Chapter Seven
“Found it.”
The emotionless burr of her voice was setting his fangs on edge.
“’Bout bloody time. A vamp could get serious eye strain from trying to decipher this garbled rubbish.”
“You are seriously whiny for a demon. Maybe you should hook up with an evil doctor and get some happy pills.”
The distracted comment just pissed him off more and Spike showed his displeasure at the lack of respect by slamming his useless tome shut. “Got anything to drink in this place?” He stood up and stretched, looking around the Slayer’s living room. It was homey in a rather bland fashion. Comfortable, but lacking in anything by way of a personal touch. He’d have expected photos of her mum at least, if not her now departed mates. Buffy obviously didn’t put much of herself into her surroundings and he wondered if the witch had managed to take over her house as well as her life.
“You can check the fridge. I think there’s some juice, maybe some soda.” Her nose still in her book, she completely missed his look of contempt as he stomped past her.
“I’m not a bleeding teenybopper,” he fumed under his breath. Then, louder, “Bloody vampire, Red. I don’t drink utter piss like juice and soda.”
She finally looked up and he could see the haze of calculation clouding her regard of him. Not that he’d condemn her for thinking more about how to get Buffy back than his temper tantrum, but it took some time to get used to not demanding attention like he was the centre of it.
“We don’t have anything else, and as for blood, you can take your fill when you deal with Buffy.” Her focus shifted once again to the answer to all their prayers and Spike held in the growl that wanted to rip violently from his throat.
His fangs itched. He hoped like hell that when he got Buffy back—after he’d calmed her hysteria over being saved by her enemy and following his saving the world—that she’d let him crack Red’s willowy neck. Nothing else was quite going to satisfy the yen he had for making this bitch pay for all the stress she’d put him through—not to mention the year of uncertainty and backstabbing Buffy had had to deal with. Seeing her corpse was going to be one gorgeous picture of finality.
Schooling his features so he didn’t betray his intense hatred, Spike turned away from the lure of the kitchen—and the expected drawer of knives—and asked her about the rescue.
“So, what have you found? A list of ingredients? Some kind of barter? Some bollocks incantation?”
She held up her hand to stall his litany of obvious suggestions and read further in the text. Then she stood, a smile so huge on her face he half wished it would just split her in two and save him the job.
“See, there was no problem with opening a portal to the other dimension. What I couldn’t do was open it exactly where Buffy would be, and as I’m not exactly inhuman, there’s a limit to how long I can hold it open. This text tells me how to aim the magic in the right place and with you here, we can just pluck her back through and then move on with our formerly scheduled lives.”
Of which yours will be severely shortened, Spike churlishly promised himself.
“Let’s do it then,” he demanded impatiently. “A vamp’s not getting any younger.”
Stockpiled energy exploded to his limbs; Spike was done waiting. There was a limit to his patience and if the witch didn’t get her bloody act together soon he was going to put her head through the dimensional thingamajig and hope it closed on her throat. He wouldn’t complain at a headless corpse bloodying up the carpet—not one little bit. Buffy might punch him in the nose but he was positive he could make her see reason—if he could prevent her from lodging a redwood through his chest.
“But…I haven’t even told you what I need to get her back yet,” Willow pouted, her voice and fake seduction technique thoroughly grating on his last nerve.
“What do you want? A bleeding medal? I don’t care how you get the bitch back here, I just want her here. Now get to it before I decide I’m too hungry to wait.” He knew the second her green eyes turned black he’d allowed his impulsive nature to destroy his chances of saving Buffy, but just as he readied himself for the strike, she’d regained her control and strode past him to set up the sacred circle.
Rolling his eyes, Spike took a second to give thanks to whichever Power was looking out for him and then followed the insane bitch. “What do you need?” he conceded begrudgingly, his lips tight and his hands ready to fight.
“You,” she replied simply, plopping to the floor and holding her hands out, eyes closed in a silent prayer.
“Oh that’s rich,” he exploded. “I’ve bloody been here for hours, you barmy bitch. You couldn’t have worked this out earlier?”
