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Author's Chapter Notes:
So this is my Buffyverse adaptation of the classic Dickens’ Christmas novel. The story is Buffy-centric as it focuses on her journey to become a better, happier person who is capable of love and being loved in a time of desolation. However, although the focus is on Buffy this is a Spuffy story. There is some angst in this story too.

I have the story completed so I’m hoping to post regularly during the next couple weeks.

I hope you enjoy and please leave your constructive feedback. :)
Buffy had been dead.



Although everyone around her tried to avoid acknowledging that fact, it didn’t make it any less true. And while her body had been resurrected, inside she was still almost completely dead. Her heart was like a vast wasteland of numbness, littered with the residual pain of her previous existence on earth.



Life was hard for Buffy right now. Having lost her mother several months earlier, she’d lost a vital link in her chain of support and she knew that she was crumbling to pieces. To make matters worse she was broke and without a college degree, devoid of job prospects, and had a tempestuous teenage sister to take care of.



Of course, that wasn’t the very worst of it all.



Her depression and yearning for something to make her feel anything other than sad, mad or numb had led her right into the waiting arms of her mortal enemy, Spike. For many years the two of them had battled tirelessly, neither ever really besting the other.



And instead of happily maintaining their comfortable mutual contempt, he’d gone and fallen in love with her, continuing to mourn her even when she was dead and buried. She wished her mind could erase the expression of elation she saw on his face when he realized she’d been resurrected. It physically hurt to know that someone loved her that much when she couldn’t even love herself right now.



But the night they spent together, in the ruins of an old building that they brought to the ground with their passion, had been magical. There was no way that she could deny that fact, not even to herself. For the first time in so long Buffy had been liberated from the hollow shell in which she barely existed. Willow might have brought her back with her magicks but Spike brought her back to life with his words, fingers and mouth. He stirred passion in her that she thought was long dead. The vampire was able to play her body like a flute, making it sing pretty music in a key she’d never known before.



Even in its imperfection it had blossomed into perfection.



Unfortunately, as with any high the ecstasy faded back into loathing and resentment almost as soon as it was over. She couldn’t let him into the cold hollow of her heart and slammed her proverbial doors on him once she’d gotten done using him. It might be painful in the short term but she convinced herself that in the end it would be better for both of them.



And now she was dead inside once again.



She stood alone in the kitchen that Christmas Eve staring blankly at the dimming light of dusk and listening to the sound of running water. It reminded her a little of the peace of heaven. Her mind was a whirl of disconnected thoughts, all trying desperately to fit into their place but unable to settle anywhere. It was like a frozen wasteland of hell…hot ice and cold fire. Her head turned slowly as she heard footsteps and saw her sister, Dawn, approaching.



“Hey Buffy!” Dawn bounded into the kitchen, a smile that was a little too wide, a little too forced on her face. She eyed her older sister with concern. It appeared as though Buffy had been staring at the water as it ran ceaselessly from the faucet again. Since she’d gotten back from heaven, that had been a regular occurrence and these weird little episodes scared Dawn.



She’d already endured the pain of losing her big sister one time. She wasn’t sure if she could cope with it again.



“Dawnie.” Buffy tried for a smile but it looked more like a pained grimace, and Dawn’s heart sank. She wondered if she would ever get her sister back.



She missed her.



“So, I was wondering,” Dawn said cautiously, “seeing as though it’s already Christmas Eve and we haven’t really planned anything for tomorrow, what are we gonna do this year? The mall’s still open so we could do some late night shopping, get some decorations and gifts, maybe even one of those plastic trees.”



Buffy stared blankly at her dark haired sister, trying to digest the information. Christmas was here again and Buffy hadn’t even thought about it.



Well death did have a tendency to get in the way of the little things.



In the past Christmas had been a time for celebration and rejoicing, but now it seemed flat and devoid of any true meaning. Without her mother, Buffy didn’t really want to celebrate Christmas. Even Giles, the man who had taken his place as her surrogate father, was on another continent this year and wouldn’t be able to enjoy the festive season with them.



