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Author's Chapter Notes:
Look! I updated! I feel so proud! Okay, clearly, "Restless" (S4E22) is a favourite of mine! ;D...
Just goes back slightly before the final line of Chapter 5!
Enjoy, you guys. Thanks to everybody who's been reviewing so faithfully!
Buffy had gone to bed. She had lain there and waited for those damned pills to take effect. She tried her hardest to fall asleep, anything to keep her mind off of the vampire sleeping downstairs.

After about an hour of pained tossing and turning, sleep finally claimed her. The darkness behind her eyes shifted and colours bloomed, forming shapes.

Tara sat on the grass, knitting a long blue scarf that stretched far along the ground, twisting and disappearing off into the distance. As she heard Buffy approaching behind, she turned and gave a huge smile.

“I’m really glad you could make it.”

“It’s about damn time!” A voice grumbled from behind. Anya stood, holding a squirming rabbit. “Just ‘cause you’re the special Chosen One and all doesn’t mean you can hold the rest of us up, you know! Some of us have bunnies to sell!”

“What’s going on?” Buffy asked, squinting in confusion.

“You’re late! We were expecting you so long ago, and now you’ve ruined it!” Anya was furious. She dropped the rabbit, and glared at the Slayer as it scampered for freedom. “You ruin everything!”

“Anya, please…” Tara reproached softly, dropping her work onto the grass, before looking to Buffy. “She’s right though, you’ve messed up. You’re too late, Buffy.”

“Too late for what?”

“To feel alive! God, you’re really quite dense, aren’t you? They’re clearly not picking Slayers based on intelligence tests, huh?”

“Anya…”

“What? I can’t stay here and watch her miss out on everything! She’s damn depressing, and stupid! It’s incredibly annoying!”

“What’s going on?” Buffy repeated, losing her patience with the situation.

“You need to figure it out for yourself, Buffy. I’m sorry.” Tara stood, and reached into a bush, pulling out the white rabbit that Anya had lost. She calmed the trembling creature, and placed it back into Anya’s arms. The ex-demon hugged it tight to her chest, grinning gratefully at Tara.

“Well, I have places to be, vengeance to wreak. It’s a busy day for me. I’ll see you later, Tara. Buffy, try not to be late next time, okay?” Anya walked away, holding her struggling pet in her arms. “Fernando! Stay still, damn it!” She scolded.

Buffy watched Anya leave in amusement. As she turned to speak with Tara once more, she realized that the witch was gone. In her place instead was a familiar-looking van. She walked around to the side, and found Devon and Oz unloading stage equipment.

“Oh, hey Buffy,” Devon greeting, raising his hand in hello.

“Hi,” she waved, puzzled at the change of scene.

“Buffy,” Oz nodded. “Any chance we could borrow some superpowers to get all of this onstage?” He gestured behind himself, and her gaze followed his direction to the backdoor of the Bronze.

“Uh, sure. You guys playing tonight?”

“Willow didn’t tell you? Huh. Yeah, should be a big night. Music company guys are here.”

“Cool. Here, I’ll take that,” she offered, lifting up a large amp.

They carried their loads through the thin corridor that ran along the back of the stage. No sooner had she place her items down, Devon ushered her forward.

“Shit! We’re on!”

“Oh, good luck.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna need it. C’mon!” He grabbed her hand, pulling her up onto the stage.

Oz calmly walked to his position, bass in hands, coolly waiting to begin. Devon shoved her over to the microphone, center-stage. The spotlight was hot and bright on her face. She squinted, trying to shield her eyes. “What’s going on?”

Oz shrugged. “They’re all waiting for you, Buffy.”

“What?” She looked down and saw an avid audience staring up at her, waiting. “Oh, no, no, no! You’ve got the wrong girl, pally.”

“C’mon already! We paid good money to see this!” A voice yelled up from the audience. Xander stood, glaring at the stage. “I wanna see my money’s worth!”

“What am I supposed to do?” She asked Oz panickedly.

Another nonchalant shrug. “What you always do: Lie.”

“Lie? Lie about what?”

“Your feelin’s,” another voice offered from the balcony. She looked up to see Spike up there, the girl in front of him pressed up against the railing. Her cheeks flushed, eyes dead, but her face was unrecognisable.

“I – I don’t lie!”

“Like hell you don’t!” He looked away from her, and began to whisper sweet nothings into the faceless girl’s ear.

“Okay! Ladies and gents, the show must go on!” Somebody declared, walking out onto the stage. She recognized them as Sweets, the musical demon. “Now, my lovely audience, have we any questions for the fine Miss Summers?”

A hand shot up. “Are you even happy here?” Dawn asked, pouting dramatically, arms crossed defiantly.

“I-I … Dawn, please, I…”

“You wish we hadn’t ever brought you back, don’t you?” Was Willow’s dejected question.

“Will, please. It’s just that…”

“Or maybe, you wish you were dead still, huh? Stuck in a box, cold, unloved. Is that heaven, Buff? Would you really prefer to be there?” Xander yelled.

“Well, she always preferred dead guys. Isn’t that right, Buffy?” Riley sneered.

“One dead guy. One,” Angel stressed. “Right, Buffy? You only ever truly loved me?”

“You? Please! The Slayer may need a little monster in her man, but it’s hardly you, Peaches. She loves me, she’s just too afraid to admit it. She’s afraid of a lot of things.”

“Like how we’ll all react when we find out that Spike’s been giving her orgasms!” Anya piped up.

“Or how she’ll never get back into heaven,” her Watcher added sadly.

