my whole life. My...”
“Gift?”
“Yeah. That pretty much sums it up. My gift. I seem to have a lot of them these days. Love, death...”
“Hey- love death, sex… pretty much what makes the world go round. Well, that and Philly Cheese steaks. But out of all those things it’s love you should be concentrating on. That’s what will take you to your gift.”
“I thought death was my gift?” she asked him, totally confused.
“And is death everything you hoped it would be?”
“No,” she said bleakly. “It really isn’t. I’m not happy here either, am I? I mean, I wanted to be. I just wanted to end it all, and be with my mother and not have to worry about having the weight of the world on my shoulders all the time. Am I so selfish for wanting that?” She looked at him, desperately needing him to reassure her that she wasn’t.
“Not at all. But like I said, nobody expects you to be perfect but you. You can’t move on because you won’t stop and admit to yourself what it is you really need. It’s not rest. It’s forgiveness. Forgiveness and acceptance.”
“Forgiveness? From who?”
“From Yourself. To yourself.”
“What?”
“Pretty obvious to me. You walled the slayer off form the rest of you because you resented the hold she had over your life. You locked her up in a cage and divorced her from yourself so you wouldn’t have to deal with her. You never forgave her for messing up your ‘perfect’ little life and you’ve never forgiven yourself for doing that. I think it’s about time that you did. And deep down, so do you.”
His words cut into her deeply, more deeply than any knife could have done. Nothing but the truth, the words had an added harshness. She’d always resented that part of herself-the part that had caused her to experience so much death and pain in her short life. It was the Slayer in her that had sent Angel to hell, that had never let Riley get too close to her, that had attracted all the evil that had threatened everyone Buffy had ever loved. That bitch ruined my life.
She was sitting there now, still oblivious to everything around her. Buffy looked at her again but this time really looked at her-seeing, really seeing her-for the first time in her life.
She wasn’t a monster. She wasn’t greedy, or demanding, or evil. She was just a girl. That was all. Nothing else to it. And suddenly, Buffy recognized the truth. The Slayer wasn’t a separate entity at all. Never had been. Whistler had been right. She had always convinced herself that the Slayer was a being outside of herself that she was forced to share a body with. Slowly, and very tenderly, Buffy reached out to touch her forehead. As she did so, the Slayer seemed to sense her presence. She grabbed Buffy’s forearm in a vice-like grip and in a forced and broken voice, husked out one word:
“Forgive.”
Shocked, Buffy tried to pull back but the other girl’s hold on her was too strong. Had always been strong. A feeling of panic began to suffuse her but as it did, she also felt something else. It was an instinctive sense of understanding. She knew what the girl wanted. What they both wanted, and needed. And at that single instant, Buffy forgave herself and melted into the other girl’s arms.
********
Dawn continued to run through the streets of Sunnydale as if all of hell was after her, and in some twisted sense, it was. She’d never been that scared before, not even when Glory had had her tied up on top of the tower she had built to sacrifice her. Until now, that had been the most terrifying night of her life, but what she had seen in Willow’s face had nearly made her blood freeze. Dawn had never seen that much anger in one person, or even known that it could exist. That she could see it someone who she loved as much as she loved Willow was simply too horrifying for her to contemplate.
She ran without direction, just desperate to get as far away from 1630 Rivello Drive as possible. Her first instinct, as always, was Spike’s crypt. She knew that if anybody would understand her fear, it would be him. He’d protect her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. And he’d make her believe him. He always did. Ever since Buffy’s death, he was the only one in her life that she could count on, no matter what.
He’ll bring her back, she thought to herself. He said he would and he never lies. Not to me. The rational part of her of course, knew that what Spike had told her was impossible. That he had only been trying to comfort her. Buffy was gone and there was no way to bring her back. She’d already come near to making a disastrous mistake by attempting to resurrect her mother last spring. She knew how impossible it was. How wrong it was.
Willow. What was Willow doing? Dawn stopped running. For the first time in several minutes, she calmed down enough to think about what she had witnessed in Willow and Tara’s bedroom. It had been very quick, but she’d seen the spell components spread around Willow’s circle, the scrolls, and...
Suddenly, Dawn realized what had been going on.
“Buffy. She’s going to resurrect Buffy,” she muttered.
Getting a bearing on where she was, Dawn reversed course and headed away from the direction of the cemetery where Spike made his lair, and instead began to run towards the one place that made the most sense to be at this particular moment.
Buffy’s grave.
*********
“Are you all right, kid?” Whistler asked, with obvious concern in his voice.
Buffy sat on the ground hugging herself tightly but saying nothing.
“Umm, look I don’t mean to push you or anything but...”
“It’s all right,” she finally said, as she stood up. “I’m here, I’m good.”
The other girl had vanished. There was no longer any need for Buffy to keep up the fiction that they were two separate entities. They weren’t, had never been, and now for the first time, she accepted that fact.
“So now what?” she asked as she dusted herself off.
“Well, for one thing, how do you feel? Universe makes a little more sense, does it?”
She thought about it a minute. “Yeah, I guess it does. I feel more, I don’t know, complete? Is that the right word?”
He shrugged. “Could be. You’ve jumped a major hurdle here but there’s still a long way to go. Miles to go before you sleep and all that jazz.”
