Ralph Waldo Emerson
Retying her robe, Buffy sighed and quietly made her way along the corridor of their third floor wing and down the wide staircase to the ground floor. The huge country house was quiet and cool in the early morning. Who was she kidding, the temperatures in England, even half way through June, hadn’t managed to climb much above ‘pleasantly warm’ since they’d arrived.
Silently, she made her way to the back of the house and into the large, well equipped kitchen. The kitchen staff would be arriving soon to prepare the day’s meals for the ever-increasing number of residents and guests of their new home. In the meantime, coffee and a few plain crackers should settle her stomach. She quickly made her coffee and carried it through to the large dining room, settling into the antique carver at one end of the long table.
Wearily, she pondered last night’s dream again, shuddering as she recalled the vicious ending to this one. Over the last month, since the dreams had begun to change, she’d spent a lot of time trying to work out what they meant, if they were in fact prophetic Slayer dreams, or just reflections of her own subconscious memories and fears. She hadn’t really said much about them to anyone yet, at first because they were very personal, more private than other dreams, like a refuge to her almost, one she didn’t want to share. And then, as they had changed, she’d felt the others might think her still loopy, when on the surface she seemed, if not better, then at least more in touch with reality.
During the day she had, for the most part, let go of the notion of Spike’s survival and eventual return to her. But the dreams, they still shook her up. Each morning, since the first changes to the script, she’d woken up breathless, still gripped by them, struggling to separate her dream experiences and what they meant from the reality of this new life in England. Even back in that little hotel room in California that had been true.
She still remembered how the echo of Spike’s desperate cries for help had jolted her harshly awake, despair instantly flooding her conscious mind, crossing over from her dreamscape into the waking world. She’d lain there, panting wildly as she’d glanced across the dimly lit room, mourning the loss of blind joy and confidence she’d awoken to each previous morning. It had still been very early, Dawn fast asleep. Quietly, she’d showered and dressed, then slipped over to the diner for a coffee. Giles and Xander, both eating cooked breakfasts, had looked up as she’d pushed open the door. Giving them a quick wave and a tentative little smile, she’d stepped over to the counter to order coffee and a muffin before joining them.
“Hi guys. You’re up early.”
“Yes, well, our flight leaves from LAX in four hours. With the drive ahead of us we’ll need to leave soon so we can get checked in on time,” Giles had explained. “Faith will drive us down and then stop and check in on Robin on the way back. They’ll be able to release him in a day or two.”
They’d talked briefly of their plans and arrangements, pleased that Buffy was taking some interest in future developments. She had been mildly curious, but after the previous night’s dream, she was desperate to get out to the ruins again. She’d managed to talk Giles and Xander into leaving a little earlier, and after dragging a reluctant Faith out of bed, they had all headed back towards the ruins of Sunnydale to drop Buffy off before turning around and beginning the drive south to Los Angeles.
The farewell at the crater had been brief but emotional, both men hugging her tightly and telling her to take care of herself and that they’d see her in a week’s time. Faith had told her she’d be back to pick her up that evening, and then they were off, and she was left there alone. She’d gone straight over to the edge, straining her ears to see if she could hear anything other than the whisper of the breeze sweeping in from the ocean and her eyes to see if she could see anything other than the fields of gray rock and debris. But there had been no movement, and nothing but the sound of the wind.
Each day from then on had been much the same. Spike continued to cry out for help in her dreams, but there remained no sight of him in the waking world. She’d begun to dread falling asleep at night, her slumber now haunted by Spike’s pleas.
As the others had prepared for their departure, organising passports and visas, shopping and packing and contacting any remaining family and friends, Buffy had slowly become more despondent. She hadn’t known what to do, how to help Spike. She’d got Willow to try a locator spell and she’d even rung Angel to see if he could tell her anything about the amulet, but neither attempt had turned up any information. It seemed almost as if he was really gone, but she still hadn’t been ready to accept that then.
And then Day 10 had rolled around, the tenth day since the defeat of the First, the tenth day since the collapse of the Hellmouth and the ruin of Sunnydale, the tenth day without Spike, since his disappearance.
The night before the dream had changed subtly. This time Spike had begun to cry out for help as soon as she left him. She’d paused at the top of the stairway and glanced back, listening to the panic and despair in his voice as he called her name. Just as she’d thought about turning back, he’d begun to radiate, bright flames breaking through his luminous skin until, in only seconds, he’d glowed first red, then white hot, before exploding into a cloud of dust before her eyes. In her head his last word had echoed on… “Buffy!”
Shock and terror had dragged Buffy from sleep that morning. She had not once, up until that point, conceived of Spike’s demise, unshakeable in her belief in his survival. After her heart rate had calmed down and her breathing had returned to normal, she’d sat there, propped up against the headboard, trying to work out what the dream meant. Was it a lie, simply a nightmare, conceived of her deepest fears and given birth by her frustrations and growing doubts. But it had started so much like the other dreams that she’d soon begun to question those as well. Were they also a product of her sub-conscious, no more than wishful thinking? Had she been fooling herself all along? For the first time since the Hellmouth’s collapse Buffy stayed in her room, too confused and dismayed to race out to the crater.
So it was later that morning, as Faith, Robin, Andrew and the new Slayers had clambered onto the school bus, waving their farewells before setting out for LAX, that Buffy had stood in the shadow of the Hotel, panic clawing at her. She had taken Giles’ extension, but that only gave her two more days, time had almost run out.
