Chapter I – Future Imperfect

Somewhere after midnight
In my wildest fantasy
Somewhere just beyond my reach
There's someone reaching back for me
Racing on the thunder and rising with the heat
It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet
Bonnie Tyler, Artist

London, England, Westminster Hospital – 2085AD

The most painful thing about being a vampire has to be living too long. Too many things get lost or misplaced over time, even a hundred leather dusters become tattered and torn and un-wearable after a while. But to throw the last one away is bloody unimaginable. Boots are better, titanium much more durable than any pair in the early part of the century. Grooming has changed, too. Hair dye, gels and the like are obsolete. Homes are houses with steel curtains and iron walls to keep out the poisonous air. Although a plus for vampires, it makes me miss cemeteries. The old stomping ground of slayers and vampires are nothing but ashes in the wind now—too many dead to bury in the ground. Not even the love of your life can have a tombstone here.

Spike stood in the doorway of Buffy’s hospital room. She was in an oxygen chamber, plastic bags and tubes surrounding it, keeping her alive. She lay unmoving and soundless, barely visible beneath the rumpled white sheets. Her hazel eyes, once vibrant and shining, were tightly shut and her small white hands, bent and twisted. Her entire body was frozen in silent agony.

Spike closed his eyes and prayed. But he knew there was no God, just his Buffy decimated by age, quietly waiting to die.

A loud noise screeched behind him, hard wheels scratching on linoleum, and he wheeled around. A brown-skinned elderly woman in a nurse’s uniform was pushing a steel gurney down the hallway. Her rheumy eyes glared at him from beneath rows of thick black mascara. But he recognized the blue aura of a demon’s stare.

He placed a hand on each side of the doorframe, barring its entrance to Buffy’s room. “I know what you are. A shape shifting demon doesn't fool me.”

“You’re the slayer’s vampire.” The demon sounded impressed and took a step back. “Her protector.”

“Yes.” Spike advanced toward the demon. “So get the bloody hell away from here, or I’ll rip your sodding head off.”

The demon flashed a row of jagged black teeth, glistening with spit. “Threats are the mutterings of a fool, vampire.”

“Not a threat.”

“Spike.” Buffy’s weak voice came from behind him. “Spike, don’t.”

The demon swept a fat, blue-black tongue across its thin lips. “Aw, so the Slayer is still alive.” It chuckled. “Then I’ll come back when she’s dead and you’ll be easy prey.”

Spike shrugged, feigning indifference. “No one knows what will happen when the Slayer dies.”

“We’ll see about that.” The demon shifted his appearance back to that of the nurse, grabbed the handles of the gurney and pushed it down the empty hallway and around the corner.

Spike stepped into Buffy’s room and closed the door behind him. For a moment he needed to lean against it. Her body was wasting away before his eyes. He shifted his gaze pretending to examine a room he already knew by heart.

The hospital’s iron barred windows towered twenty feet high from floor to ceiling. Draped with thick white curtains pulled shut, they kept the cold, the air and daylight from slipping in. The chamber was tucked into a corner. Surrounding it, the freshly scrubbed white walls showed no signs of the other souls that death had trapped here. On the nightstand rested a pitcher of water with melting ice. Next to it, a small shaded lamp illuminated the semi-dark space. A chair sat beside the bed. Spike pushed away from the door and headed for the chair.

He sensed her gaze following him, and glanced in her direction.

Wisps of gray hair mixed with dark brown strands curled softly around her neck and cheeks. But the skin on her face had shriveled into hard cracked lines. He opened the lid of the chamber, knowing he couldn’t hurt her. He then lowered his body stiffly into the chair, and took her hand into his.

“I knew I could count on you.” Buffy’s words came in between noisy breaths. “But don’t look so concerned.”

“Afraid is the better word.”

She smiled. “Don’t be. Willow’s magic kept me young for seventy-five years—and at your side. That was a gift.”