“Actually, no,” Willow stated calmly. “It didn’t say you specifically. I just needed someone that really wants Buffy back. I’m not even sure you’ll be enough, but it wasn’t exactly specific on what kind of ‘want.’ I figured it could come under the category of really ‘wanting’ her dead, so let’s cross our fingers and hope for the best. Okay?”
Holy fuck, the stupid bitch was completely off her tree.
“And what if I’m not enough?” he asked, knowing full well how often that question was answered in the affirmative.
“Then it’s back to the drawing board.” Her lack of interest was chilling and he wondered if she’d turned megalomaniac in the hours since they’d begun their research. There was suddenly no shaking this feeling that Buffy was doomed and Spike wanted to break everything in sight to avenge his hurt. He’d been too slow. He should have offered to come to her much earlier than this. Fear had held him back: fear of himself, fear of how Buffy would react, fear that he’d not be enough or that the Hellmouth would work its predictable charm and destroy his life some more. He’d not been ready and in his waiting he’d probably cost Buffy her life. If the Slayer didn’t make it, he’d never forgive himself. Not to mention he’d have to stand before the almighty Powers and explain his reluctance to do the job they’d bestowed upon him.
His rampage in this world would be over, no matter which way his future was sliced. Spike dropped his head in futility, but then a shot of heat hit him full in the chest and he looked up and coughed. A ghostly figure stood in the corner of the room, obviously invisible to the witch. It looked like the Watcher—the one obliterated by the other slayer—and the git looked like he was smiling at him. ‘Help her’ the ghost mouthed and Spike was filled with renewed vigour and determination.
“I’ll be enough,” he affirmed, strength and purpose rushing through him like a bursting volcano intent on a spring clean. “Let’s do this thing.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Had they won?
The demons had seemed to recede back into the night, leaving nothing but a widening stretch of corpses and a weary, wounded core of warriors. The darker man, Gunn, had somehow surpassed the blue one’s dire predictions and still clung to life, his breath laboured and his blood glistening, until this dimension’s Willow had swooped in and helped to dull his pain. Buffy looked on while the witch was thanked and hugged for saving the fighter’s life, but she wondered if the burden had merely been shifted for the moment when the crowd around him dispersed and he could pass without a condemning audience.
She didn’t know if this was winning; if the battle-worn figures who stood around her slapping each other on the back and congratulating their ability to stay alive in the face of certain death brooked the classification of success. She felt shell-shocked, confused, and not a little afraid as Willow’s curious eyes fell upon her.
“Hey, don’t tell me. You’re Buffy, right?”
The blonde was awarded a smile like she’d not received in so long and Buffy wondered if it truly were possible that there’d been a world where her life and that of her friends hadn’t been turned upside down and suicidal.
“Willow?” The second she was enfolded in a genuine hug, Buffy burst into tears. This wasn’t fair. She was standing alongside people who loved each other, who’d fought a fight together in a way that she’d forgotten—without the expectation of a winner between the only two fighting for the world. They were a team and she missed that so much she ached. Like a bolt from nowhere she remembered the talisman and wondered how her secret-friend had taken her disappearance. Despite wishing she didn’t have to go back, she knew she had to find a way. If not just to save her world, but to embrace the only person who gave her strength.
Suddenly she heard her own voice from behind her and she felt dizzy at how surreal this was. Turning, she caught her counterpart fawning over the vampire, brushing the bloodied locks from his face, bestowing the sweetest kiss to his lips as her eyes blurred with tears. “Don’t you dare dust. You hear me? Don’t you dare!” Her voice collapsed into broken sobs and Buffy looked on, confused at what such a situation should make her feel.
“But he has no soul,” she whispered, torn between awe and reactive disgust.
“Sure he does. Well, here he does. Quite a story too, if you hear him tell it.” Willow beamed at her and Buffy swallowed hard at the automatic offer of friendship, just through speech alone—the tone of a kind voice.
“She loves him?” How could this be? She would never fall for such a creature, despite the way he’d made her belly feel like it was experiencing an eruption of butterflies, nor with how his kiss made her body flush at the madness of delight.