As soon as the bus pulled out of sight she’d jumped into the rental car, tearing down the road, now desperate to get to the site. She had felt anxious and frustrated to the point of tears. She knew it wasn’t logical, but she hadn’t given up faith that Spike would pull through. Still, the endless waiting, the lack of anything concrete, and now the questions about the dreams themselves were taking their toll on Buffy. By the time she’d arrived back at the hotel that night she’d been exhausted, aching all over and utterly distraught.
Dawn and Willow had gathered her up, cleaned her, fed her, held her and talked to her. They’d quietly let her know that it was time to starting letting go, to never give up on her love for Spike, but to let him rest in peace. She’d sobbed and sobbed, her heart broken as she’d begun to accept she might never see him again. She’d slept fitfully, fragments of the dream playing in her head and awoke feeling tired and depressed.
That day, their last full day there, all three girls had driven out to the remains of the place they had all called home. It was still early when they arrived, and apart from the sleek black limousine that had sped away from the crater’s edge as they pulled up, it had been quiet and peaceful. They’d stayed all day, chatting, reminiscing, keeping one another company as they’d said their farewells to those that they’d loved and lost in Sunnydale – Jesse, Jenny, Kendra, Joyce, Tara, Anya, Amanda and Spike.
It was a sombre little group that had returned to the hotel that night, packed up their meagre belongings and checked their passports and tickets. They’d turned in soon after dinner, needing to be well rested and up early for their trip to the airport.
Despite the emotional day, Buffy had slipped into a deep, refreshing sleep, and for the first time since the battle, she did not dream. At first light, they had stacked their luggage by the door, and driven back to Sunnydale for a final farewell. Willow had performed a simple blessing, designed to let all who must remain in Sunnydale rest peacefully. Quietly, they had climbed into the rental car and driven back to the hotel.
The shuttle was already there when they had arrived. Buffy had dropped the girls off so they could carry their luggage to the shuttle and hand their keys back to the front desk while she had returned the rental to the garage. Walking quietly back to meet the girls, she had tried to weigh up how she felt. Exhausted, anxious, a little achy and very, very sad. But she’d also felt okay, strong even, and ready to leave Sunnydale behind.
Without fanfare the three girls had hopped into the back of the shuttle. The driver pulled smoothly out of the car park, and the first part of their journey to England had begun. Buffy had sat between Dawn and Willow, all three girls silent as they’d contemplated what had taken place in their lives and what was to come next. After a while, Buffy had drifted off to sleep, and once again the dream had floated through her subconscious,
The ending had been similar to the latest version, except that this time, before he had incinerated, he had turned his head to look up the stairs at her. More than begging for help, this time he had accusingly asked why she was leaving him behind.
“No, Buffy, no. Don’t leave me. Why are you leaving me? Please don’t leave me behind,” he’d screamed before spontaneously combusting, leaving behind only ashes and the echo of his cries.
“Spike, noooo,” Buffy had called out. Opening her eyes she had realised she was slumped against Dawn’s shoulder, tears dampening her cheeks and heart pounding madly. She’d quickly jerked herself upright, scrubbing her hands across her face as Dawn wrapped her arm around Buffy’s shoulders.
“It’s okay Buffy, it’s just a dream. We’ve just arrived at the airport,” Dawn had tried to console her.
‘Just a dream,’ she’d thought. ‘Little do you know!’
Buffy had smiled weakly at Dawn as the shuttle had pulled into the drop zone. She’d stepped out of the cab feeling lost and panicky, but tried to calmly breathe her way through it. But at the airport, all through the check-in, luggage, ticketing and passport procedures, Buffy had felt steadily worse. Her heart was pounding; she’d felt dizzy and weak. Spike’s accusations kept echoing in her head.
Suddenly, she’d felt that she shouldn’t be going anywhere; she’d got it wrong, she had to stay. Spike was still out there somewhere waiting for her to find him and rescue him. He needed her; he was relying on her. She’d looked around her, thinking about how she could get out of there.
Dawn and Willow had started to look at her with concern in their eyes, and she’d been vaguely aware of the two of them speaking quietly and urgently between themselves. They’d been in the boarding queue by this time, when Willow had pulled her a little to one side. Standing in front of her Willow had taken both her hands in hers and looked carefully at her.
“It’s alright Buffy, just relax, you’ll be fine. Dawn and I will be right beside you,” she’d murmured soothingly, squeezing Buffy’s hands once more.
Thankfully, she had started to feel calmer, even a little sleepy. Quickly, they’d got their boarding passes and got on the plane. They’d sat beside each other, with Dawn nearest the window and Willow by the aisle. Buffy had felt calm but confused, like she’d forgotten something. But as the plane had taken off, she’d felt another jolt of anxiety.
She’d turned to Willow, chewing her lip.
“I think maybe I made a mistake. I think I need to go back Willow. Spike’s still out there somewhere.”
“Shush,” Willow had crooned, squeezing her hand gently. “It’s alright Buffy, just relax. We’ll sort it all out when we get to England.”
She’d calmed down for a while, but the following eleven hours had been a nightmare for Buffy, and no picnic for Dawn or Willow either. It hadn’t taken long for Buffy to realise that Willow was adding a little something extra to her comforting words, not that she’d minded really; just a little dose of witchy Prozac. But the further they travelled away from California, the greater her anxiety and agitation became. As it grew, it had become harder for Willow to calm her. The effort began to drain her.
By the time they reached Gatwick, the three girls had been absolutely exhausted, both Buffy and Willow on the verge of collapse as Giles met them at the arrivals gate. It had been a very discouraging start to their new life in England.