He touched her lips with a fingertip. They felt raw. He picked up a cotton swab from the table and dipped it into the pitcher of ice water. Gently, he patted the corners of her mouth and smiled, as she moved her lips in appreciation.

“Adjust the bed. I want to sit up,” she whispered. “I have to explain what I need from you.”

He found the lever near the bottom of the chamber’s stand.

“I’m tired,” she said. “I feel like I’ve killed demons and fought off apocalypses every day of my life.” Her eyelids fluttered shut.

“Buffy?”

She opened her eyes. “I need to fix a mistake I made.”

“Only one?” He half-smiled.

“Oh Spike,” she said. “Seriously, back in Sunnydale, when Willow changed the way the world was meant to be?”

“You mean by creating all the slayers?” Spike shook his head. “There was no wrong in that decision, none.”

"Not that one. Before. When Willow brought me back…”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Sunnydale would still exist, you would never have died in that Hellmouth. Anya would be alive, and she and Xander would have gotten back together, and I just know that Dawn…”

“Wait a minute, Buffy.”

“Let me finish.” She raised her hand. “Dawn would be alive, too.” She struggled to sit up.

Standing, Spike plumped the pillows behind her head. "They’ve been dead 70 years,” he said. “Why change anything?”

“Because I’ve been with you for seventy-five years, and until Willow’s spell ended a week ago, I looked and felt twenty-eight years old.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve had my life and so much more, but you’re the only chance I have of making a wrong, right.”
She grabbed his hand. “You can travel through time, get into the portal, and then come back.”

“Come back to what if you’re not here?” His chest tightened. “I won’t do it.”

“It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “It can’t be the last thing I ever do for you.”

“Spike, please.”

“No, Buffy, I won’t.” He released her hand. “I can’t.”

to be continued...

Scenes from the Past by Denny
Chapter II - Normal

They settled into repose
Lying quietly next to each other
Side by side in the large white bed
Neither caring to turn or roll any closer
Afraid of finding a heart hiding between them
Buried beneath the sheets
Denny S. Bryce

Los Angeles, California, Spike’s Apartment – October 2004

Buffy lay naked at the foot of the bed, watching Spike leaning against the bedpost, his legs spread apart, stroking his swollen cock and smirking. He enjoyed giving her an eyeful. Such the temptress, he was rolling his hips from side-to-side, a slow smile curling his lips. It made Buffy wet just looking at him.

Still, she dropped her gaze to the sheets crumpled in the middle of the bed between them. She wanted him so much she felt dizzy, like if she didn't have him, she'd die. She peered up at his smiling face and her body tingled all over.

“Love, come here.” Spike reached out to her.

Shifting onto her knees, Buffy crawled across the bed and rested her head on his thigh.

“Sorry about today.” Spike moved her hair from his path as he scooted down in the bed to lie next to her, his head against her chest.

“That’s okay,” breathed Buffy as Spike took one of her breasts into his mouth and rolled his tongue over the nipple. The tugging sensation went to her cunt, and she trembled as Spike's sucking became more urgent. Then he released her nipple, wrapped his arms around her waist, and flipped her up onto his chest.

“Wow, that was awfully manly of you,” Buffy grinned, straddling Spike.

“Have to make up for my bloody screw-up with Willow.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” She slid her went pussy over his stomach and then rising up, eased her body down onto his cock. “She’ll get over it.”

“Mmmmm…yeah…bloody hope so.” Spike grabbed her hips and began moving her back and forth slowly as she pushed down, embedding herself on his shaft.

“That’s good.”

Buffy pouted. “Just good?”

“No…bloody perfect.”

~

Los Angeles, California, Spike’s Apartment – October 2005

There was no good reason for Buffy to feel the way she did. Spike had left her with enough to get more than just by. She had the apartment in Rome and the house in Los Angeles. She owned the cars, and he’d arranged for her to receive an untraceable check the first of each month from Wolfram & Hart.