“Or how Spike will leave you,” Tara whispered from the edge of the stage.

Buffy stumbled backwards on the stage, horrified by their accusing, wolfish expressions. She felt bare, exposed, naked. She looked down and realized that she was. Scrambling to cover herself, she saw the Doublemeat Palace cap land at her feet.

“Put your costume on, already!” Xander shouted.

A flash of white caught her eye as Fernando the rabbit dashed across the stage. She followed him, crawling under the heavy curtain on her hands and knees to keep up.

The floor disappeared under her hands, and she fell forward, into the darkness. With a thump, she landed face down on damp grass. Her first realization was that she was clothed again. Her second was that it was now night-time. She stood up, looking down at the red velvet gown she wore. In front of her, her friends stood in a ring, their backs to her.

She shoved her way through, to the source of what was holding their attentions so fixedly. A cold marble headstone declaring her final place of rest, and a mahogany coffin were before them.

“And today, we say goodbye to Buffy Summers as we commit her heart and soul into the ground,” Mayor Richard Wilkins III lamented, throwing the Scoobies a sorrowful glance.

Panic rose at the back of Buffy’s throat and she jumped forward, yanking the lid from the coffin.

Spike lay inside the box, his face peaceful and content. His eyes slowly opened, and a sweet smile formed on his lips as he saw her.

“Buffy…”

The demon suddenly appeared, thrusting his skewered weapon into Spike’s chest. The vampire screamed her name and exploded into dust.

Buffy sat bolt upright in the bed, sweat soaking her body.

“Oh. Oh, God. Just a dream, Buffy. Get a grip.” Mildly wigged out by her freaky subconscious, she slid out of the bed, and headed downstairs.

She crept into the living room, seeing the vampire in exactly the same position. With a sigh, she headed into the kitchen and got herself a glass of water.

She noted with irritation that her hands were shaking after the dream. The feeling of her friends’ criticism, of their judgment had yet to leave her, and the final part was making her skin stand on end. The image of Spike’s body bursting into to nothing was flashing across her eyes repeatedly. She shuddered, feeling the crawling feeling of perspiration on her skin.

It wasn’t a good sign – seeing the demon again in her dreams, and he attacking Spike, killing him. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, wishing that she could speak with Giles. Her Watcher was always good with her dreams, willing to go through them patiently, offering opinions and thoughts.

But, was she really willing to dissect her thoughts about Spike with Giles? Especially given the mentions of their relationship. She decided she would speak to Tara about it that way she wouldn’t have to side-step awkward questions about herself and Spike.

With the dream still whirling about her mind, she walked back into the living room, kneeling down beside the sofa. Spike’s injuries were unchanged – neither worse nor healing – and he hadn’t stirred an inch.

She sighed, and lightly took his hand in hers. “Just came downstairs ‘cause I had a bad dream. And yes, to soothe your damn ego, yes, you were in it. It was pretty damn freaky. I think Anya had a pet bunny, called Hernando or Freddy, or something… And I was on stage, and everybody was there. I mean, everybody! It gave me the wiggin’s. And at the end, there was that demon-y thing again, and he… he killed you. Crazy, huh?”

There was no answer. Of course.

She squeezed his hand tighter. “It’s stupid really. Probably a weird dream ‘cause of all the pain meds Tara gave me. We were pretty beat up tonight, weren’t we? Strong guy – er – demon. I haven’t felt this bad since Glory. Which, I guess wasn’t really that long ago, but, still, ouch, huh?”

The silence that met her felt overwhelming. “God, Spike, wake up, please. It’s getting silly now. C’mon, you’ve proved your point: Yes, I care about you. Now wake up. Just smirk at me, or make some stupid innuendo. Anything.” Nothing. “You’re scaring me,” she admitted in a whisper.

He didn’t respond, and it killed her. His face was pale, peaceful, a terrifying echo of her dream. The irrational fear crept up on her that the dream’s events would occur – that the demon would reappear and kill him.
“Oh, God,” she murmured, screwing her eyes shut and leaning her forehead against his cool hand. “Wake up, damn you! Please!”

And out of nowhere, her fear manifested in large sobs. Painful heaving sobs that robbed her lungs of air, placed a tight vice around her chest. It was like the fortnight before as she knelt in front of the couch and wept for forgiveness, her face buried in Tara’s lap.

“You gotta wake up. Please, you can’t be like this. It’s you! Please, Spike.”

As she cried, her exhaustion overwhelmed her once more, and she sagged against the sofa, her hands still clutching his, and fell asleep.

It was this scene that Willow found when she ventured downstairs to find the source of the noise she had heard. She saw the Slayer curled up on the floor beside Spike, her hands desperately grasping his, and her face wet with tears. But she was asleep, exhausted from the day, and all the hurt it had brought them.

Instead of waking her friend up and leading her upstairs, she found herself oddly at ease with the scene. Instead of interrupting the moment, she lifted up Spike’s duster from the coffee table and draped it over her friend’s sleeping frame.

“Night, Buffy,” she whispered, returning up the stairs. “Spike.”


Chapter End Notes:
She CARES!! Buffy CARES!! Oh it's about time, yes? ... And a big round of applause, ladies and gentlemen for the fabulous, Fernando the Rabbit, making his debut! What a stand-up guy - er - rabbit...
I really enjoyed bringing back some characters! I loved Oz and the Mayor (his best quote: "Now, now, it's the end of the world, not the end of good manners!")
thanks for reading, you lovely lovely people.
I may not update this week: All my family are over from England from Friday onwards - the house will be insanely busy! But patience, my dearies!



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