Resolutions

Disclaimer: The characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox studios. This story is not meant to infringe upon anyone's rights, only to entertain.

Author's Note: A/N: This is a very Spike-centric Chapter, for which I offer no apologies. He is approaching a milestone in his journey to becoming ‘a better man’ so it’s time for him to reflect and recognise the process he has been through.


You may notice a few brief quotations lifted from various BtVS episodes as Spike sorts through his memories. If you recognise a phrase, I freely admit it’s not mine and assign all due credit to the writers of the specific episode in which it appeared. With thanks to the Buffyverse Dialogue Database.

As usual, I must apologise for the delay in producing this chapter. I’m cautiously optimistic that my temperamental muse has returned permanently as I’m currently hard at work on chapter 17. Hopefully this means you won’t have to wait as long for the next update… fingers crossed… Immense thanks are due to Gill (as ever) and to Dreamweaver who generously agreed to act as my beta for this chapter and any future chapters/fics. Any remaining errors are wholly mine as I couldn’t resist a final fiddle…

Chapter 16

Spike sat leaning against the cool glass doors leading out onto the deck as he rode out the initial waves of panic caused by the loss of Buffy’s constant presence in the back of his mind.

Althanea had positioned the couple facing each other with their hands joined as she had begun the spell to block the Mating Bond. She had explained that, as they would be able to see and feel each other, it should reduce the inevitable shock they would experience when their emotional link was dissolved.

That ploy had worked for Spike until Althanea had ushered Buffy out of the beach cottage so that she, Willow and Tara could begin the spell which would facilitate his meditation by isolating him from the outside world.

As soon as the door had closed behind them, Spike had started to get anxious. He had been able to hear Buffy’s voice through the door as she spoke to Willow… and Xander who had turned up a few minutes before… but the fact that he couldn’t sense the distress that was evident in her voice was very disorienting. He felt the need to go to her, to take her in his arms to comfort her and thereby comfort himself. He had to steel himself to resist the impulse.

He had stood gazing blindly out over the moonlit ocean as the three witches murmured the low chant of the spell, each of them making three circuits around the cottage until abruptly the sparkling waves and star-filled sky were gone, replaced by an empty grey nothingness.

The rhythmic crashing and swishing of the surf on the sands and the voices of the people outside were silenced and the air became flat and lacking any scent other than the fabric softener the hotel used on the bedding and towels, and the faint herbal aroma of the three fat candles waiting to be lit.

Not only was his Bond with Buffy gone, but now it felt as if all his enhanced senses had been ripped from him. The double shock was too much for him to bear and his knees gave out, leaving him slumped on the floor in a stunned daze.

Slowly he managed to gather his wits and clamber to his feet, turning to regard the room where he would be confined for the next 48 hours.

Most of the hotel’s luxuries had been removed, leaving the bed pushed to one side to clear the floor for the three meditation areas, each with its own focus object and candle.

Running his hand through his hair and giving himself a little shake, he shrugged in resignation and crossed to the first placement, muttering wryly to himself, “God, what have you gone and got yourself into now, you poncy pillock?”

He took the little box of matches and lit the candle that was supposed to last exactly sixteen hours, then settled himself into a half-lotus position and regarded his trademark duster as he mentally prepared himself to face his inner demons. With one hand resting on the familiar age-softened leather he focussed his gaze on the steady yellow flame and began the breathing exercises that would help him sink into a deep meditation.

Memories washed over him…..

****

His pitiful human existence as William the wanker, the hopelessly naïf young man gently raised in a materially comfortable yet emotionally repressed world, oblivious to and uncaring of the disagreeable realities of life outside his own stiflingly small close circle as he concentrated on his feeble attempts to ‘create things of beauty’ with his appalling poetry.

The pain and initial confusion, then his exultation at the sense of freedom and power of his turning… the heady thrill of being chosen by this beautiful, alluring, enigmatic woman to share her eternity…

The eager impulse to turn and thereby save his beloved mother then the anguished despair when it all turned to horror and he was forced to dust her…

The surprise and dismay at being introduced to Angelus and his object lessons in the true meaning of his future as a vampire…

His devastation when he discovered that Drusilla would share Angelus’ bed as often as his own… in fact she only came to him when Angelus didn’t want her.