She didn’t have to worry about her reputation or her pride either. He’d told their friends that she’d left him after he’d screwed up one time too many. Hadn’t even mattered what he’d done. Most of the people they knew believed without thinking twice that it had to have been his fault. She couldn’t possibly be the blame. He’d been the black mark on her otherwise normal life from the moment he’d shown up in Rome. That was the general feeling among her friends and family. Giles definitely felt that way. Good riddance to bad blood, he’d grunted upon hearing the news of the breakup.

Buffy just didn’t have the courage to tell anyone the truth.

~

“How dare you tell me not to speak to Spike?” Buffy hated Giles this morning. Here she was in her own kitchen listening to her former Watcher discredit the vampire—the man—she loved. True no one knew she still loved him, still self-righteous Giles was pissing her off. “I don’t have to listen to this.” She started clearing the dishes from the countertop, thinking she probably shouldn’t have invited him to breakfast. He was only in town a few days. They could have skipped this visit.

“Someone has to talk some sense into you, Buffy,” he said. “Spike has betrayed us. You were right to kick him out.”

“You don’t know the whole story.”

“I know enough to urge you not to reverse a good decision.”

She snatched some paper towels from the holder. “Past tense, Giles. Past tense. I no longer have to listen to your advice let alone follow it.”

Giles removed his glasses and wiped them off with the handkerchief he always seemed to have handy. “Willow has been your trusted friend for years. You’re going to throw that friendship away because of Spike?”

“What if he’s not lying, Giles?” She slammed the refrigerator door shut. “What if he knows something about Willow?”

“Doesn’t seem bloody likely, Buffy.”

“You don’t know that Giles.”

“Then why did you put him out?” Giles inquired, raising his eyebrow as he peered at Buffy over the rim of his glasses.

“The reason I’m not with Spike has nothing to do with Willow. It’s personal, but the change in our living situation doesn’t mean we aren’t still…friends.”

Giles removed his glasses. “I do not like the sound of that Buffy. You’ve been in and out of a relationship with him for years.”

“Well that couldn’t be helped. Some of that time he was dead, a ghost, then dead again, and you know the rest.”

“Yes Buffy, I do know.” Giles said. “And in between, you’ve broken up how many times?”

“This time it’s different, Giles.”

“Why? Because he’s human?” Giles picked up his coffee mug and carried it to the sink. “Spike is always Spike, Buffy.”


Chapter III - Spike

So let go, jump in
Oh well, whatcha waiting for
It’s alright
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown
So let go, just get in
Oh, it's so amazing here
It’s alright
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown
Frou Frou, Artist

London, England, Buffy and Spike’s Apartment – October 2007

“Spike, what are you doing?” Buffy’s tone held the usual boredom of a question asked without any interest in his answer.

“Writing.” Spike closed the lid to the laptop and turned his chair to face her. She was hovering in the doorway, the sunset beaming over her shoulders, its golden rays bouncing off of her
honey-colored hair. He kept the sigh in his throat from his lips. It never ceased to annoy him how she could still take his breath away. “What else would I be doing at this time of evening, love?”

“What else, indeed?” She made a gesture with her hand as if clearing cobwebs from her path. But she remained in the archway.

“How was your night?” Now it was his turn for the usual question. He drummed his fingers on top of the desk waiting for her reply. Several moments passed and he realized she hadn’t answered. He raised his head.

She was looking directly at him, and Buffy didn’t do that. Not anymore, or at least not often. Something had changed since he’d seen her that morning. He examined her clothing. No torn fabric, no holes, or signs of blood. She was dressed for slaying. Black leather pants, high-heeled black boots, an oversized wool sweater, fashionably thick with extra long sleeves, a scarf double-wrapped around her throat, smart for mid-October in London. Then he saw it.
Her chin was quivering.

“Bloody hell, Buffy. Are you going to answer me?” He sat upright in his chair. “If nothing else, we’re still sodding polite. We don’t just ignore each other.”

Still nothing. He pushed his chair away from the desk. “I asked how was your night? Did something happen? Something go wrong?”

