Chapter Fourteen
When Spike arrived back at the hospital, he went straight to Buffy’s room. After all the talk of death with Simkins, he was desperate to see her. When he got there, he found Wesley hovering around outside, a mobile phone in his hand and a frown on his face.
“Spike, you didn’t answer your phone.”
“You didn’t call,” Spike replied, pulling his mobile from his pocket. The display was blank. “Bugger, the battery died.”
“Yes, well,” Wesley began, casting a worried glance to the window of the room behind him, where the blinds had been drawn, “Buffy’s family are here, but—”
“They in there with her?”
“No, they’re talking to the doctors. Spike, listen to me.” Wesley put out a hand out to stop Spike from going into the hospital room. “Her ex is here.”
“What?” Spike paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Why?”
“He came down with her parents when they heard the news,” Wesley replied. “He stops by every other day.”
Spike felt an irrational wave of jealousy and anger surge through him at the thought of Buffy’s ex-boyfriend sitting at her bedside. Well, bollocks to that. If anyone should be by her side, it should be him. He shook off Wesley’s calming hand and pushed open the door, only to be met by a harsh, herby scent, completely at contrast with the clinical hospital smell.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood over Buffy. One of his hands held a bundle of cloth to her forehead and the other was loosely grasped around her wrist.
Spike could see immediately where the strange smell was coming from—a bowl on the bedside table—but he didn’t understand it. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”
The other man jumped and took a step back from the bed. “Hello.” He looked at Spike with pursed lips before setting the cloth down and wiping his hands on the side of his shirt. He held one out to shake. “Are you Spike?”
“Yeah,” Spike said, deliberately ignoring the proffered hand. “Who the hell are you?”
“Liam O’ Connor. I’m a, uh, friend of Buffy’s.”
“What were you doing to her?” Spike strode over to the edge of the bed, pausing for a moment to touch Buffy’s hand lightly before picking up the bowl and sniffing it. “What’s this?”
“A poultice. Look, I seem to have done something to offend you, but really, I mean her no harm.”
Spike sighed and sank down into the chair beside the bed. He put his face in his hands before slumping backwards. He knew he’d been rude. “Sorry, mate. I’m just worried about her.” He gestured to the bowl again. “What’s in this thing, then?”
Liam shrugged and sat down in the other chair. “Not really sure. My girlfriend and her uncle are into the whole spiritual thing and sent it down. It’s supposed to help guide her. Hell if I know what that means; it’s a load of rubbish if you ask me.”
Spike chose not to reply. He knew first hand now that the world was not as it immediately seemed, but he didn’t have the energy to explain everything all over again. He turned his attention back to Buffy and brushed her hair back off her forehead. “She’ll wake up soon,” he said.
“Yeah?”
Spike nodded. “She has to.”
***
Buffy’s mother and stepfather were lovely people but they seemed a little disinclined to believe Spike’s story. Spike supposed it was a bit much for them to take in and he wished that Simkins hadn’t mislaid Elizabeth’s marriage and death certificates, so he could at least have some tangible proof to show them.
Wesley had tried to get Spike to leave the hospital and go back to the bed and breakfast he was staying in, but Spike had refused. He didn’t know how long it would be until Buffy awoke, but he wanted to be there when she did. He wanted his to be the first face she saw as she’d undoubtedly be confused from her trip into the life of her past-self.
The lights in the hospital room had been dimmed, and a nurse had been round to check on Buffy. It was quiet, the only sound the beep and hum of the machinery, and a sense of peace had descended. Spike was in that strange place between sleeping and waking, his eyes half-closed, and his senses dulled.
It was no surprise, then, when he saw Drusilla sitting in the corner.
“Dru.” He smiled. “I’ve missed you. Where did you go?”
“Hello, William.” She smiled back and stood up, crossing the room so swiftly that Spike knew it had to be a dream. “Not a dream.” Drusilla shook her head. “Silly boy. Haven’t you learned by now that things might be exactly what they seem?”
“So you’re really here?” Spike squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear the muffled feeling in his head.
“Yes and no. It depends on your definition of ‘here’. Am I real? No. But I am here.”
“I don’t understand.”