Not to mention the fact that she couldn’t afford to start shelling out precious money for luxuries they couldn’t afford, especially when there had recently been the added incursion of hospital bills for Dawn’s newly broken arm.



Dawn had such a hopeful look on her face but Buffy knew she would have to tell her that Christmas was canceled this year. She didn’t want to duke it out with her younger sister, but she really didn’t have a choice. All she could hope for was that Dawn wouldn’t be too defiant and stubborn.



After an extended awkward silence, finally Buffy sighed. “We can’t do Christmas this year Dawn.”



“What?” The teen stared at her in shock, her jaw slightly parted as she realized that the holiday season was void of meaning this time around. “You’re kidding, right?”



“I’m not kidding, Dawn. We don’t have the money or the time. And I don’t feel very Christmassy right now anyway.” She winced and lowered her voice. “Getting torn out of heaven will go right ahead and kill the holiday spirit for ya.”



“We got a whole basement full of decorations. I can put them up and they won’t cost a dime. What’s the harm in that?”



“The harm is that I don’t want to have those stupid decorations forced down my goddamn throat when I’m not in the mood for this stupid holiday season. I’m not feeling like festive-Buffy.” The Slayer knew that her voice was harsh and cruel but she couldn’t do anything to stop it. The pain was clawing at her insides and it wanted to escape and wreak havoc on everyone around her.



“Mom always made Christmas special,” Dawn insisted defiantly.



“Just in case you didn’t notice, I’m not Mom.” Buffy turned off the faucet with such violent force she nearly tore it off and whipped around to face her furious sister. “I can’t do this if you put all of this pressure on me. I go out there night after night to slay demons and keep this world safe for everyone and all you’re worried about is putting up some goddamn tinsel and stuffing your face with turkey. Just forget about Christmas this year, okay?”



“Why don’t you just say ‘bah humbug’, Buffy?” Dawn yelled, her face flushed with anger and hurt. “You’re acting like Scrooge, so you should start talking like him!” She cradled the cast on her arm as twinges seared through her and glared at her sister with as much venom as she could muster.



“Scrooge?” Buffy wrinkled her nose and tilted her head in confusion. “The rich duck guy that always dived into the swimming pool full of coins?”



“No, the Charles Dickens guy!” Dawn retorted. “God, I’m fifteen and even I know that. You know…British, stuffy writer guy from nineteenth century? Didn’t you ever go to school?”



“I’m sorry, Giles,” Buffy replied sarcastically. “I was too busy saving the world and running swords through the man I loved to worry about some British dead writer.”



“Well hey! The world isn’t in jeopardy right now! And you still don’t want us to have a good Christmas.”



“I don’t care about Christmas. Period. I don’t want to hear it mentioned again, okay?” She met Dawn’s petulant stare, conveying the finality of her words with severe sternness.



Dawn felt tears forming in her eyes and dug her fingernails into her palms, drawing blood that trickled down her wrists in tiny crimson rivulets. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” she screeched, careering out of the room and up the stairs. Buffy grimaced a little as the slam of Dawn’s bedroom door echoed ferociously around the house and headed upstairs after her, only to find it locked.



Before she could try and coerce Dawn to open the door Willow poked her head out of her own bedroom. She looked a little put out at the disturbance but nevertheless tried for a smile in Buffy’s direction.



The smile fell flat.



Willow clearly tried to keep her face from falling. “Everything okay?” asked the redhead as jovially as she could.



Buffy nodded, pursing her lips. “Just fine. Dawn’s just pissed because Christmas is canceled this year.”



“Oh.” Willow gave her a slightly disapproving look. “Wouldn’t it be a good idea to try to do something for Dawn? I mean, I know it’s already Christmas Eve so it’s kind of late, but you could still go out and get her a tree and…”



Buffy held up her hand, a frown settling on her forehead. “Willow stop. I don’t have the money to do that, okay?”



“But it’s Christmas.”