She shifted her gaze from him to the row of bookcases lining the far wall of his office. “How many Watchers’ Chronicles have you written in the past two years?”

“You know how many.”

“I know I do.” Her voice trailed off as she strolled into his office and made her way to the bookcases on the opposite wall. As she passed by, her fingers danced over his books and the loose sheets of paper strewn over the long, low tables.

Spike stood up, watching her. She hadn’t been in his office in a year. They lived in the same house, slept in the same bed—most nights—but she hadn’t walked into his office, just like he didn’t patrol with her anymore. They had their domains, and she was violating his. “Tell me what the hell happened?”

“I saw Willow.”

Spike sat down on the corner of his desk. “Where?”

“At the cemetery, while I was patrolling.”

“What did she want?”

“She asked a favor.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “We don’t do favors for Willow. You agreed to that.”

“She needs help.”

“The all mighty Willow doesn’t need anything from anybody.”

“She asked for help Spike. That’s huge for Willow—to ask.”

For a moment he saw the old Buffy, the one who was earnest and eager when she talked about helping her friends.

“If you want to do this for Willow, go ahead.” He found his glasses on the desktop and placed them on the bridge of his nose.

“She needs both of us.”

“That’s too bloody bad.”

“Spike, this is important.” Buffy was at his side, her hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t certain it would make all the difference in the world.”

He peered at her over the rim of his glasses. “You honestly want me to help Willow?”

“I want you to help me.”

“Okay then,” he sighed. “Tell me exactly what she wants, Pet.”

“Promise you’ll listen without interrupting?” Buffy insisted.

“I’m listening.”

“Willow’s going to give us a box,” Buffy started. “And we’ve got to take this box to the future, and then find her in the past and give her back the box.” Buffy half-smiled. “See. Easy.”

“Sounds simple enough...” Spike cracked his neck to the side.

“Except for the time traveling part, and Willow not telling us what’s in the sodding box?”

“Don’t get mad, and don’t interrupt. You promised.”

“I thought you were done.”

“I was giving you the big picture.”

“Sounded like you were telling me everything you knew.” Spike leaned forward.

“I’m going to leave if you don’t stop interrupting.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I said I’d listen.”

“I just know if we do this, it will change things,” Buffy said. “We’ll find Dawn.”

He knew it, that bitch Willow had convinced Buffy that the impossible was possible. “How can we change the present by changing the future,” Spike said. “I didn’t think it worked that way.”

“Spike, I miss her…” Her voice cracked. “We have to at least try…please.”

Bloody hell.

“When do we leave?” Spike asked.

“I think tonight,” Buffy replied. “Willow will call us tonight.”

~

The branches of the trees were bending, the wind had picked up speed. It was going to rip the garden apart and tear the building from its foundation, and all Buffy could do was watch. She knew no Slayer strength or stake could do anything about what was brewing in the garden. This was magic, big magic and she’d made a promise and had to trust her instincts.

Buffy had slipped on her long wool coat over her sweater and black leather pants, and taken a seat in the chair next to the window. On the floor at her side lay her backpack loaded with stakes and crosses and a canteen filled with holy water.

Spike had pulled one of his leather dusters out of a bag she’d hidden in the back of the bedroom closet. Now he was standing by the bookcase, thumbing through one of his chronicles on Willow.

“You think you’ll be a vampire in the future?” She had to ask.

“I don’t know what I’ll be, but whatever it is, it will be better with my coat.”

The phone rang.

Spike cleared his throat and tilted his head at Buffy.

“I wonder who that could be?” She said aloud.

He frowned at her. “Why not answer it Pet and find out.”

Buffy shrugged. “No,” she replied. “It’s better if you do it. Might not be Willow. Could be Giles and he doesn’t like talking to me.”

“That’s not true.” Spike said. “You don’t like talking to him.” He snatched the phone from its cradle. “Hello.” Spike covered the mouthpiece with his hand, and looked at her. “Not Giles. It’s Willow.”

“Okay then,” Buffy said. “It’s time.”

