Chapter VI - Legend
I never knew what enough was
Until I'd had more than my share
I let the darkness in
And it was then I lost the dare
It was then I lost the day
There will be no prayers on your return
And there will be no party thrown
And you will find your inheritance is the silence that's grown
It is the seed that you've sown
Inconsolable by Plumb (Lyrics)
London, England, The King’s Pub, Piccadilly Circus, 2085
It was a large dark room with a few spots of blue light shining from the drum-shaped fixtures hanging from the ceiling. Spike stopped in the entranceway and lit a cigarette. He’d found a crushed pack in the back of the closet in the apartment. They were stale, but still burned the back of his throat when he inhaled. He leaned against the door jam, puffing the fag and searching the faces of the customers at the bar.
Then he saw her and made his way over. “Hello Glenda.” He strolled up to the witch seated in the corner, nursing a mug of something that looked like ale.
“My name’s Pandora, not Glenda, and how many times have I told you that, Spike.”
“Every time I come in here, I believe.” He sat down next to her. “But as I’ve told you, I can’t stand the irony. So I’m calling you Glenda.”
She lifted the hair from her face, revealing diamond-shaped black irises. “Whadda you want?”
“There are a lot of things I want, Glenda.” Spike said. “A house in the country…with a swimming pool filled with stardust…and of course, enough magic to go back in time.”
“You do know how dangerous that is Mister Spike?”
“The Slayer asked me to do it before she died.”
“Oh, your Slayer died?”
“Yeah,” Spike said.
“When?”
“Two months ago.” Spike paused. “I think it was two months ago.”
“Too bad,” she said. “Still, Buffy was lucky having a youth spell last that long?” The witch wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Whoever cast it was damn powerful.”
“It was one of the witches of the Bath Coven.”
Her eyes sparkled. “That was a hell of a group. Didn’t you write the Watchers’ Chronicles on that bunch?”
“Three volumes, eighty years ago,” Spike said. “And the fourth volume…more recently.”
“Required reading among all white-robed witches to this day, helps us keep the dark side at bay.”
“Being a witch is a lot different now than it was then,” Spike said.
“I know, I know.” She tilted her chin up and her eyes glazed over as if in a trance. "Only a cup full of magic left in the universe…most of their power stolen, because of one witch…now none can use magic to change the world order, ever again.” Her face quickly brightened as she looked into his face. “I’m paraphrasing, but I believe that’s the gist of your last volume.”
“They brought it on themselves.”
“Some say it was your doing, Spike.”
“What’s that?”
“The powers stolen from the witches of Bath.” Pandora said. “They say you did it.”
“That’s an urban legend,” Spike assured her.
She chuckled. “Why do you think you’re in the pickle you’re in? Witches have been pissed at you for an eternity because of what happened to that bunch.”
“Then why do you always help me out, Glenda?” Spike touched her hand.
“Cause beneath this old wrinkled hide is a heart of gold,” she said, batting her eyes. “Now enough of your smooching, do you have the box?”
“Yes.”
She emptied the pint and belched. “Let’s do it then.”
“We’ll have to go back to my apartment.”
She tilted her head to the side and smiled, her eyes twinkling.
“We can’t use the box unless we’re in the bedroom closet," Spike said.
Her smile broadened into a grin. “You trying to get me into your bed? I already said I’d do it.”
Spike shook his finger at her. “That’s not what I meant, and we’ve got work to do.”
“Okay,” she said, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Do you know what you’re going to do when you get back to the past?”
“Does it matter?”
“Why would you say something like that?”
“Cause whatever I do, Glenda.” Spike put a coin on the bar. “It’s already been done.”
“Than why go?”
“Because there’s always a chance.” Spike sighed. “Something will change.”
“Nothing changes, you know that.” She stood up and hobbled to his side. Then she looked up at him. “My, my, my, you are a funny vampire, Mister Spike.”
“Yeah I know,” Spike said. “Bloody hilarious.”
London, England, Buffy and Spike’s Apartment, October 2007
“You talked to me…in the future…” Spike sat down in the chair behind his desk.
“Yes.” Buffy answered.
“And you gave me a box and I gave you a different box in exchange, right?”
“Yes.” Buffy frowned. “Well, no. It was the same box.”
“I thought there were two boxes.”
“No…well, yes,” Buffy muttered. “They are one in the same.”
Spike raised his hand. “Stop,” he said. “Let’s leave the boxes alone.”
“Sounds good.” Buffy scratched her head.
“Where are we going now?”
“To the past to take the box to Willow.”
Spike looked up at the ceiling. “I said no more box talk.”
“Sorry.”