Buffy rolled her neck to try to relieve a little of the simmering tension. It didn’t work. “Uh Wills, you don’t even celebrate Christmas. You’re Jewish so I’m thinking no so much with the Christmassy celebrate-y.”



Willow squared her shoulders. “Yes, but Jesus was Jewish too. And this is for Dawnie anyway. She needs to have some stability in her life, Buffy, and you’re her guardian so…”



Buffy finally lost the last thread of her patience. “Will, you almost killed Dawn so please don’t lecture me on what’s best for my kid sister.”



Willow’s mouth hung open in stunned dismay but Buffy stormed down the stairs, not able to look at the witch for another moment. She didn’t want to hear any more of Willow’s pathetic excuses or endure more of Dawn’s whining. Once again, she questioned why she’d been dragged back to this life.



All she faced was pain on this earth.



The Slayer slumped down onto the couch, resting her weary head on her hands. She wanted to kill something right now, feel the life drain out of it as she twisted its neck in her hands. She wanted to recapture the power and control that she’d once possessed in spades.



Of course, she knew the one place where she could have control. If she went to Spike’s crypt right now she had no doubt that he’d readily hand over the key to his destiny to her. She hated him for trusting her so much.



She hated him for loving her.



The sharp ring of the doorbell startled her momentarily, pulling her violently from her profound musings, but she jumped to her feet and went to answer the door. A troop of carolers stood in front of her, their plump faces grinning as they crooned some seasonal ditties.



“Can I help you?” Buffy asked when they paused in their singing, feeling uncomfortable at the sight of the carolers’ eager grins.



“We wondered if you might be willing to donate something to the Christmas fund, Miss,” an older man asked her. He gave her what he probably assumed was his best ‘charitable smile.’ However, his face fell when she didn’t return the friendly grin.



“You’re here to ask for money?”



“We’re collecting for the children, Ma’am,” an exotic looking woman in her late thirties informed her. “We thought perhaps you would help out seeing as it’s the season of giving.”



Buffy scowled. Didn’t these people realize just how much she’d already given to this goddamn world? Of course they didn’t know. How could they? But that didn’t stop the irritation from flooding her veins.



“Sorry, but the bank of Buffy is closed. If you want something try someone else who hasn’t already donated their blood, sweat, and tears to help people.”



With an angry snarl, she slammed the door in their shocked faces.



Still smarting from her younger sister’s words and the petty argument with Willow, and irrationally annoyed at the carolers, Buffy grabbed some stakes, stuffing them in the waistband of her pants, and stomped out of the house. She really needed to kill something right now, preferably after beating it to a bloody pulp.



The night was cool and it soothed her fury and pain a little, bringing back some of the blessed numbness. The sound of carolers rang out as she descended the street, lost in her own daze.



Unfortunately the night was pretty quiet and after almost one hour of wandering the boneyards Buffy still hadn’t found the knock down that she was spoiling for.



There was only one thing for it. She would have to head over to the forbidden territory of Restfield Cemetery. There were usually newly risen vamps clawing their way out of their graves over there. That was something she remembered doing herself. Something she remembered vividly. The only problem with going to that cemetery was the risk of running into the one vampire she didn’t want to see. The fact that he lived, or well…unlived…there could be a problem.



Not that she would give into temptation. No siree.



As she headed into the barren ground of Restfield Cemetery the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. That feeling was a staunch warning sign that there was a vampire in the vicinity and she readied herself for a good fight. It was what she needed. She wanted to get the adrenalin flowing and the blood pumping.



Maybe for a moment she could feel alive.



She heard the crunch of gravel behind her and grabbed her stake from her waistband. With practiced precision she whirled around, getting ready to launch the first punch at the creature when she ground to a sudden halt.



Instead of an evil creature she was confronted with…well with an evil creature. But unfortunately this wasn’t an evil creature that she could kill.



“Spike,” she sighed. “What do you want?”



The peroxide blond vampire’s eyes bored into her with a heated gaze. She’d gotten used to that lustful intensity ever since she’d gotten back. It had probably started even before she died but Buffy preferred now to dwell on the time before.