The bloody satisfaction of getting back at the upper class twits who had made his entire human life an agony of humiliation, taunts and bullying…

Year after year of revelling in the hedonistic glee of his unlife. Feeding and fighting, desperately trying to measure up to the standards set by his elders while deliberately flouting the self-imposed rules they lived by… anything to get a reaction… to make a name for himself as an individual apart from the ‘Scourge of Europe’, the group’s graphic byname that generated terror in the demon and human worlds alike wherever they travelled, and that Angelus took such smug pride in living up to and promoting…

The trip to Romania, where Angelus had disappeared for a few days and then returned changed… the fun visit to the gypsy encampment where Darla had been inexplicably livid after he and Dru had had the time of their unlives running rampage through the wagons killing all they could find and drinking their fill. Recognising from later revelations that this is what had caused Angelus’ abrupt departure from their midst. Darla had been disgusted by his souled state and thrown him out, leaving Spike pandering to two fickle females until a short while later the desperate older vampire reappeared in the chaos of the Boxer Rebellion, begging to be taken back into the fold…

The triumph of his battle with the Chinese Slayer which at long last earned him the respect he felt he deserved. Finally he felt accepted in the family as a powerful vampire to be reckoned with rather than being constantly dismissed as a pest, only tolerated as Drusilla’s ‘toy’ and caretaker…

The subsequent break-up of the group as Darla yet again rejected Angelus and then went her own way, leaving him with a distraught Drusilla to console… delighted to have her to himself at last but desperately missing the sense of family the two older vampires had created.

Decades of moving around the world according to his Sire’s whims, which got them into trouble more often than out of it as he tried to interpret her visions and keep her happy… his Ripe Wicked Plum… He happily provided treats and entertainments to fill the endless years and was her protector when her insane fancies endangered them. He endured being thoughtlessly discarded when another man, vampire… demon… human… she wasn’t discriminating… took her fancy. Her increasingly frequent absences and infidelities… which burned… but which he readily forgave every time she returned to him unrepentant, eager to resume their partnership...

He had been desperate to convince himself she loved him as deeply he loved her… so eager to deny the evidence before him that she constantly treated him as her plaything…

His meditative state enabled him to see clearly through the decades of his own denial and self-deception to the heart of the matter. He finally accepted that Drusilla was so fundamentally damaged by her ‘daddy’, Angelus, both before and after her turning, that she was incapable of feeling the real emotion of adult love.

New York, and his exhilarating hunt for the Slayer, their brief challenging engagement in the park when they tested themselves against each other followed by the glorious battle on the subway which rewarded him with his trophy duster…

Dru’s petulant insistence that she hated Paris and her ingenuous request that they should make another of their periodic visits to Prague for the Verdi Festival… Being so entranced by the music that he hadn’t noticed Drusilla’s growing agitation so failing to prevent her impulsive leap from their box onto the stage in the last act of Il Trovatore to ‘recue that poor sweet girl Leonora from her fate’ and turn her before the poison killed her… The consequent frantic chase through the streets pursued by a screaming mob in evening dress… Their narrow escape from the city bearing nothing more than the clothes on their backs and the mystical illness she had been cursed with as a result of killing one of the people’s favourite sopranos…

His fateful decision to take his ailing, weakened Sire to America in the hope that someone there would have the key to her cure and his confidence that proximity to the evil emanations from the Hellmouth would act as a tonic while he searched…

And so to his encounter with his Slayer…

Buffy…………..


****

Spike slowly came back to the present, finding himself curled up on the floor beside the puddle of melted wax that was all that remained of the first candle, clutching his duster to his chest.

He sat up, scrubbing his face with his hands as he sheepishly disentangled himself from the leather and glanced around nervously, belatedly realising with relief that his image was safe. Nobody could have seen him treating the coat like a security blanket.

He stood and rolled his head slowly on his shoulders, the familiar cracking of tense muscles reassuringly soothing as he took a few minutes to recover from the uncomfortable revelations that his meditation had produced.

Idly, he patted his person in search of his cigarettes… then grimaced in disgust as he recalled the way that as soon as he had arrived, Althanea had ruthlessly emptied his pockets, jeans and duster alike, to remove any potential distractions.

Realising he had no opportunity to have a cigarette, a drink, or for that matter any other diversion to give him an excuse to delay his progression to the second part of his meditation, he shook his head in wry amusement at his reluctance to examine at depth his evolution from Big Bad to Slayer’s lapdog, and knelt to light the second fat candle.

As he settled back into his half-lotus position, he took up the photograph of the three Summers women that was to be his focus and gently brushed his finger over the figure of Joyce. Sadly he murmured, “Sorry I couldn’t save you, Joyce. You didn’t deserve to die so young. If I hadn’t screwed things up with the Slayer and pissed her off so much she disinvited me… Then of course I got pissed off at her and had that stupid idea about getting a ‘bot and went charging off to see the geek. If I hadn’t been such a complete pillock I might not have missed my regular visit. I just know I would’ve sensed something was off and been able to catch it in time.” He took a deep, slightly shaky breath before adding. “I’m trying to look after your girls for you…”

He reverently replaced the image on the cushion Althanea had provided for it and with one hand resting lightly upon a corner of it, he began the breathing exercises to trigger a return to his meditative state.

****

Unable to spend every moment in Sunnydale looking for a cure for Dru, he had decided it’d be fun to notch up his third Slayer in between times…

The other vamps had only been able to give him a vague description of her: a small, blonde and annoyingly perky teenager… which fitted half the girls in Southern California… and a list of the likely places where he might be able to find her.

As soon as he entered the teen hangout with the unlikely name, he was mesmerised. There she was, sticking out like a sore thumb among all the sweaty youths moving clumsily to the music. Abandoning her school books on a table and dancing with her mates… captivating… so young and carefree… golden hair flying… hips swaying to the beat… power rolling off her in waves. He was instantly hard. He had to force himself to focus on the objective. Follow his own plan and watch her fight the lying twat of a minion and assess how much of a challenge she was likely to be…

He was so eager to face her again he couldn’t wait for St Vigeous… Deciding to make a surprise guest appearance at the school… Then the Slayer’s bloody mother comes around the corner with a shrill little girl in tow, interrupts the fight that had turned out to be the most entertaining he’d had for years just as he was getting the upper hand and hits him over the head with an axe! God! What a woman!

Disconcerted by the way things had gone so very wrong and with all the Annoying one’s incompetent minions dust, he had cut his losses and left the Slayer for another day, unwilling to admit to himself that he should have snapped the impertinent woman’s neck for interfering, grabbed the Slayer and drained her while she was distracted by her mother’s death and then tucked the whining brat under his arm to take home to Dru as a snack.

The neat Halloween spell when he was so busy enjoying having the helpless Slayer at his mercy, he let the gloating take precedence over killing her…

The bargain with Buffy’s old chum… and the way it went so horribly wrong when the Slayer got her hands on Drusilla. Despite being stuck in the bunker for hours he couldn’t help being impressed that the Slayer had kept her word to let Dru go if he released all the stupid wannabes. He’d been terrified he was going to lose his Dark Princess that night. His respect for the tiny blonde as a worthy opponent soared even as Dru petulantly complained that the boy’s blood tasted rotten.

Finally finding the key to Dru’s cure and his decision to put a price on the Slayer’s head with the Order of Taraka. He was confident she’d be able to deal with them without too much trouble, but while she did so she’d be so preoccupied he’d be able to set up the ritual undisturbed.

Feeling uneasy about Drusilla’s reaction to Angel’s presence… completing the ritual despite the interruption by the Slayer and her disciples… and a second Slayer? How intriguing… wonder how that happened?

The remembered revelation: I’d rather be fighting my Slayer…

Those long hungry months in the wheelchair, Dru treating him like a helpless child, only really paying any attention to him after he’d agreed to arrange the assembly of the Judge for her… although he’d never actually expected the bloody thing to work…

Angelus.

The humiliating agony of Dru fawning all over her Sire… listening to them go at it in the next room... and if that wasn’t enough, having Angelus bring her into his own bedroom to shag her just to drive home the message that now Dru’s ‘Daddy’ was home he was resuming his rights over his creation and Spike had to return to his former position as second fiddle…

Painstakingly selecting Drusilla’s Valentine’s gift only for it to be completely ignored in favour of Angelus’ presentation of a still-warm heart…

The entertaining sight of the ballsy Watcher taking on Angelus and oddly, having considerable trouble deciding who he wanted to win…

The move into the deserted mansion and his slow recovery… kept hidden from Angelus in case the older vampire decided that although the crippled Spike was amusing to keep around to torment, a fully recovered one wouldn’t fit into his future plans…

The Big Rock: Acathla.

The dawning realisation that this Angelus wasn’t the same as the pre-curse one. Oh, he was still sadistic and manipulative, but the Angelus of old had never gone out of his way to attract the unwelcome attention of a Slayer… had never set out to send the entire world… and their food source… to Hell. He’d enjoyed his creature comforts far too much to want to wipe out the source of said comforts!

Immense relief when Angelus failed to waken the demon and Spike’s subsequent determination to do something about preventing the success of any repeat attempt… and in the process get Dru away from her Sire and back where she belonged… with him!

His groundbreaking decision to ask the Slayer for a truce, confident that her ‘goody-goody’ honour would ensure she stuck to any arrangement they would make.

His momentous invitation into the Slayer’s home and a second meeting with Joyce. Winking at the cheeky little girl peeking from the turn of the stairs.

