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Author's Chapter Notes:
For those who are still reading, got another chapter up! :-)

We’re heading down the home stretch now. Will try very, very hard to get the final chapters posted by next weekend before my dad goes in for surgery.

Hope you enjoy!
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CHAPTER 24


Inwardly seething but holding himself in check, Spike watched as a grim-faced Buffy stepped forward, her voice slicing through the fog like a finely honed sword.

“Guess again, Jeeves.”

Not-Giles regarded her with raised brows as the swirling fog ebbed and flowed between them. It cast an eerie pink glow that made it difficult for Spike to gauge his expression. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can beg all you like, but you’re wasting your breath. Angel’s not my destiny.”

“Too bloody right he’s not. She’s made her choice and it isn’t your Golden Boy,” Spike growled, taking a stance at Buffy’s side. If the sodding Powers That Wanked thought they could tell him to jump and he’d ask “How high?” they were delusional. If they thought they could take Buffy from him now that he understood how she really felt, they were suicidal.

“It is written,” Not-Illyria stated, her tone unyielding. “You do not choose.”

Buffy shrugged. “I don’t care if it’s spray-painted on the backside of the Head Powers That Be, himself. Or herself. Whatever. If Spike’s destiny can be unwritten, so can mine. Ergo…sorry, not happening.”

Engulfed by a wave of lusty admiration, Spike dropped the Evil Eye he’d aimed at Not-Rupert, gazing instead at Buffy. “God I love it when you’re all, ‘Up yours.’”

Their eyes met, locking in silent communion. Not-Giles cleared his throat.

“I fear you fail to comprehend the full gravity of the situation.”

At first, Spike thought she would ignore him. But after a few beats, Buffy smiled and turned.

“I comprehend just fine. You’re the one who’s a few fries short of a Happy Meal if you think I’m leaving Spike to go back to Angel. Yes, I loved him. But that ship sailed a long time ago.”

A fierce thrill ran through Spike. It barely had time to register before he found Buffy facing him again.

“Spike, I get that you just made your big Declaration of Independent Destiny and all, but…I have to be sure. You really don’t want this prophecy?”

It was an earnest question. It deserved an honest answer. Fortunately, he had one.

“I meant what I said, love. Had a lot of time to think these last few weeks.” He shrugged. “Maybe too much. But I finally got it straight in my head. I don’t want to be Prophecy Boy. Don’t fancy anyone, least of all that lot, pullin’ my strings.” He stared into her eyes. “That said, I would do it…for you. If it’s what you wanted. And I’d be happy with it, knowing that. But not for them. And not for me. ’Cause it’s not what I want anymore.”

Buffy inched closer, invading his personal space, and Spike was more than happy to let her. She raised her hand, fingers brushing his cheek.

“Then it’s not what I want either.”

Before he could respond, she whirled to face the three conduits again. With an “oh well” gesture, she shrugged. “Okay. Kind of thinking this whole thing has been a big waste of time and energy. Emphasis on the big. Sorry. Bad, Buffy!” she chided herself. “As for the other, we’ll just agree to disagree, okay? Now all you have to do is send us home so we can get back to our thing, and you can get back to your thing, and we’ll all just…do our things.”

Not-Giles regarded her dispassionately. “Yes, well…as much as I regret to say it, that’s simply not possible.”

Buffy frowned. “It’s really scary how much you sound like Giles. And it’s insulting that you expect us to believe that.”

Not-Illyria stepped forward. “You suffer an inability to understand. It has never been a matter of ‘can not.’ Only a matter of ‘will not.’ You treat your destiny with contempt. You view it as a hollow reed that can be bent or broken to your will. We refuse to help you reject your path.” She cocked her head, alien eyes fixed on Buffy. “You will be returned. The vampire will remain here, in this place.”

Buffy’s mouth dropped open. It didn’t really surprise Spike. He’d already seen the proverbial handwriting on the wall. She, however, was clearly shocked.

“You can’t do that!” she protested.

“We can. And will.” Not-Illyria countered, voice and face devoid of all emotion.

