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chapter five – shared dreams

Lillie heard a soft moan, then a strangled whimper just before a chorus of breathless ohmygods filled the dark hallway. Pausing, she stood motionless, searching for the source of the sounds. She could tell the voices weren't the usual suspects – those weird miracles that only lived inside her head. These groans and shuddering sighs came from the room at the end of the hall. Lillie inched down the hallway, stepping carefully, no, tiptoeing slowly, toward the sounds of ecstasy pouring from Buffy's bedroom.

She didn't sleep so prowling the apartment at two or three o'clock in the morning wasn't unusual. Besides, Lillie's nights thrived on sound. Creaking floorboards where no one stood, tapping fingers on unplugged keyboards searching for answers no one wanted, and the aching wind and rain slamming against her frightened soul – yeah, sleep was overrated. That's why she never slept. Anyway, the voices never liked it when she wasn't there.

Now Lillie was standing inches away from Buffy's door, barely breathing as she concentrated on the voices.

For a moment, Lillie speculated that, after the big fight with Willow, Buffy had decided to soothe her pain with a mysterious stranger. Of course, that didn't sound much like the Buffy Lillie knew. Still, the slayer was definitely not alone in her bedroom. Lillie even contemplated the possibility that Willow and Buffy were in there making up in an entirely new and different fashion. Their argument at dinner had been way too intense. But nothing Lillie had ever seen between her two roommates explained the idea of them together behind the doors – not making noises like that. Then Lillie heard a baritone's sob. Ah! Buffy was with a man. The lower register said it all. This voice was distinctly male.

So she had found someone to ease her pain, smirked Lillie silently. Buffy had been out of control, running out of the apartment after dinner, frantic and tormented by Willow's words about her dead demon lover. Yet it didn't make sense from what Lillie knew of Buffy for her to be in bed with just anyone. The Slayer didn't seek release with strangers. Maybe a good brawl, but the sounds of passion coming from her bedroom didn't read brawl.

“Oh, god, no!” At the sound of Buffy's anguished words, Lillie went rigid for an instant, and then grabbed the knob and pushed the door open before stepping unabashedly into the room. “Buffy, are you alright?” she asked.

“Oh, god.” Buffy said, sitting up in her bed, nude, facing the door as she quickly pulled the white sheets around her neck, attempting to cover herself.

“Are you alright?” Lillie repeated, her eyes roaming the room, looking for the man she'd heard cry out.

“No, I mean. Yes, I'm okay,” Buffy responded, adjusting her body to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Then turning her head to look directly at Lillie, she said, “Wake Willow up now. I need to talk to her.”

“Okay.” Lillie closed Buffy's bedroom door, and headed toward Willow's room but not before Lillie's private, special voice began its nightly ritual. It was finally time to leave Paris the voice said. As had been prophesied in the other place, Buffy's desire was going to make it all possible. Lillie stopped once she reached Willow's door. "Here we go," she murmured as she opened the door to give Willow Buffy's message.


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Where's my big, nerdy vampire? My shy, clumsy dork of a vampire?

Angel decided to listen to his inner Cordy. Let her talk and maybe she'd go away, he hoped.

You know, I love you. Know why? Because of the how you care for your family, your friends. Always trying not to show them how much you care.

Yeah, she'd said something like that to him once before, he recalled.

You know big guy, I really miss you. You're my big brooding wonderful, okay, sometimes sexy, vampire. And we need you to save the day.

This was Angel's curse; Cordy's voice whispering scriptures into his soul reminding him of his latest sins, shortcomings and missed opportunities. That was his Cordelia. The last time Angel had seen her in the flesh or what he thought was flesh, she said she was moving on, following a different path. She surprised him, as usual. That path cut through his very soul. How prophetic; the Powers That Be allowed him to keep his Cordy as a little voice in his head, dropping by regularly to remind him of what he'd lost.

Angel sat alone in his office in the big chair behind his desk. Hours had passed since Fred and Spike had delivered the message from the Zeklar. And it was many hours since he'd called Gunn and Wesley into his office to let them know just enough to keep Wesley busy researching, and Gunn busy doing whatever it was Gunn did these days at Wolfram and Hart.

Angel was almost satisfied. He'd successfully maneuvered a little time alone to sort a few things out.

Buffy would be in LA soon. After the dream, she and Spike would need to see each other. Angel needed them to see each other. He had wanted to tell Buffy Spike was back months before. He even tried once, but nothing could penetrate Paris. There was no way to talk to her once she and Willow arrived in Paris. The barrier was in place and would not be removed until Buffy made her choice. So, Angel let it go. After Spike had become corporeal, he'd put him to work, That was a good decision. Fred and Spike clicked. They worked well together, and Fred kept Spike away from Angel, for the most part. That was even better.