He was clad in his usual leather attire, dirty boots and silver jewelry. The only difference from usual was that his hair was mussed instead of being slicked back. Buffy felt her heartbeat speed up as she looked at him. It reminded her of his sex-hair and it brought back a flood of memories from their night of passion together.



“What do I want? Same as I always want,” Spike drawled, slipping behind her and letting his hand settle on her hips. He lowered his mouth to her neck and began to suck on the tender column, his tongue tracing a path over her pounding pulse.



For a few seconds she gave into the sensation of his lips on her neck and his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her abdomen before she came to her senses and wriggled away.



“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed angrily. “You don’t get to touch me!”



“Not what you were saying the other night,” Spike reminded her. There was an arrogance to his smirk that she just wanted to punch right off of his smug face. It didn’t make a difference that his words were the truth. When she’d been sweaty and writhing in his arms, she’d begged him to touch her, begged him for more. He’d electrified her nerves and sinews with his caresses, taking her to new, unimaginable heights.



Her body craved him. It wanted to use him to forget the misery of her life.



But he was evil and soulless and she couldn’t love him because she just knew he would hurt her. The mantra echoed in her head, strengthening her resolve to keep herself from falling back into his arms again. It was the only thing that she could do to keep herself from drowning in him. If she let herself fall then there would be no way back.



The permanence of loving Spike was the thing that terrified her most of all.



But he was standing so close to her now, so close that she could almost taste him. He smelled like sin and passion, tasted of love and death. When did he even get that close? With supernatural speed and strength he grabbed her and pulled her flush against him. Buffy could feel his lean muscles ripple against her and screwed her eyes shut. For a second she tried to resist, reminding herself of why this was a bad idea.



He was evil. He was soulless. He was…magical with his tongue



And now that tongue was working its way into her mouth exploring the hot wet cavern. He picked her up and carried her to the edge of the cemetery to lean them against a crypt. Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist of their own volition. It seemed like her body knew what he could do for it and her body would not be denied.



Panting for unneeded breaths he ground against her, his erection striking her sensitized center with precision that made her purr. But there was too much fabric between them. She needed to be skin to skin.



“God, Buffy! I need you, love. I need you now!” he murmured, working one hand into the waistband of her pants.



She keened and mewled as he felt him skim the top of her mound before his fingers wandered lower and slipped between her moist lips. With practiced accuracy Spike strummed her wet little pearl.



“Ah! Oh God!” she gasped, clutching at him tighter. She could feel the impending release of her climax. She could feel herself floating back to heaven in the arms of a demon.



However, Spike wasn’t going to let her get her release if he wasn’t right there with her and he stopped his motions abruptly, withdrawing his hand from her most intimate place. Before she could protest he pulled his zipper down and freed his cock from its prison. Even the thought of Buffy could make it strain and fill with blood, and right now it sought out her heat as if it was made for that blissful sanctuary.



He tugged her pants down to give him access to her wetness, muttering about the fact that she should always wear skirts.



“Can’t wait another moment, love,” he told her as he sank into her. Twin gasps filled the night air, followed by ecstatic moans. Neither of them could get enough of each other and as his thrusts sped up their eyes rolled back in their heads.



It didn’t matter that they were outside where anyone could see them. It didn’t matter that Buffy was a Slayer and Spike was a vampire. It didn’t matter that they would hurt each other all over again when they were done. All that mattered was the feelings of this moment, right now.



“Are you close, baby?” Spike asked, burying his head in the crook of his lover’s shoulder. He knew that this was the closest that an evil demon like him could ever get to heaven. “I want you to scream for me. I need you to come all over my cock, love. Do it! Come for me, Buffy!” He pounded her with all of his strength, strength that would have crushed a normal, mortal woman. He knew she was almost there, he could smell it.



Finally they both cried out in dual release, his load spilling inside her as her juices gushed out all over his turgid organ. Their eyes met in passion and for that brief second it was like they were one entity.