Spike hung up the phone. “She says we’ve got to go outside now.”
Buffy locked the front door behind her and led the way to the garden at the rear of the apartment building. Resting on a ledge near the fountain was a white box. “Willow said the only way this will work is if we don’t open the box until we find her in the past.”

“What do we do with the box when get to the future?” Spike asked.
“She didn’t tell me.”

“I have a bad feeling, Buffy.”

Buffy raised a sympathetic eyebrow. But she wasn’t going to admit she had that same bad feeling. Instead, she just walked to the box and picked it up, while struggling to hold on to her canteen and stay on her feet as the wind caught her in the chest and shoved her into Spike. He held onto her and pulled her close to his side.

“You ready,” he shouted.

The portal was spinning in front of them, swirling wildly with dirt and debris and grass and leaves, and Spike was holding her hand, but Buffy didn’t mind.

She looked at him and he nodded. Then they stepped into the portal.

to be continued...

Chapter IV - Boxes

Do nothing till you hear from me,
Pay no attention to what's said
Why people tear the seam
Of anyone's dream
Is over my head

Duke Ellington


London England, Buffy and Spike’s Apartment –2085AD

Spike had been standing in their bedroom in front of the closet holding the door open and staring, for how long, he couldn’t rightly recall. He'd been counting her shoes, hanging up her shirts and pants, and wondering how a woman could own so much clothing in a decade when fashion magazines didn’t exist. Everyone wore the same colorless, coarsely woven layers to ward off Mother Nature, except for Buffy. She made embroidered scarves and knitted gloves with brightly colored yarn she dyed herself, and wore jewelry she’d created from broken rods and bullet casings. Made it bloody hard to explain why a slayer cared so much about her wardrobe. But Buffy told him a slayer should never forget couture. No matter how many decades she'd been twenty something.

Spike suddenly pumped his fist in the air. “Eureka!” He’d finally remembered what he’d been looking for in the closet. He dropped to his knees flinging clothes and pairs of high-heeled boots out of his way. The throw rug was covering a panel on the floor. He tossed it aside and broke the latch with his hands.

From its hiding place, he pulled out a brown bag and tore it open. “Willow’s box,” he announced, clutching it to his chest.

It was no longer perfectly square, or white. Now dented with dark stains marring its once lustrous sheen, it also had a lingering foul scent. He wiped off the dust with one of Buffy’s shirts and noticed the latch was unlocked. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered that it had happened, but when or why not exactly. Had he opened the box? Had Buffy? The memory wouldn’t stay put in his brain.

He walked to the bed and sat down, holding the box carefully in his hands. It had too much power, but he couldn’t do anything about that. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Time didn’t matter here. Then another flash of memory came to him. A portal was brewing. He rushed to the spot where the old window had been, now covered by iron bars and reduced to décor against the steel wall. He touched the bars. There used to be a garden outside this window when it was glass, and wind blew tree leaves and flowers blossomed. That’s where the portal had come. He sat down on the bed again, wishing Buffy were there. She had enjoyed time travel, but got sad after a few decades and he’d hidden the box in the closet beneath the floorboards.

A sudden loud pop and a flash of light and the portal appeared in the closet. Oh yes, he thought. That’s where it comes now.

“Hi Buffy,” he said, smiling as she stumbled out of the portal.

Her eyes flashed wide and her head spun sharply as she appeared to be searching for someone who should have been at her side, not sitting on a bed in a room with steal walls.

“Spike?” She stepped forward, but then moved back into the closet.

“Yes, I’m Spike,” he answered. "But don't worry about your Spike. It's just that if I'm here, he can’t be at your side.”

“Oh, didn’t know that," said Buffy, her hand disappearing behind her back.

“I forgot this is your first trip.”

“What do you mean by that?” She wiped the hair from her face with her free hand.

“That this is your first trip.” Spike couldn’t stop staring at her hair. It was that glowing shade of blonde he loved the best and she had bangs, perfect little wisps of pretty hair, touching her forehead, getting into her eyes. “Please have a seat, Love.” He gestured to a chair near the window.