Angel wasn't worried about Spike and Fred, anyway. Once Buffy, Willow and this Lillie arrived, that's when things would get dicey. He had no control over what might happen then. For the time being, he might as well deal with the things he could control. The Zeklar was imprisoned in one of the many cells underneath Wolfram and Hart. It had not said a word since delivering its message. So Angel decided to help the Zeklar find its tongue. He already knew most of what it would say. However, that wasn't the point.

Angel wanted to torture the Zeklar, personally. He would relish every minute he spent inflicting unimaginable pain upon this monster from the Zek dimension.


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“Fred, come on pet, I know you can suss out this bloody mess. Was it a damn portal or a parallel universe or, ah, damn portal?"

Fred sat on the stool opposite Spike at the tall-legged laboratory table. She'd heard him, sort of, but she was daydreaming, thinking about home. Then she remembered. They were in the lab at Wolfram and Hart. They'd been there a while. Fred looked at Spike. He was watching her, and waiting.

“Okay, so you and Buffy were in my living room and you were able to touch each other, right? But she's in Paris, right?”

“Yeah, well, no. Angel said she's on her way to LA.” Spike spoke softly. “Was in Paris when I touched her, while sittin' in your living room, though.”

“Did Angel tell Buffy that you were back?”

“Didn't have to, she knew.”

Fred walked around the table and sat next to him. He turned on the stool so that they were facing each other.

"Spike, I think I know why you were able to be with Buffy," began Fred. "Remember the Zeklar's message, Charm begins the end.”

“Yeah, but we still don't know shit about Charm. Don't even know if it's a who, or a what.”

“I believe I know, in a way,” Fred spoke very quietly as Spike watched her intently. “I told you and Angel that the Zeklar's message foretold the coming of the fourth of the seven Wiccas.”

“Yeah, Fred, but what does this have to do with me and Buffy?" Spike's voice dropped to a whisper. "Why could I touch her, smell her?”

“When you fell in love with Buffy, you said she told you she couldn't care for you because you were an evil soulless thing. You were chipped and soulless and, of course, a vampire, so you were incapable of love, according to Buffy.”

“Yeah, that's what she bloody believed. She just saw life in black and white.”

“I know,” Fred felt something coming, and it was very close.

“Bloody hell, Fred. I know what I said," Spike paused, exhaling his frustration. "I know what happened and didn't happen between me and Buffy.”

“I know you love her. You always have and you always will.” Fred's voice didn't waver but she glanced down at her hands for a second before looking back into Spike's eyes. "Do you believe Buffy can change?”

“What do you mean?”

“It was the Zeklar that allowed you and Buffy to be together the other night. He brought you together by warping time, and altering space, surprisingly. I didn't know the Zeklar could do that until today,” Fred paused before continuing, but she had to get it all out, as quickly as possible.

“Until today, I didn't know the Zeklar was a traitor to its own kind.” Fred turned her back and spoke almost too quietly for even Spike to hear.

“Why did the Zeklar want me and Buffy together?” demanded Spike.

Fred could tell he was trying to control his anger. As she glanced away, she caught sight of a few yellow sparks flashing in his blue eyes. She had to finish.

“Did I mention that the fifth quark is Color? And black and white are pure color.”

Spike stood and began pacing. Then he shoved his hands deeply into his pockets causing his duster to swirl, creating a big black swoosh.

“What you tryin' to say, Fred? Just because I said Buffy sees things in black and white she's,” he hesitated. “She's some sort of witch?”

Fred saw that Spike was more than angry; he was almost dangerous as he shouted, “She's a slayer, pet. Not a witch. That be Red, not Buffy."

“This has little to do with who Buffy is. It's all about how much she is willing to sacrifice," Fred felt strange and suddenly very tired. "Buffy is Color, the fifth of the seven Wiccas."

“How the bloody hell do you know this?" shouted Spike. "You figure it out in this laboratory lookin' at a few soddin' books on physics, quarks and damned witches, or whatever the bloody hell else you're doin' here?”

Fred stood and looked up at the ceiling. She thought she could see through it, into the night sky and the heart of time. There was beauty and truth, and she understood why the Zeklar was a traitor to its own kind.

“I know because I am Charm, the fourth Wicca, and I am the beginning of the end.”

Fred closed her eyes, as her body slid slowly to the floor.


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