And then reality sank in.



Pushing him away from her, Buffy grimaced as his dick slipped out of her with a wet plop. She glanced down as his spendings seeping out of her and chewed on her protruding bottom lip.



How the hell had she let this happen again?



Yanking up her pants she studiously ignored him. She didn’t want to see that hopeful glint in his eyes. If she did then she might crack and that would be the worst thing to happen.



However, Spike wasn’t so easy to avoid. He grabbed her wrist and forced her to turn to him. Belting up his jeans with one hand, he held on tightly to her. “Come to my crypt, pet. Let me love you properly. Somewhere that’s not a bloody graveyard.”



Buffy snorted. As if a crypt was so much better. Although he did have that big bed…But no! She would not allow herself to give in again. She had to stay strong.



“What just happened was a mistake! It was a onetime…uh twotime…thing, Spike, and it can never ever happen again. You disgust me.”



“Not up for a second round then?” he asked, trying to hide his hurt at her rejection. The Slayer was able to cut him like a peach, squeezing him until his heart was nothing more than raw pulp.



She was a maestro when it came to pain.



“There will be no second round, Spike,” she assured him, hoping he didn’t catch the slight hitch in her voice. “I kill disgusting, soulless things, not jump into bed with them.”



“Could have bloody well fooled me, love,” he retorted insolently. “It does seem like you have a penchant for falling into bed with ‘disgusting things’. Most certainly that’s a fitting label for the King of Nancy Boy Hair Gel and Captain Cardboard.”



She scowled at his sneering face, gripping her stake even more tightly. The wood felt good under her fingers, solid and real. For a moment she envisaged herself plunging it through Spike’s chest and watching him turn to dust. It would be so easy, so liberating.



So why couldn’t she do it?



“Seeing as though you don’t need me around maybe I should take a leaf out of your enormous foreheaded ex-honey’s book,” he said, his eyes downcast.



Buffy ignored the casually flung insult. “Angel’s book? What…you mean try to be good? As if that could ever happen.”



“No,” he lit up a cigarette and puffed on the white stick for a moment before leveling his intense gaze to hers. “I mean go for the big dramatic exit from this pitiful world and try dusting my sorry bloody self Christmas morning.”



“How did you know about that?” Buffy asked, flinching at the memory of her first love waiting to meet the sunrise on Kingman’s Bluff.



“Demon grapevine.” He shrugged. “But how I know about it isn’t the bloody point, love. Just saying, maybe I should take myself out of this sorry excuse for an unlife.”



“Ugh,” she sneered with disgust. “Quit with the pity party. I’m so sick of everyone’s whining. If you want to dust yourself then just go ahead and do it, Spike. All it would mean is that there would be one less vampire in the world for me to stake.”



Before he could open his mouth to offer a smart-assed retort, she drew back her hand and popped him right in the nose. His hands flew up to cup the abused appendage as he stumbled helplessly backward. Gazing at her in disbelief, his eyes radiated hurt and shock at her actions. She wondered why he should be shocked that she would punch him.



Stupid vampire should have gotten used to it by now.



Feeling satisfied that she’d dealt with the vampire appropriately Buffy whirled around and strode out of the cemetery in the direction of Revello Drive.



Every footstep seemed to echo in her head, like some kind of disembodied pulse. She could hear his shouts about her being a ‘barmy bloody bird’ echoing from behind her, but she slammed her heart shut to any feelings of remorse. After all, he was evil so he deserved every torment and torture that she deigned to give him.



So evil that he was her key to heaven.



Buffy hushed the voices in her head that reminded her of Spike’s changing nature. She didn’t want to hear them reminding her of how well he’d loved her body only minutes earlier. And she didn’t want to think about that look in his eyes as his orgasm rammed into him. That look when he gazed at her as if she was the most precious thing in the whole universe.



When a fledgling vampire jumped out in front of her, all dirty clothes and horror movie snarls, she plunged her wooden stake into his chest without even pausing in her stride. Now that was the way to really deal with a vampire. She only wished she could be that ruthless with every vamp that bothered her. It shouldn’t be so hard to stake one stupid Spike-shaped vampire.