Drusilla chuckled. “I don’t expect you to.”
“I feel like I should be insulted by that,” Spike replied. He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but his palm passed through her like she was made of smoke. “Gonna explain?”
“In time.” She began to hum softly, her eyes wide as they swept the room. Spike kept quiet, still unsure whether or not he was dreaming. Eventually, Drusilla met his eyes and smiled sadly. “I was never your sister, Spike.”
He had been expecting this, but it still hurt to hear. “No?” he said lightly. “Who are you then?”
“I’m a guide.” Drusilla stood and moved away a little bit. When she turned around, she wore the face of Sister Maclay. “I’m everyone who’s ever helped William and Elizabeth. Tara,” she paused and her face changed again and again. “The carriage driver who took you to Cowes. Stephen and Mary. Even the conductor on the train, who pretended not to see you kissing.” She returned to Drusilla’s form and took a seat once more. She leaned over and stared earnestly into Spike’s eyes. “Buffy’s in trouble.”
“How?” Spike had been unnerved by the sight of Drusilla changing into the faces from his past, but his attention was snapped back to the present by her words.
“She’s fading. Soon, she’ll disappear completely, if certain wrongs are not put right.”
Spike swallowed. “You mean she’s dying?”
“No,” Drusilla said. “She’s disappearing and soon, she’ll be erased from this world completely. She’ll fade and no one will ever remember that she existed.”
“I don’t understand.” Spike turned to look at Buffy on the bed, still so thin and pale with dark shadows beneath her eyes. She looked small, sunken in on herself, and Spike could easily imagine her fading away. But he didn’t understand why.
“You say that a lot,” Drusilla replied with a smile in her voice before her face turned serious. “Time isn’t linear. It’s more like… a ball of wool. Not a new one, but one that’s been lost in the bottom of grandma’s knitting bag, becoming more and more tangled as the years go on. Different strands weave different timelines. Do you see?”
“Not really, but go on.”
“The timelines are in flux. Your regression to the past has caused them to change. Buffy is disappearing now in the present, because Elizabeth made the wrong choice in the past. She chose to return to the island and marry Ethan Rayne, and then she died. The timelines don’t add up; the strands of wool are different lengths. For Buffy to wake up now, Elizabeth needs to make the right decision all those years ago and live a long, long life.”
“Okay,” Spike said, slowly. He tried to wrap his mind around what Drusilla had said. “I’m not losing her. How do we make this happen? It was over a hundred years ago.”
Drusilla smiled enigmatically and moved towards Spike. Reaching out a hand, she rested it on his forehead. Her skin felt cool and dry and not altogether human. “Sleep, now. Let’s hope it all comes right by morning.”
***
Spike looked around himself, puzzled. He was in the old Summer House at William’s home, but it looked nothing like it had the last time he’d seen it, in the months before leaving for the island. Back then, white dust-sheets had covered every surface and everything had been packed away.
Here, now, it was as he remembered it from boyhood: bright and open, the sun streaming in through the glass roof, books lined neatly on the shelves and vases of flowers on the tables. In the air lingered a strange but familiar scent, which Spike soon recognised as the smell of the poultice Liam had used on Buffy. Perhaps whatever he’d done had helped after all.
Spike’s eyes swept the room and landed on the small, huddled form of Elizabeth sitting on the largest of the settees. She was dressed all in black, at complete contrast with the bright vitality of the room, and her eyes stared unseeing at the floor. Curled up on her lap was a sleeping tabby cat, which she stroked absentmindedly every now and then.
He approached her, and, as he did, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the far wall. He was dressed in his customary black jeans and t-shirt, and his hair was brightly bleached. Spike hesitated, feeling out of place, his modernity completely at odds with the Victoriana of the room.
A shocked gasp caught his attention and he looked up to see a wide-eyed Elizabeth staring at him. She had gone very pale and swayed a little, dislodging the cat from her lap. Spike ran forward to steady her, holding her wrists as she closed her eyes for several moments.
When she opened them, she reached out to him almost immediately, and put her hand against his cheek. Spike stayed silent, relishing the touch and shivering when she moved her hand from his face to the nape of his neck. “Your hair,” she said, stroking the fine hairs at the back of his head. “It’s so bright. Why would I dream of you with such white hair?”