He exhaled. “When we get there, won’t I, or I mean the other Spike, be there?”
Buffy put her head to one side. “Yeah…maybe.”
Spike heard her high-heeled boots tapping the wood floor. “Just trying to figure out what’s next, love, that’s all.”
“No, you’re being you.”
“Well, isn't this the only time zone when I can be me?" Spike raised his voice.
“I think we should go before you get angry.”
“You said I can’t leave the portal if vampire Spike is around, so what good am I doing anyway?”
“Honestly Spike, II don't know, but Willow said, you had to travel with me."
Spike suddenly remembered something he'd read and walked to the bookshelf. “There was a chapter in volume two about astro planning and portals and time travel, and how Willow's Coven made things work.”
He pulled the book from the shelf and opened it. “Here it is.” He rushed over to Buffy. “To summon the time portal, there must always be two travelers.”
“Then that’s why she said we had to travel together," Buffy said. "Okay, let’s go.”
She walked to the door and then abruptly turned to face him. “Spike, why didn’t you know that? I mean you wrote it, didn't you?”
He was still holding the book in his hand, staring at it. "I was just thinking the same thing." He placed the book back on the shelf. "I wonder if there are chapters of these books that I didn't write."
"Well then, who wrote them?" Buffy asked.
"Maybe it was Future Spike," he half-laughed and then he frowned.
"But you're future Spike, and past Spike and present Spike," Buffy said. "Aren't you?"
"Let's hope so."
They walked out of the apartment and headed into the garden, and into the portal.
Los Angeles, California, Spike’s Apartment, November 2005
The phone rang.
Buffy grabbed it, leaving Spike standing in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob. He was there because she'd called crying so hard he could barely make out her words. All he’d heard were names, Dawn and Willow. He hadn't been back in his old apartment for nearly a month. He stood in the archway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, watching her tremble as she picked up the phone. It was like being in the theater on opening night of a strange play where all the action took place over the telephone.
Buffy covered the mouthpiece, performing her part in the drama, and took a deep breath. Then she looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. She clearly knew the next line.
“Say hello, Buffy.” Spike said, removing his hands from his pockets. The muscles in his legs tightened as he prepared to walk across the stage to his leading lady and make some heroic gesture, to be expected from the leading man, if that was actually his role.
“Giles?” Buffy’s voice shook as she spoke into the receiver.
Spike edged out of the doorway, and stepped into the apartment.
“I understand,” Buffy was saying. “When will you know for certain?”
He walked up behind her, his arms carefully circling her waist.
“Is Willow okay?” Her voice rose. “At least that’s something.” Her head dropped back against his chest.
“Thank you,” she said, the receiver slipping slightly from her ear. “No, we’ll call you from the airport.”
Buffy hung up the phone, her head against his chest, her back stiff—and Spike waited. He needed to hear her say it out loud.
“Dawn’s dead.”
Spike spun her around to face him and hugged her to him. She buried her face against him, her tears soaking the front of his shirt.
Buffy took a step back, but still held on to his waist. “Dawn entered the vortex. Wouldn’t listen to anyone, and Willow couldn’t stop her.” She sniffed noisily. “Giles said if he’d known what they were planning, he wouldn’t have let Dawn…”
“Why couldn’t Willow stop her?”
Buffy jerked away and folded her arms over her chest. “Of course Willow tried to stop her.” Buffy insisted. “She did everything she could. Dawn wouldn’t listen.” The tears were falling, and every few seconds; she’d gulp out a sob.
“Buffy,” he touched her cheek. “Love, please. Sit down, Buffy.” He took her arm, leading her to the sofa.
She reeled away from him and started stomping around the apartment, grabbing a shirt from the dresser, a pair of pants from the back of a chair, and then she dropped to her knees beside the bed. Flat on her stomach, she reached beneath the bed and pulled out a duffle bag. “We’ve got to get to London. Now.” Buffy turned wide red eyes at Spike. “I shouldn’t have stayed here. I should have gone with her when she asked me to. I’m still a slayer Spike; I shouldn’t be hiding out in this tiny apartment while my sister is dying. I could have been there with her, helping her and Willow fight.”
She stared at him. “It’s my fault Dawn’s dead.”
“Buffy, you didn’t know this was going to happen, and they had three other slayers fighting with them.”
“But none of those slayers was her sister, Spike.” Buffy cried. “I should have been there…but no…instead...” She fumbled with the zipper of the duffle bag, and then impatiently ripped it apart.
“Instead...what Buffy?”
She started shoving things into the bag.
Spike controlled the urge to snatch the bag out of her hands. “Instead of what Buffy?”
She stopped. “Instead of staying here with you.”
to be continued...