So why the hell couldn’t she do it?



The thought alone gave her a pounding headache. It wasn’t like she hadn’t gotten a whole host of opportunities over the years. But something had always managed to wiggle in the way between her stake and his cold, dead heart. Now, of course, she had the prime opportunity. Loving her, or whatever passed for ‘love’ with Spike, made him vulnerable to her. She could easily plunge a stake into his heart and be done with it. It would take away that stupid nagging temptation too if he was nothing but dust.



Exhaling heavily she nodded decisively. As soon as she got the opportunity she would end this struggle between her and Spike once and for all.



One way or another.



When she reached her house, she let herself in, breathing a sigh of relief that it was quiet, and jogged up the stairs. Dawn and Willow must already have been asleep which made things easier for her. After her little spats with the two girls earlier she didn’t want to face them again so soon.



She didn’t feel like taking a shower tonight even though she knew she should. She could still feel Spike’s congealed spendings inside of her and on her thighs but although she would never admit there was something a little comforting about that. The Slayer just quickly brushed her teeth and changed into a comfy old pair of pajamas, ignoring her more disturbing thoughts. They fit her like second skin, not too constricting like most of her clothes were. They allowed her to breathe and that was a welcome change from the rest of the suffocating challenges that she faced.



The Slayer slid between the cool cotton sheets of her bed and breathed a sigh of relief. It was only when it was the cool, dark night that her brain started to calm down a little. This was the time she could rest. It wasn’t anything compared to the forbidden ecstasy that she’d felt in Spike’s arms, but it was peaceful and for now it was enough.



As soon as her head hit the pillow, Buffy fell straight to sleep. That, in itself, was unusual. Except for the night she spent in the old house with Spike, since she had been torn out of heaven, sleep didn’t always come easily, and when she did fall asleep, she was usually plagued by hauntingly terrifying nightmares. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d been forced to subconsciously relieve clawing her way out of her grave.



But tonight Buffy descended into slumber, feeling as if her body was fluttering to the ground on a gentle breeze. When she landed, the Slayer looked around and realized she was in what appeared to be an old house. It reminded her of old TV shows that she used to watch when she still had time to laze around watching television during her early teenage years. It looked as if no one had lived here for a while and the dust was tickling her nose. She sneezed several times from the irritant.



“Hello?” she called out, looking around and soaking in her surroundings. Of course, she received no answer from the seemingly abandoned house. Warily she started exploring the place, and the farther she went, the more ominous it seemed. There was a figurative coldness about the place, but also a distinct chill in the air, and Buffy pulled her sweater more tightly around her shoulders to ward off the bitter cold. Even in winter, California was never as cold as this place.



Yes, it was a house, but it definitely wasn’t a home.



A noise coming from one of the other rooms put Buffy on alert and her head whipped up to face the doorway. When Buffy heard the rattle of chains, her chest tightened painfully. It was strange having such lucid dreams, but as a Slayer she was used to that and she could usually distinguish the difference between being awake and being asleep. She could also anticipate the start of a nightmare, and the clanging noise of chains wasn’t exactly a good omen.



However, she certainly wasn’t expecting to see the figure that walked through the door.



“Faith!” Buffy gasped, her hand coming up to cover her gaping mouth.



The other slayer was just as Buffy remembered her, all curves and pale skin and long dark wavy hair, except for the fact that she was bound in layer upon layer of heavy metals chains. There was even a train of cast iron links trailing behind the voluptuous brunette. Instead of the arrogant expression that had been pasted on Faith’s face for much of the time that Buffy had known her, she looked sad and worn with huge dark circles underlining her tortured eyes.



“Hello, B,” Faith finally said, breaking the awkward silence between them. As she moved the chains rattled again.



“Faith. Why are you here? In my…head?” Buffy asked, biting her lip warily. The only time Faith had appeared in her dreams was when it had been a Slayer-dream. And that rarely turned out well.