She thought he was a dream. Perhaps he was. The last thing Spike remembered was Drusilla telling him to go to sleep. Maybe this was her doing; maybe she had given them this time together in a shared dream that spanned the decades.
“You have such a vivid imagination,” Spike replied eventually, his accent falling easily back into William’s upper-class tones.
“And your clothes! Why…” She trailed off and closed her eyes once more. “I miss you.”
Spike felt his heart breaking all over again. “I miss you, too.”
“I don’t know what to do without you,” she said. She slid her hand down his arm and entwined her fingers with his, tugging him until they were curled together on the settee. “I feel so lost.”
“You’ll find your way,” Spike said. “You’re—” He stopped, remembering suddenly that no, she wouldn’t find her way. She would return to the island and her forced marriage and be dead within the year. He heard Drusilla’s words in his head: For Buffy to wake up now, Elizabeth needs to make the right decision all those years ago and live a long, long life. “Oh.”
“What am I?” Elizabeth prompted, when he fell silent. “William?”
Spike sat up quickly and grabbed Elizabeth by her upper arms. He turned her to face him and looked into her eyes. “You’re strong. You are,” he said, when she shook her head and bit her lip.
“I’m not. You don’t know… I’ve been so useless. I’ve left everything for Stephen and Mary to sort out.”
“That’s understandable, love,” he said. “Listen to me now. You mustn’t go back to the island. D’you hear me? You can’t go back there.”
“I—” Elizabeth began, but broke off without saying anything, guilt on her face. She looked down at their joined hands and whispered, “I don’t think there’s any other option.”
“Of course there is!” Spike stood up and began to pace. “There are a thousand things you could do instead.”
“I’m young and unmarried,” Elizabeth replied. “I have no chaperone. What can I do? Nothing.”
“I left you money. I left you this house. Go to Paris, like you wanted! Or America. Use your nurse’s training to help others. Take Mary and Catherine with you. There’s a whole world waiting for you.” Spike’s voice was pleading. “Just please, don’t go back to the island.”
“What use is the world without you in it?” she asked, turning tear-filled eyes to him. She sighed. “Besides, I hadn’t thought much about what to do next until you mentioned it. I’ve been living moment to moment ever since—”
Spike took a deep breath and dropped to his knees in front of her. He gathered her hands together and kissed her knuckles. “If we’re ever to have a chance at happiness, you must not go back there. Do whatever else you like but don’t do that. Please. For me.”
“Our chance at happiness has passed. You know that.”
“It hasn’t. I’ve seen it, we have a chance to be together again, far into the future, but it won’t happen if you go back.” Perhaps it was time to be blunt. “If you go back, you’ll die.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, William.” She chuckled. “I’m going quite mad, it seems. Just as well it’s only a dream and you’re only a figment. A happy memory.”
“No—please, promise me. Promise.”
“All right, I promise. William, you’re scaring me.” She frowned. “Why have you gone so pale?”
Spike felt himself begin to pull away from the dream. He heard the beep-beep-beep of hospital machines and the hum of electric lights. Still, he kept his eyes fixed on Elizabeth, even as the Summer House faded around him.
Suddenly, he woke up.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks as always to everyone who reads and reviews! We're almost to the end of this fic. After this, there's just two more chapters and an epilogue to come. I'll be sad when it comes to an end. Thanks to Sotia for beta-reading. I hope you enjoy the update!
Chapter End Notes:
So, I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing. I've been worrying about it. If it was, I'll just direct you to the words of the tenth Doctor: Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey. I think that says enough, LOL.
Oh, and I've been toying with the idea of doing a sort of pictorial 'tour' of this fic - with pics and links and comments for all the places Buffy and Spike/Elizabeth and William go to on the island. It'd be posted to my livejournal. Would anyone be interested in seeing that?
Oh, and I've been toying with the idea of doing a sort of pictorial 'tour' of this fic - with pics and links and comments for all the places Buffy and Spike/Elizabeth and William go to on the island. It'd be posted to my livejournal. Would anyone be interested in seeing that?