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Author's Chapter Notes:
Dream sequence from "Chosen"
The battle was raging fiercely. All around her ubervamps were charging in groups at all of the newly awakened slayers. For their part, they were kicking butt and taking names like they were born to do this. But then, they were, weren’t they? And there were losses. Cho-Ann had been drained in a flash. Amanda, Dawn’s friend, had gone down right in front of her; lifeless before she even hit the ground. Her neck had been snapped. And yet, they all fought on. Even when The First had taunted her using her own face, she’d still known they would win. Somehow. With that knowledge, and a good deal of slayer power and healing, she’d fought to her feet and jumped right back into the fray. If only that thing around Spike’s neck would do whatever it was supposed to……

“Oh Bollocks!” She caught, just above the din of the fight. And then a more urgent, “Buffy!”

“Spike!” She called, dispatching another ubervamp as she turned towards the stairs, where she had last seen Spike fighting. He appeared to be captivated in a strange beam of light, bright as the sun.

Suddenly, intense beams shot out from Spike’s chest in all directions. She stood watching in awe as the light arced around the cavern, disintegrating wide swaths of vampires as it went, reaching every nook and crevice of the cavers with deadly and comprehensive precision until it had dusted every single one of the ubervamps.

She ran to Spike’s side, concern on her face as she recalled Angel’s warning about the potential volatility of the amulet. It appeared warranted when the light failed to shut off once the vampires were dusted, and appeared to be no actively destroying the cavern entirely, is the tremors and crashing rocks were any indication.

“I can feel it.” His voice held an edge of amazement, drawing her attention back from the cavern to him.

“What?” She wondered.

“My soul.” He replied. “It’s really there…” He sounded like until that moment, he hadn’t been entirely sure. How could he have doubted? “It kinda stings,” He added. Was he in pain? Did it hurt, whatever this was? Despite the thought, she couldn’t help stare at him in awe at what he and his soul had done.

And then the cavern shook again. They were running out of time. The entire thing was going to collapse in on itself, and as extensive and deep as these caverns and the hellmouth went, who knows how much of the area would go with it. She vaguely heard slayers telling each other to get out, to head for the bus. Even Faith was screaming at them to run.

“Go on then.” Spike told her, as another violent shake sent earth and rocks crashing towards the hellmouth. Did he expect her to leave him there? Now? After all….

“No! No! You’ve done enough! You could still…” She pleaded before he cut her off.

“No! You’ve beaten them off; it’s for me to do the clean up!” He urged her to leave.

“Buffy, come on!” Faith screamed at her as another shake threated to throw her to the floor and then crush them all where they fell.

“Gotta move, lamb. Thinks it safe to say: school’s out for bloody summer!” Another tremor, and entire ledges and slabs of stone fell into the deepening crater below them.

“Spike!” She couldn’t manage more than that single pleading word of urgency.

“I mean it! I’ve gotta do this!” His voice and face broached no further argument as he seemed to steel himself against the power flowing through him.

All she could do was watch him, in all his glory, determined to face this through to the end. This vampire. This friend. This man.

And suddenly, she knew. She couldn’t let him go without telling him. She needed to tell him as much as he needed to know.

She placed her hand in his upheld one, interlacing her fingers with his. He resolve seemed to fade for a moment, as he first glanced at their hands and then at her. As if simply the gesture itself had already said the words. It was fitting then that their joined hands burst into flames. Even the light itself was acknowledging the event and what was passing between them. Sure, it hurt like hell. But wasn’t that love? Hadn’t he said that? That it burns and consumes?

And then he was looking at her that way. She’d seen that look before. His head slightly tilted, eyes drinking deeply, smallest bit of smile at the corner of his mouth, all with a look that said she was like she was food for the starving, water for the thirsty, and salvation for the dying. And she knew. She knew all over again in that very moment that she loved, was in love, with him. She met his eyes and looked deeply into them for a moment, and told him.

“I love you.’ She poured every bit of tenderness laced with conviction that she could into those three gentle words.

For a fraction of a second, she saw it. His acceptance. And then it was gone. Replaced by something else. Something she hadn’t been prepared for.