“I’m good.” Buffy inched out of the closet, but not too far out. “What’s that in your hand?”

Spike raised his eyebrow. “What’s that behind your back?”

“I asked you first.”

“As you can see, it’s a box.”

“Did Willow give you the box?”

He jumped to his feet. “Willow?”

Swinging the bag from her shoulder, Buffy pulled a stake from a side pocket.

"So now, you’re afraid of me?” Spike said.

“You’re a vampire,” Buffy said. “Again.”

Spike eyed her steadily. She was bouncing on her toes, her weight distributed perfectly. “No need to worry Slayer. Wherever or whenever you run into old Spike remember that I’m always in love with you.”

Her chin quivered and the arm with the stake relaxed, but not completely. Still, it was enough for him to know he wasn’t in immediate danger. Besides, he bet he could take her. After all, he’d been around two hundred years. Then again, so had she in a way. He backed up to the edge of the bed and sat down.

“Did you lose your soul?”

“There are worst things.” He crossed his legs and flipped the box up and down in his hand. “Now show me what you have behind your back?” He pointed with his other hand.

She took a deep breath and slowly held out the box.

“You’ll have to step out of the closet to give it to me.”

"I don't know if I want to do that?" She responded.

“Well, I can't come to you. I’ll be too close to that portal spinning behind you." He nodded and Buffy glanced over her shoulder, as if she’d forgotten all about it.

“The other Spike is still in that portal, “ Spike said. “If I get too close to it, the portal will sweep me up and that Spike and this one…” He placed a finger on his chest. “…will go whoosh! And that would be a very bad thing.”

Buffy walked halfway into the bedroom. “You seem to know a lot about portal etiquette.”

“I am Spike," he said. "Been there, done that."

“Do you know that the Spike traveling with me is human?”

“That’s the main reason why we can’t be in the same time together…”

Buffy blinked and bit her lower lip. “Oh, that’s right, I’m long dead by now.” She half-smiled, scanning the apartment. "What year is this?"

"Two thousand eighty-five," he replied.

"God, this is crazy," Buffy said. "I didn't think of time travel in terms of years, you know?"

“It’s not years, its space and light,” Spike stood up cautiously. “I’d feel better if you put the stake away.”

“Okay.” She did.

“Now remind me why you’re here.”

“Willow created the portal so Spike and I could bring this box to this time and then take it to her in the past.”

“Sounds bloody twisted.” Spike narrowed his eyes, thoughtfully. "We should exchange boxes."

“I’ve got to take Willow this box.” Buffy wiggled the box in her hand.

“This is that box.”

“Really getting hard for me to keep up here,” she sighed. "Even if I agree, we still have a problem.”

“Please illuminate it for me then.”

She pointed. “Your box is open.”

“Do you want to know what’s inside?”

She retreated. “No. That will screw up everything.”

“Whatever is going to happen has already happened, Buffy.”

“So, there’s nothing I can do about it?”

“No matter what you do, Dawn has been dead a long time.”

“Long to you, or long to me?” She snapped. “For me, she’s been gone forever.”

“No, Buffy,” Spike said. “I’m the only one who understands forever.”

“I’m not going to stand here and philosophize with you about space, time and light. Okay? Let’s just do this so that we, or me and the other Spike, can get out of here.”

"I agree," Spike said. "Trust me, it's not a big deal that it’s open. Just don't look inside. Okay. Now, take it.”

She stared at the box in her hand and then the one he was holding. "I should trust you since you've been through this before, right?"

"Yes, you should trust me." He handed her the box in his hand, and waited for her to place her box in his. “Do me a favor and don't forget that time is not a straight line. It folds and has a reflection.”

“You’ve become quite the intellect.”

“I'm old." Spike stood in the doorway of the closet as she backed toward the portal. "It doesn’t take much if you’ve been around as long as I have."

She stopped. “Tell me what’s in the box.”