“Apparently the Powers figure you need a helping hand,” Faith said, sitting down in one of the dusty chairs and beckoning for Buffy to sit across from her. Not taking her eyes off of the brunette, Buffy slinked over to the chair and stiffly sat down.



“Not sure why they’d think I needed a helping hand from you, Faith,” Buffy said coldly, leveling dead eyes at her companion. “Last time I saw you, you were trying to steal my boyfriend. Oh yeah…and my life. Not to mention the way you acted when I saw you in L.A.”



Faith’s face twisted guiltily and she sighed. “I’m paying for my crimes now, B. See this chain?” She waved a few links of the chain at the blonde and Buffy nodded cautiously. “There’s a reason I wear this.”



“Wanna elaborate?” Buffy asked. “Or is this one of those cryptic-y, riddle-y dreams that we all find so much fun?”



“This is ‘cause of what I did, B. I forged this chain, link by link. Every person I hurt, every heart I broke…it’s all here. And I carry it with me every day.”



“I didn’t think that was regulation prison uniform,” Buffy quipped half-heartedly. She wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but wherever it was, she didn’t like it.



“I carry them on the inside,” Faith responded sadly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “On the outside I look like everything’s five by five. But on the inside…I’m damaged.”



“I see.” Buffy shrugged. “So what’s the deal with bringing the chain-y baggage into my head?”



“We’re not in your head, B,” Faith said slowly. “This is your heart.”



“No offense, Faith. But you’re the last person I’d want in my heart.”



Faith chuckled humorlessly. “That’s the problem though, ain’t it? You don’t want anyone in your heart. Look at this place, Blondie. It’s cold as ice, unused, dusty.”



“I use my heart!” The blonde retorted defensively, shooting daggers at Faith with her eyes. It didn’t help that Faith had just voiced one of Buffy’s worst fears. Even before she jumped from the tower, the Slayer had been afraid that she had lost her ability to love, despite what the spirit of the First Slayer had told her during her vision quest.



That fear had grown exponentially stronger since her return from beyond the grave. And now one of the people she hated most was sitting here giving voice to the suggestion that she was all out of love.



“You use your head, Buffy. You keep your heart locked up. I used to do that too and look where it’s gotten me.” Faith smirked. “Not that prison showers can’t be fun when you’re with the right people.”



“You’re disgusting, Faith,” Buffy said but without any real fire in her voice. “I’m guessing the chance to recount the Adventures of Faith in the State Penn isn’t the real reason you’re vacationing in my dreams.”



“Always been an intuitive one, B,” Faith commended her with a smile. “See, I’m guessing the Powers still think there’s some hope left for you. You’re a good slayer and they probably don’t want to see you turn into…uh…me.”



“Pretty sure I’m not going on a killing spree anytime soon, Faith. Although if you piss me off enough…” A smirk danced on her lips as she left the statement hanging in the air.



Faith merely rolled her eyes. She wasn’t here to fight with her sister Slayer and she clearly recognized Buffy’s defense mechanisms.



“The killings were just a symptom of my problems,” Faith assured her. “The real problem was that I was dead inside. I stopped being able to feel and I needed to channel my frustration somewhere. The Mayor gave me the opportunity to be free, to let everything come spilling out. I hurt people in every way possible, yo. I screwed up but now that I know I’m a screw up it’s too late to be anything other than a screw up. I don’t have a chance to change. Not like you do.”



Buffy flinched as Faith’s words stuck a resonating chord inside of her. She felt as if was dead inside, lost in a world that was too chaotic and too harsh to really live in. She existed, sure, but she wasn’t living. The only time she felt alive was with her evil, dead lover and that wasn’t exactly bragging territory right there.



“So you’re saying that if I’m numb, I’m gonna become the next…you?” Buffy asked, her voice sounding hoarse to her own ears.