“No. You don’t. But thanks for saying it.” Thanks and denial. He though she didn’t mean it. That she’d told him out of pity for the dying man. And he was grateful for it. Oh, god…

And then the cavern shook so violently, it threw her backward, separating their hands even though she tried desperately to hold on.
“Now GO!” He commanded.

And she did.

She ran like the devil was chasing her. Her mind was racing a million miles a minute. Playing and replaying over and over the last few minutes. His glory. His conviction. His determination. His happiness. His love. His denial.

Once she stopped running, and but came to rest just beyond the edge of the crater. She climbed down and stared into the abyss that lay before her. He’d done it. He’d killed all the ubervamps, collapsed the hellmouth in on itself, and buried it under God knows how many feet of rubble. All thanks to the strength of his soul. That he’d gotten for her. So that he would never hurt her again. So that she would see him as something other than a monster. So that he would be loved.

And she had.

And he’d died, certain that she didn’t.

**********

She woke from the dream gasping for air, her sheets soaking with sweat and tangled around her in knots as if she’d fought them in her sleep and lost the battle. She hadn’t had a slayer dream in weeks. Not since that fateful day in her room when Riley confronted her and demanded to know the truth that was her crazy life.

This one had been intense. So, so, intense. It had all felt beyond real. Even now, she caught herself rubbing the right side of her abdomen where she’d been run through with a sword in the dream; making a mental note of a faint itch at the spot.

She disentangled herself from her bed and stood up. Then she started pacing. What did it mean? What was this dream trying to tell her? If she took it at face value, she was going to overcome the odds, but in the end Spike would be dead. Gone, like the others; another sacrifice on the Buffy alter. One last soul to appease the fickle gods so that she could finally be free.

But the dreams weren’t always face value. Slayer dreams were as much feeling and image as they were metaphor. They could be outright, but there was always subtlety as well. A hidden catch or larger lesson that spoke to more than just the obvious truth. They weren’t just ‘monster of the week’, they were life and all the little connections in between.

The larger lesson? She could do this. Things had always looked bad. She’d resented her life. Resented her calling; all of the callings. She hadn’t asked for any of them. She’d burnt out and become nothing more than shell, walking through life doing what she was supposed to and feeling nothing. But now, she felt like she was waking from a too long sleep. Head still feeling all big and stuffed with cotton. Dazed and slightly disoriented, but starting to get her bearings. She would come out of this. Wounded, having lost people she cared for, but alive and at peace, and ready to face the world and really actually move on with her life.

The nuance? That was the trickier part. There was the scythe. A tool that she’d used to overcome. Also a source of power that she shared with everyone would could receive it. One that could ultimately set them all free and tip the scales in their favor for the first time in, well, ever. The wound. Very nearly mortal. Even The First Evil had thought so. She’d almost let herself succumb to it. But she didn’t. She’d faced herself down and stood back up.

‘And she will rise.’

The words of Spike’s poem danced in her head.

And then there was Spike. The metaphor was strong with this one throughout the entire dream. The passionate fighting, throwing himself all in. The light, the soul, the determination to see it through to the end. The tenderness, the fire, the look… *his* look. His brief hope when she’d finally told him that she loved him. Her complete and utter certainty that she’d tried to pour into those three words, when she’d finally given him what he wanted and said ‘I love you.’ His sadness and certainty that she didn’t mean it. Leaving him behind to die alone, happy that he really and truly had a soul; his last thoughts and words confirming his status of being unloved, and yet still determined to save her while dying a hero’s death.

The metaphor was strong, but so was the surface. She would come out victorious on the other side of her life. But whether Spike went out in a blaze of glory at the end of his here’s journey, or completed his journey, wounded but alive and victorious, to start another journey with her once the battle was over, was up to her.

She couldn’t wait any longer. She’d have to tell him. But she couldn’t just come out and say the words. He would never believe it no matter how much she meant them. She would have to find the right words and say them the right way at the right time. Before there was no time left. And damn if she didn’t know what they were or how to say them. She glanced at the clock. She’d better figure it out pretty quick, because it was already Wednesday and on Saturday, she was going to make sure that Spike didn’t get left behind in a cavern, dying alone, and –in his mind- unloved.





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