“It’s been a really long time coming, and they’ve been apart for almost a year on account of Buffy thinking he was all with the dust in the wind. But yeah, I think this time she really does.”
Willow turned and watched her friend holding Spike tightly to her chest. “Not that she’ll admit it,” she giggled knowingly.
Spike coughed and all eyes were again fixed on him, waiting for his eyes to open and see the angel staring watery-eyed at his damaged form. “Bloody hell. When did demons become trucks?” He struggled to prop himself up and groaned at the useless effort, collapsing back in his Buffy’s arms.
“Silly vampire,” she sniffled and then the out-of-towner Buffy watched in horror and a strange sense of envy as a look grew between the couple, one of warmth and understanding, patience and love, awe and acceptance the likes of which Buffy herself had never received. Not even Angel had bestowed such a look upon her before his death and she found herself incredibly jealous, and once again her thoughts turned needily to her connection through the talisman.
This connection before her eyes was tangible, and it extended into quiet minutes before Spike coughed again and then broke the intent stare he shared with his slayer.
“Not that I want to draw your attention to Peaches, luv, but did anyone see where the big poof ended up?” Both Buffys and even Willow heard the fear in his voice and they automatically swept the surrounds to try and find him. But before they’d surveyed very far, a great crash sounded to the left and then a form of indiscriminate origin lurched out from beneath something huge and bulky all covered in the deepest red of blood ever known. The form stumbled and jerked spasmodically and finally it slithered and shook to a stop in front of them; the face was submerged almost fully in gunk, but with one determined swipe a face could be glimpsed as it swayed to the ground at their feet.
“Um, looks like he’s right here. And I kinda think he defeated the dragon.” Buffy squeezed Spike tighter and buried her face in his neck, leaving the onlookers to suddenly feel embarrassed at still standing and staring at the long overdue reunion.
A hand waved in the air despite the figure remaining face first to the ground. “Really did,” was heard in Angel’s distinctive voice.
Exhaustion was worn heavily on every face, despite the relatively short fight. “Did you do something to stop them?” Buffy asked the friendly Willow, still nervous about how close she stood to her. For some reason, she felt this Willow had worked hard for trust and thoroughly deserved the faith the other Buffy seemed to have in her. There was a sinking sense of depression that she’d been robbed in her world. Things could have been so different for her; she might have had a friend to make the passage through time a whole lot more pleasant, but all she’d had was a faceless friend through a talisman bestowed by the Powers—an entity that was more than a little meddlesome in their supposed support of her destiny. She’d fought for years for them, winning battle after battle that had threatened to tear her world through all manner of hells, and what had she received for it? A witch on the brink of killing her on a whim and a secret confidant who wouldn’t tell her his name. Compared to this fullness she witnessed in front of her, her life seemed barely worth struggling to sustain.
She quickly grew tired of watching a happier, more rounded version of herself become reacquainted with a vampire’s lips. The decision to turn her back and walk away—to find a secluded spot to either wait out her Willow’s return mission or realise her failure—was taken out of her hands as another thunderous roar rocked the destroyed buildings around them.
A blindingly bright rip of light tore through the sky and suddenly dimensions were split down the middle, shimmering and blending. All warriors jumped to their feet, more alert than was possible considering their combined injuries and exhaustion. Buffy stared in shock and then realised this was her doorway home, but before she could step toward it, she was thrown into even more confusion with the appearance of another Spike.
His entry was lightning fast, his eyes spinning around the scattered army of slayers and finally falling upon the Buffy that wasn’t her. He stared at the scythe apprehensively, but then she lowered it and turned to look bewilderedly at her Spike. In that blink of inattention, she was grabbed around the middle and yanked back toward the tear.
Before anyone could react, the Slayer had been pulled through the doorway and was gone.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Okay, so looks like my tardiness in posting has meant I have a stockpile of chapters and only ten days in which to get as many out as I can, so I could possibly be updating each day or if I miss, twice a day. I wonder if I could jam in some writing and actually finish the thing by deadline? I'm really rather not expecting reviews, being that it's Harry Potter hysteria (and yes, I've already read the book--bonus in being a different timezone!) Hurrah for Harry!