“So, what does that mean? Where do I go from here?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On the choices that are being made even as we speak. So to speak.”
“Do I get any say in them at all” Do I even get a vote in my own destiny?” she asked, a slight note of bitterness one again creeping into her voice. She felt buoyed by her acceptance of her Slayer persona, but even that failed to dissuade her from her perception that even after all this time, she was being used as a piece on some cosmic chess board.
“Nobody ever gets entire control over their destiny, kid. Not ever free agents like yourself. We’re all a product of the choices we make. Those, and the ones made by the people closest to us. Still, you get to make more choices than most ever do. All I can say is this. What you are, what’s to come. You still have no idea. But you will.”
The demon started to walk away from her, leaving her more confused than ever.
“Wait,” she called after him. “Wait a minute, dammit. What’s to come?”
Whistler turned back to her and as he did so the mask of humanity that he had been wearing dropped away to reveal a cherubic blue face, with a large bulbous nose. He smiled at her then, a smile full of joy and hope.
“Something wonderful.”
With that the demon was gone, leaving her alone in the empty desert. Seeing nothing else to do, Buffy began to walk. As she moved along the sandy landscape, she could see, no feel, the barrenness of the place giving way to a bright light that seemed to emanate from everywhere at once.
“Well,” she muttered to herself. “This should be interesting.”
Buffy Summers squinted as she walked into the light to meet her destiny.
**********
Spike was in a state of near panic as he cruised the streets in his battered old Desoto, desperately looking for any trace of Dawn Summers. It had been nearly a half an hour since he had arrived at his crypt, still slightly inebriated from yet another nightly drinking binge at the Bronze, to find a highly distraught Tara waiting for him. The young witch was in a pretty miserable state, her forehead was cut and still bleeding somewhat, and she seemed to be almost in shock from a combination of physical pain and emotional distress. She had babbled a bunch of nonsense about spells and great evils and a lot of other bloody tripe about Willow that he had no way of comprehending, but there was one thing he had been able to get from her. Dawn was missing.
Tara, in as sad a state as she was, had managed to make it as far as his place, but had nearly come completely unglued when she realized that the girl was nowhere to be found. Spike had been forced to drop her off with a bewildered Giles, who had also more than slightly drunk. That detour had cost him precious time and he cursed bitterly because of it, but there wasn’t much else he could have done. Something seriously wrong was going on at the Summers home, that much he knew, but for now he would have to leave it to Giles to sort it out as best he could. Dawn was his first priority.
Gunning the engine, he drove down Crawford Street, past the old mansion that he and Drusilla had once shared with Angel, after he had lost his soul. Spike shook his head sadly at the memory. These days he didn’t like to dwell on those times too much. They had, all of them, changed more than he had ever thought possible at the time. That there had ever been a time when he had wanted Buffy dead still amazed him.
“And if you don’t get your stupid arse moving, you’ll have another dead Summers girl on your hands, ya bloody wanker,” he muttered aloud to himself.
Driving through the main part of town, he began to think about what Tara had been mumbling about when he first saw her? Something about an orb, or gem or something like that? Something like...
Oh bloody Hell. The Urn of Osiris. He remembered now. He’d heard Red and Glinda arguing about it a few times, during those God-awful Scooby meetings that they’d insisted on having. Some sort of sacred vessel used by ancient Egyptian Priests to contact the spirits of their dead Pharaohs, not that Spike had cared about that sort of rubbish. Somehow, Willow must have gotten a hold of it and was using it to-to bring Buffy back?
Think, Spike. If the Niblet had walked in on that, where would she go? It really didn’t make a lot of sense. She should have come to him. She knew she could trust him. But supposing she had figured out what the witch was up to? She was a bright enough girl, smart as a bloody whip in fact. What would be her first reaction, if she thought that Buffy was about to be resurrected? The answer was ridiculously simple.
“She’s gone to her grave site.”
Spike pulled hard on the steering wheel and turned the car in direction of the woods where they had buried her, to a small glade in the middle, miles away from any traffic or other signs of civilization. Fortunately for him, traffic was pretty light right now and he managed to get to the edge of the woods within a few minutes.
Jumping out of the car, he didn’t even bother to pull the keys out of the ignition, as he grabbed the shotgun he kept under the seat, and headed into the woods. He ran like he never had before, moving faster than any human would ever have been able to. As he reached the glen, he could hear something that sounded a lot like a woman’s sobs. He charged through the trees but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was in front of him.
Dawn was kneeling in front of the grave; her hands covered in freshly dug up earth, holding another young woman, one who Spike knew only too well. Her hands were also dirty, and covered in blood as well. She was still wearing the black funeral dress they had buried her in all those months ago and sobbing uncontrollably into Dawn’s shoulder. For a long moment, he just stood there silently, trying to make sense out of what he was seeing. Finally, just as he was about to say something, Dawn looked up and saw him. Her eyes were brimming with tears and it looked as if she didn’t quite believe what was happening was real, but she wasn’t quite ready to break. Not yet. Spike understood instantly. She had to be strong.
“She’s back, Spike,” was all that she said. “Buffy’s come back to us.”
[Reviews - 2]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 3778 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +