Spike was sitting on the edge of the chair, head in his hands. How did things always manage to get bollixed up surrounding him?
With a sigh, he leaned back, letting his tired skull rest on the tufted material. His toes poked at the now-frayed edge of his rug. Tara was sitting cross-legged on the floor between him and the couch, where Willow was softly snoring. The good witch looked deep in concentration, her lips defaulting to a smear of that trademark crooked smile.
"No need to waste your energy, luv," he said softly so that she wouldn't be too disturbed. "Stan's bringin' some heavy help."
"Oh, I'm not working on Willow," Tara replied telepathically. She kept her eyes closed and did not move. "I'm trying to find Buffy."
Buffy thought she might like England. She knew she didn't want to be apart from Dawn, not after all that happened over the past few years. And with Dawn at school in London, it felt right. Even if it did mean that she had Giles there to remind her (whether he meant to or not) of all she lost in Sunnydale.
For the most part, Giles had been less demanding of her this time around—perhaps he realized how much of a role he played in her brokenness. Or, perhaps he realized that there were now hundreds of slayers, so that Buffy was no longer the Chosen One. But with his changed expectations also came something else. He was holding something back from her; she was sure of it. He shared less of his feelings with her here in England, which she thought strangely backwards. He was back in his homeland, yet he always seemed uncomfortable. Yes, Buffy thought she might like England, getting to experience a place so dear to Giles' (and Spike's, she could not forget) heart. But it just felt like one giant cemetery to her.
So, she sighed when her feet took her in the direction of yet another graveyard. Something tingled inside her this time, though. Like the feeling she got when a vampire was near, only deeper, deep-down in the marrow of her bones.
Tara's concentration (and the extra boost of power the Hellmouth gave her) seemed to be paying off. She had three separate threads of magic reaching out for the Slayer, one on each plane of existence she had access to: the living, the dead, and the ethereal. Since Buffy inhabited all three planes at once, this was ingenius. But Tara had never tried this before, so she could only hope to rein the process in and not get carried away. Something clicked within the good witch, though—something that felt of the primal nature of the First Slayer, and something that felt of Spike in a distant, roundabout way. It all led her to a place that Willow might have been able to map out with a GPS, if she were awake. As the energy swirled inside, the three threads of magic braided themselves and struck out suddenly. Tara's eyes snapped open at that moment, her concentration severed. Wherever the magic went, she was pretty confident it had reached her target; the witch may be humble, but she was also quite accurate. She couldn't help the giggle that slipped out.
Spike caught it, and his countenance slowly warmed.
The Slayer squeezed her way into Highgate Cemetery, feeling the pull so strongly it was almost like one of those destiny things. God, she hated that. It reminded her too much of Angel and all that Powers-That-Be shit. "Destiny" and "fate" were just pretty words for "cowardice" and "laziness," as far as she was concerned. That was one thing Spike believed that she had always agreed with, even back when he was her mortal enemy. But in the dusk her pace quickened, in a strangely familiar direction. She had never been in this section before—had no reason to since no vampires would be rising from any of these old graves—yet she moved deftly between the stones. Something was beckoning her towards an enormous tree. That tingle returned to her bones, and she instinctively pulled out Mr. Pointy. When she arrived at her destination, all she found were two grave stones, meticulously cared-for despite their age and location. So strange, Buffy thought. Who would visit such old relatives so often? The poor souls had died the same year, so long ago. But, what did that have to do with her?
She studied the names for a long moment before it finally hit her. The names...oh God...she hadn't remembered, hadn't thought...
It was then all she could do but clutch at his stone, the dearly-departed William Pratt, beloved son, cherished one, memorialized beside his mother Anne. The loud sobs that forced their way out of her small frame hid the rustling coming from behind the tree.
"You're serious?"
Spike couldn't believe it.
Tara nodded, slowly uncurling herself from the floor and standing up. "I don't know where she's at yet, but I'm sure I found her. No one's got a signature like that." She smiled proudly.
Spike paced the living room again, only this time out of excitement. He glanced back over to the witch, and she smiled at him. His recently-tired body hummed with energy now. Laughing, his fingers switched the record player on.
Tara felt herself being pulled into Spike's arms as the music came blaring out.
"Well, come on little mama let's tear this damn place up!" Spike yelled in time to the song, tugging the witch close to him then spinning her away, hands still connected.
Tear it up up up up up
Tear it up up up up up
Come on little mama let's tear this damn place up...
...Right now!
The two of them danced frantically as the song played, dipping and twisting—the look on the vampire's face mirroring the joy in the witch's laughter.
When the song ended, they fell onto the floor in a jumble of limbs, panting.
Spike pulled Tara to him playfully, holding her close.
"No matter what happens, just promise me one thing, pet."
Tara nodded and smiled gently, her inter-planar mind already sure of what he was going to ask.
"That you won't ever leave me."
"Giles, I'm not 14 anymore," Dawn groaned. "I get it. She just... She's so..."
The Watcher said something that the girl didn't like, then tried to correct himself quickly before too much damage was done.
"How can you...?" Ugh, this guy was unbelievable sometimes. No wonder Buffy never listened to him. "That's just crazy talk. Seriously, she needs help, not a babysitter."
Dawn poured herself a rootbeer float and plopped down on the sofa, leaving a glob of ice cream on the counter to melt into foam.
"Well, you can't right now anyway. She finally left the apartment tonight for some fresh air."
Pizza would go so great with this. Where was the number for delivery?
"Giles, she doesn't even have to tell me. She..." Dawn suddenly felt like she was about to commit the ultimate betrayal. "She calls out for him in her sleep."
Okay, that's not what she expected. God, was this guy even paying attention?
"Not Angel, Giles. Spike."
And again with that sound that had to be him cleaning those stupid glasses.
"Just...could you think of something for her? I know I made a fuss about her not sharing her feelings and all that when mom died and then with the resurrection thing, but... she's a wreck."
Buffy sobbed until there was nothing left inside her. The deep tingling feeling never stopped, but with the passing time she lost real awareness of it, not so much ignoring it as no longer having that boundary between what was "her" and what was "it".
That had to be the reason why she didn't move when the vampire finally revealed herself; why she hadn't noticed; why Mr. Pointy lay beneath her, unreachable.
"Who is this that appears like the dawn, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, majestic as the stars in procession?" the vampire recited, her voice twittering. She moved her eyes upward, away from The Slayer and to the gently moving leaves. Slowly, a moment of lucidity swept over her. "Daddy had to have you first," she said softly, sadly. "But he didn't understand. He never understands."
Buffy watched her, still, no surprise, not even a shiver. "Are you gonna have your 'Good Day'?"
There was no anger or spite in her words. Just a calm acceptance of the next few moments. She wouldn't put up a fight, not this time.
Drusilla tilted her head to the side gently, looking at the weakened Slayer like a shy child would a strange new toy.
The scent of lavender filled Buffy's sinuses as the vampire approached. Lavender and something hauntingly sweet...