“I don’t think you’re gonna start slaughtering people in their beds,” Faith replied pointedly, the chains clinking together as she crossed her legs. “But love is what fuels a slayer. When you can’t love then you can’t truly do your duty effectively, and then you start to fade away. You just become a weapon and that makes you a loose cannon that hurts everyone around you. Proof positive here.”



Buffy gulped audibly and ran both hands through her hair, huffing out a breath as she tried to collect her thoughts. Of course, she’d realized she was fading away even before she died. Coming back from Willow’s spell had just heightened that awareness. Being on earth after spending that time in heaven was the worst kind of torture for the blonde Slayer. All she really wanted was to go back because she didn’t think she could recapture the bliss of heaven when she was living in hell.



The blonde’s sorrow must have shone through her face because Faith’s features softened and she gazed at Buffy pitifully. “Trust me, B, if you keep rejecting the love you’re offered, you’ll be exactly where you always feared ending up. Alone.”



“I have my friends,” Buffy said quickly. “I love them.”



Faith quirked an eyebrow.



“Mostly,” Buffy amended. “In a ‘not-gonna-jump-into-bed-with-you’ kinda way.”



“Not talking about that kind of love.” Faith raised an eyebrow when Buffy blushed. “There’s a boy who’s pretty sweet on you, I hear. Okay he’s of the undead persuasion, but you keep pushing him away.”



All the color drained out of Buffy’s face. “How did you…?”



“Messenger of the powers here, B,” Faith chuckled. Seeing the worry etching itself into Buffy’s pallid face, Faith took pity on her. “Don’t worry, Blondie. I won’t remember that when I wake up. It’s a subconscious only thing so I won’t be spilling your secret any time soon.” Her chains rattled again. “Not that I could spill to your precious Scooby Gang from lock up anyways. So tell me about him? William the Bloody?”



“I don’t want to talk about him,” Buffy said firmly, hoping Faith would drop the subject. Buffy didn’t understand why the Powers would be even remotely concerned with Spike’s sick fascination for her.



“Just sayin’, maybe you should give him a chance, give love a chance.”



Buffy’s brow crinkled. “He’s evil and it’s wrong,” she replied.



“He loves you,” Faith told her, as if it was really that simple. “Listen, B. You don’t have to end up with Mr. Billy Idol. But you need to understand how to open your heart to love again. It’s been scarred, I get that because that’s the way I’ve always been Powers get it too. That’s why I’m here, to help you. To save you from becoming me.”



“What can I do?” Buffy asked wearily, screwing her eyes shut like a child. “I don’t want to end up like…like you. I don’t want to be all chain-y.”



Faith grinned humorlessly. “And I repeat, that is why I’m in your dreamland, B. To warn you and to help you…to give you a chance to change. You will be haunted by three spirits.”



Buffy gasped, her face falling at the thought of being haunted. “That’s the chance I have?” she choked out, her throat suddenly as dry as the desert. “How can that possibly help me?”



“You gotta keep that pretty mind of yours open, honey,” Faith warned her. “Without the ghosts, you ain’t walking any other path but mine. You can expect the first at 1am tomorrow.”



“Wait, can’t I just have them all at the same time? Like a 3 for 1 special on the wiggage?”



Faith continued as if Buffy hadn’t spoken. “The second will come on the next night at the same hour and you get to see what’s behind door number three at the same time on the night after that.”



Before Buffy got the chance to ask anything else, suddenly Faith stared to howl, the most horrific sound escaping from her maw as a screaming wail. She threw her arms into the air, as if she was trying to save herself from drowning. The chains rattled like macabre cymbals as she flailed and screeched. In front of Buffy’s eyes Faith’s body began to age and decay, a whirlwind of rust and brown melting into dust.



The terrible cacophony of rattling chains filled Buffy’s tender ears as it grew exponentially more intense. The air grew smoky, a haze of dark plumes winding around the blonde, choking her as they seemed to surround and fill her. She coughed violently, struggling against the agony of the noise and sensations.



She screamed, but her own voice sounded foreign to her as she was pulled deeper and deeper into the quagmire of darkness.



Until finally…she knew no more.



Chapter End Notes:
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