“I thought you didn’t want to know.”

She caressed the old, tattered box in her hand. “We’ve put a lot of trust in Willow, and I don’t know….what if we’re wrong?”

He tilted his head at Buffy. “This entire situation is about you and Willow. Dawn, Giles and me, even Angel, we’re just pieces in the puzzle.”

Buffy adjusted the knapsack on her shoulder. “That was kind of cryptic. I’d think if you love me, you'd answer my question.”

Spike squared his shoulders. “You can ask me one question, and I will answer it honestly and directly. No space time continuum talk, just a straight answer.”

Buffy moistened her lips and swept the bangs from her forehead. “Oh god, I don’t know what to ask. Should I ask about trusting Willow or if we’ll be able to save Dawn?” She looked at him, her eyes pleading. “You’re not going to give me a clue?”

“Just ask the bloody question.”

“Will we save Dawn?”

“Yes.”

She backed into the portal. “Thank you.”

Spike stood in the archway staring into the closet long after Buffy had disappeared. After a while, he looked at the box in his hand and then threw it against the steel wall. Why did she always ask the same goddamned question?


to be continued...

Chapter V - Dawn

I am here no longer a vision birthed into my body
I accept praise, blame, joy, sorrow
I realize we are in truth the truth we seek god
Perfect this very moment

Me'Shell NdegéOcello, God Shiva lyrics

Los Angeles, California, Spike’s Apartment – July 2004

Buffy broke another egg into the skillet. The sizzling hot butter and sweet, greasy smell of bacon reminded her of Sunnydale on a Sunday morning. And with her sister visiting from Cleveland it was almost as if she was back in that old kitchen on Revello Drive.

“How do you want your eggs?” Buffy asked Dawn, who was sitting in one of the two chairs at the kitchenette-sized table in Spike’s one room apartment.

“Scrambled is good,” Dawn replied. “You know, I could’ve stayed at a hotel. Didn’t need to break up the reunion between you and Spike.”

“Spike didn’t mind spending the night at Gunn’s. They had some catching up to do.”

“I bet,” Dawn responded. "How are you doing…and how’s Spike…with Angel...you know, gone."

She faced her. “It's weird, but everything feels more urgent, as if I have to pay more attention to every moment. I don't know. I miss Angel. We both do."

“I'm sorry Buffy.”

“It’s okay.”

"You look good, though,” Dawn added quickly.

Buffy smiled at her sister. “I am good." She turned back to the stove. "I know I can't help being a little sad, but this is the best I’ve been in a long, long time.”

“It's being with Spike, isn't it?" Dawn sighed. "I always knew you loved him.”

“Right, like you are the ultimate mind reader, soothsayer, kid sister of all time.” Buffy finished stirring the eggs. “Grab some plates.” She lifted her chin toward the lone cabinet sitting next to the small refrigerator.

Dawn hopped from her seat, got the plates and utensils, and then plopped back down. “What’s it like, Buffy?”

“What’s what like?”

“Being with Spike…now that he’s human.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean sexually?”

“Oh, Buffy!” Dawn’s face reddened. “Okay, yes…kind of…and no, I mean seriously…don’t you miss vampire Spike?”

“Sometimes.” Buffy held the skillet in her hand, staring at it, not wanting to tell Dawn that having Spike with her in any form had given her back her life. “I miss patrolling with Spike—but I won’t let him patrol—and we miss sparing, although he still loves to pick a fight.”

“Sounds like the same old Spike.”

Buffy smiled. “He is.”

“Willow sure did pull that one out of a hat.” Dawn continued. “She’s so powerful. It’s great being with her and Faith, and learning so much about slaying and magic.”

“So, Cleveland and Case Western Reserve University, not all that bad, huh?”

“It’s okay.” Dawn’s eyes clouded.

“What’s wrong?” Buffy dumped a spoonful of eggs in Dawn’s plate.