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, and Spike watched as her expression went from stunned to determined. She faced them with folded arms, the air around her practically quivering with iron-willed defiance. “Fine. You want to play hardball, so can I. If you’re sending me back without Spike, then you’ve lost your Slayer. As of now, I’m officially retired.”

Not-Giles raised an eyebrow. “That would have been an effective threat, perhaps, when only one of you existed. But now, there are thousands.”

Spike snorted, feeling compelled to state the obvious, even though he didn’t hold out much hope. “That may be, but the next time the big apocalypse looms, who do you want taking care of business? Some slayers? Or The Slayer?”

Spike fancied he saw a slight flicker of something in the other’s eyes, but his expression remained predictably detached.

“And while we’re on the subject,” Buffy interjected, “you might have noticed you’re not exactly crawling with Champions. So why would you want to sideline one of your biggest? It’s stupid you’re even thinking about this. You need Spike! He’s important—not just to me, but to you. You had big plans for him, remember?”

“That was true before,” Not-Giles acknowledged. “But no longer. The vampire has removed himself from the equation. And your stubbornness has left us with no other choice.”

Spike sighed, chin dropping to his chest. Then he reached out, taking hold of Buffy’s arm as he gently turned her to face him. “Buffy…love…maybe you should—“

“No!” She responded instantly, fierce tone mirroring her expression. “I left you to die before. Don’t ever expect me to do that again!”

Her sudden vehemence caught him off guard. Spike squinted at her. “Is that what this is? You feeling all guilty? Don’t be daft, love.”

He instantly realized it was the wrong thing to say. Her expression turned even more thunderous.

“It’s not daft! It’s totally un-daft! In fact, it’s so un-dafty it couldn’t possibly get any un-daftier or it would just be a whole new level of un-daftiness!”

Her tone soothing, Not-Joyce spoke up. “Buffy…sweetheart, you—“

“Don’t!” Spitting out the word, Buffy rounded on her. Up until then, Spike had watched his slayer go out of her way to ignore her mother’s doppelganger. But now she glared daggers at her. “Don’t you wear her face and call me that. You’re not allowed.”

Not-Joyce nodded, acknowledging the order with a sad smile. “Understood. But it’s not that simple. There are things you don’t know. Things we can’t tell you. You’re the Chosen One, and there are great forces at work in your life.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Really. Gee, never would have guessed.”

“That’s enough, young lady.” Not-Joyce eyed her with a stern expression. “I know it’s difficult, but sarcasm won’t help.” Then she sighed, her expression softening. “The point is, this is something you can’t escape. It’s your calling. You are The Slayer. You will be for as long as you live. You may try to deny it, but we know you’ll never be able to turn your back on it. You’ll never look the other way and pretend evil doesn’t exist and that demons live only in nightmares. Not because of your destiny, but because of who you are. It simply isn’t in you.”

She raised a hand, heading off Buffy’s response. “I know you’ve run away before. I also know you’ve wanted to give up—to let others take over where you left off. But you came back. And you didn’t give up. And you won’t. Ever.”

Buffy opened her mouth then stopped. Spike watched as her expression turned sulky. “You can’t be sure of that.”

“Yes, she can,” he interjected softly. “Face it love, the lady may not be your mum, but she’s got your number.”

Several seconds ticked by. Buffy bowed her head, taking an intense interest in the fog that swirled around her feet. When she finally looked up, she’d clearly reached a decision.

“I’m not leaving here without you.”

“Appreciate the sentiment, love, but it’s not like they’re giving us a choice.”

“There’s always a choice. You taught me that.”

Even though she sounded confident, something in her expression told a different story. Spike sighed. It was time for him to take the bull by the horns. Or the slayer by the shoulders. He gazed down into her face as she stood there, waiting.

“Buffy…we’re together now, yeah?”

“Yep,” she agreed.

“Equal partners, right?”

Her response was a bit slower this time, and slightly wary. “Right.”

“With equal say.”

“Spike—”

He gripped her shoulders tighter, silencing her protest. “Either we are, or we aren’t,” he insisted. “Which is it?”

She eyed him with narrowed gaze, lips pressed together in a tight line. “Don’t think I don’t know where you’re going with this. It’s my life, Spike.”

“Yes, it is. But it’s not your choice alone anymore. It’s ours. You made it that way when you made us a couple. That gives me a say, too.”

Buffy stared, then frowned, then made a face. “I don’t like this equality thing. Can’t we just go back to the way it was before?”

He answered her with a quirked eyebrow.

More seconds dragged by as they stood there, seemingly at an impasse. Then, clearly frustrated, she shook her head. “Spike, I know what you want me to do. But think about how you would feel if it were the other way around. Could you leave me?”

And there it was—the thing he’d dreaded. A simple truth he couldn’t argue his way around. She knew it, too. She even had the nerve to gloat a little, albeit silently,

Just as silently, he conceded defeat. “Then what’s the plan, love?”

She smiled then just as quickly frowned again. “Wait…there’s supposed to be a plan?” Then she grinned. “Kidding. Of course there’s a plan.”

Keeping her gaze on Spike, she raised her voice to address the others. “We demand trial by combat!”

Even if he’d wanted to—and he buggering well did not—Spike couldn’t suppress the huge smirk that spread across his face. God, how he loved her. They were two halves of a bloody whole.

Not-Joyce, however, didn’t look as thrilled. “Oh, dear…” She shook her head.

Not-Giles frowned. “Out of the question.”

“Why?” Buffy challenged, planting hands on hips.

“Because the decision is made. There is no appeal.”

“Oh, please! There’s always a trial or quest or something the heroes can do. Don’t you people ever watch the movies?”

“Clearly not. And, clearly, you are mistaken.”

“Actually, that’s not entirely true. There is a precedent.” Not-Joyce shrugged when Not-Giles turned his head to glare at her. “You know it as well as I do. And I don’t think They would appreciate it if we went around changing the rules just because it’s more convenient that way.”

She turned to address Buffy. “What did you have in mind, honey?”

Spike nodded encouragingly as Buffy shot him a quick glance. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Something big, mean and ugly? I mean, we’d be more than happy to fight bunny rabbits, if you like, but shouldn’t you guys be the ones deciding that? Seems like if we’re going to do this, you might as well get your money’s worth.”

Not-Illyria stepped forward. “As you will.”

The fog in front of Spike rippled, as if a stone had been tossed into a pond, then solidified into a gleaming sword suspended in mid-air, its hilt only a few inches away from his hand. A darting sideways glance showed him Buffy eying an identical weapon that had materialized in front of her.

Before they could react, a strange whistling sound came out of nowhere, low at first but rapidly growing in intensity. It transformed into a full-throated howl as gale-force winds blew up around them. Amidst the wildly swirling fog, Spike and Buffy latched on to each other, bracing themselves against the tempest as it threatened to knock them off their feet.

At the center of the maelstrom stood Not-Illyria, motionless except for blue strands of hair whipping across her face. The twin swords were also unaffected, remaining fixed in the air, as if embedded inside invisible concrete.

Buffy shouted something, but the words were swept away. When Spike shook his head, she let go of his arm long enough to point at the swords. This time he nodded. Locking arms, they bowed their heads against the wind and struggled in tandem to reach the suspended weapons.

A journey of mere inches seemed to take hours, yet Spike realized no more than a few seconds could have passed before their hands wrapped around the twin hilts. The instant they made contact, the winds died away. An eerie silence fell.

Spike tugged on the sword, expecting resistance, but there was none. The weapon moved easily, as if sliding smoothly from its invisible sheath.

On cue, a massive roar sounded. It reverberated around them, through them, like echoes bouncing off unseen walls.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Spike demanded, his gaze darting to and fro but unable to penetrate the dense walls of pink fog closing in around them. He raised his sword in readiness, mirroring Buffy’s move.

The voice of Not-Illyria sliced through the mist. “It is The Beast That Walks Between Worlds. A thing feared by all dimensions. Cities quake at its approach. Nations reek with the rancid stench of despair. The very mention of its name leaves entire universes trembling in abject terror, crushed beneath the weight of utter hopelessness.”

A second roar sounded and Spike drew in a steadying breath. “Yeah. So in other words…not a bunny rabbit.”


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TBC in Chapter Twenty-Five





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