“Willow’s been mentoring me, you know, and she’s decided to go back to London this fall to work with the Coven she was in after…you know, Warren killed Tara, and she killed Warren…and…”

“Spit it out, Dawn.” Buffy placed the skillet back on the stove.

“I’m leaving Cleveland and going with her to London to study.” Dawn looked up at Buffy, her eyes moist, but her mouth determined. “She’s been teaching me a lot, and I’m getting really good.”

“At what?” Buffy exclaimed. “Witchcraft?”

“Well, yeah.”

“What about college?”

“You never finished college, why should I?”

Buffy ignored the remark. “I don’t have anything against witches. But being with Willow full time, learning? Dawn, she’s out of your league.”

“Thanks.”

“Be real,” Buffy demanded. “Willow is mega powerful, and that Coven, well, Giles said that each one of those witches is practically as strong as Willow.”

“So, I’m not good enough?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Please Dawn, I’m just saying, you might be better off finishing school before you go traipsing around London performing spells with Willow.”

Dawn visibly stiffened in her chair. “Willow Rosenberg saved Spike’s life and Angel’s friend Gunn. She almost saved Angel. And she was the only one powerful enough to change the potentials into slayers. That made it possible for you to stop the First, Buffy.”

“Spike stopped the First.”

“Okay, technicality,” Dawn exhaled. “But Willow is barely twenty-four years old and super powerful. And I want to learn as much as possible from her as fast as I can.”

“You don’t have to school me about Willow and her accomplishments, Dawn. I know how much I owe her.” Buffy took a deep breath. “But don’t forget, she also used magic in ways that were very scary. Remember, it hasn’t been that long since she learned to control her power.”

Dawn’s jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it. You still don’t trust Willow.”

Buffy walked to the chair opposite Dawn and sat down, folding her hands on the table. “I love Willow, Dawn. She’s my best friend. But with all that power…I think you’d be better off going back to college in the fall.”

Dawn tore a bite out of the piece of toast she had in her hand. “I’m going to London.”

“You’re not eighteen years old yet, which means I can tell you where you’ll be going.”

“Willow said you’d react this way,” Dawn muttered. “I didn’t believe it. I said no way you’d make a fuss about me being with her.”

“God, Dawn. I’m not saying I don’t want you to be with Willow,” Buffy said. “I just don’t want you giving up your education to practice magic with Willow. It’s too soon for Willow to have that kind of responsibility, and it’s too soon for you.”

“I don’t agree with you, Buffy.”

“Have you thought about the possibility that Willow is going back to the Coven because she’s feeling the pull of black magic?"

“Wow, friendship only goes so far with you,” Dawn said. “I guess now that you have Spike, your friends and your family don’t matter any more.”

“Not true, and totally unfair.” Buffy said.

“Then don’t interfere in my life.”

Buffy stared at her plate and then at her sister. “I don’t want to argue with you about this.”

Dawn rose from her chair. “Then don’t. Just support my decision.”

“If I have to stop you, I will.” Buffy was on her feet, her fists pushing into the tabletop.

The door opened.

“Hello, Love.” Spike strolled into the apartment, and raised an eyebrow at Buffy before heading to Dawn. “Nibblet? How are my two best girls doing this fine morning?” He pulled Dawn to him for a quick hug.

Dawn scowled at Buffy. “Spike, can you talk some sense into her? She’s being unreasonable.”

“Don’t put me in the middle of whatever this is.” He slipped out of his jacket, and gave Buffy a “what’s-going-on-here?” face.

“Do you really want to go to London to live with Willow?”

“Yes, Buffy, I do.”

Buffy unclenched her fists and slumped down into the chair. Looking from Spike to Dawn, she wondered why her stomach was churning. She could trust Dawn to take care of herself. Couldn't she? And Willow...she'd been doing great for nearly two years. But the muscles in Buffy's chest still ached. She just couldn't lose any one else. There'd been enough of that the past thee years to last a lifetime.

“Will you at least think about it?” Dawn said.

Buffy's legs were shaking beneath the table. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

to be continued...

Scenes from the Past by Denny
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...