Leaving the Slayer fighting Angelus as he triumphantly carried Drusilla away from Sunnydale… feeling uncomfortable about leaving Buffy to face him alone but confident that when the world wasn’t sucked into Hell that he’d seen the last of his grandsire.

Dru’s fury with what she saw as his betrayal of her precious ‘Daddy’ by siding with the Slayer... her flagrant infidelity her way to pay him back for going all soft, culminating in her publicly dumping him for a Chaos demon, of all things!

Getting plastered and deciding to go back to Sunnydale to take his revenge on the Slayer… it was all her fault… Then after finding out that Angel had unaccountably returned and was once more his broody ensouled self, deciding to take him down instead… it was all his fault…

Seeing Willow and changing his mind yet again… A spell to make Dru love him again... that was the way to go… it was all her fault.

Nabbing the little redhead... and the droopy boy to act as leverage… the humiliating memory of crying on the gutsy little witchlet’s shoulder… and oh, didn’t she smell good… Charmingly, she’d even tried to console him.

Then a comforting visit with the Slayer’s mum… lovely lady…

Gloating when he realised the poof no longer had an invitation to the Slayer’s home while he still had open access… and then the Slayer herself arriving and his physical reaction to her pressing him down upon the kitchen counter. God, she felt good… just a little harder, pet…

Anger at Angel’s cruel taunting about Dru… The astonishing discovery that fighting with the Slayer… notwithstanding his unaccountable jealousy that Angel was once more panting after the diminutive blonde despite their ludicrous claim to be ‘just friends’… was, if possible, even more fun that fighting against her… Her casual ‘Duck, Spike!’ when she started throwing the bottles of Holy Water… It felt good to be part of a team…

Sobering up… painfully… and making the decision that after all, magic was the wrong way to go. Deciding to get his Black Beauty back the way she would expect… the way Angelus had trained her to respect. Dispelling that lingering nagging fear that maybe they were all right about Dru and that after all these years he truly was looking at the prospect of spending the remainder of his unlife without her and that perhaps life would be more interesting if he stayed in Sunnydale… it really was more fun around the Slayer…

****

Deep in his trance, Spike came to the realisation that he’d begun his transformation a lot earlier than he’d formerly suspected. Clearly the Slayer had had an effect upon him right from their first meeting.

The memories flowed past him faster and faster, flashes of images and remembered feelings clearly documenting his inexorable growth away from his former evil existence towards his current striving towards the light... all for love of this remarkable young woman… his Slayer… his Buffy.

****

A disgusting fungus demon. The final death knell of his relationship with Dru. He could have gone anywhere… done anything… but once more he was drawn back to Sunnydale… to the Slayer.

Harmony. He was lonely and very drunk and felt in need of a bit of physical comfort… and then he couldn’t shake her off whatever he did. Besides… she knew the Slayer and even had a superficial resemblance to her so that when he closed his eyes and she kept her vapid mouth shut he could fantasise…

Finding the gem of Amara and going straight to confront the Slayer, so distracted by the way her glossy hair shimmered in the sun and the thrill of fighting her that he couldn’t prevent her ripping the ring from his finger. A disappointment only partly ameliorated by getting to see Angel tortured.

The Chip.

Relying on the Slayer’s innate nobility when he sought her out, first at her house where her faded scent informed him she hadn’t been for weeks, then at the Watcher’s.

The day of Willow’s spell which had seen him blissfully in love… and for the first time in his life he’d had that love returned in equal measure. His dismay at the breaking of the spell to discover that none of it had been real and he was once more alone. Lashing out in defensive anger…

Facing an eternity of utter helplessness, he made a feeble attempt to stake himself… the sweet little witchlet feeling sorry for him. He might have fancied her if it wasn’t for the Slayer…

The liberating discovery that he could hurt demons and the suppressed hope that this meant he could hang around the Slayer even more and watch her fight… maybe even team up with her again… just for fun…

Flirtatious Buffy at the Bronze driving him insane and fuelling his fantasies for months to come…

Growing frustration at being treated as a joke by the Slayer and her minions… his misguided alliance with the Initiative’s cyborg demon… The belated realisation that such a monster wouldn’t feel obliged to keep his word the way the Slayer would… Switching sides just in time.

The long summer of keeping tabs on the Slayer as she patrolled… Love watching her fight…

Dracula’s visit and the Soldier’s ineffective posturing as he tried to mark his territory… As if he’d ever be man enough to satisfy such a glorious woman.

The disturbing dream that brought his repressed feelings for the Slayer to the fore and his dive straight back into denial, resulting in his abortive attempt to get the chip removed.

Finding himself once more fighting the Slayer in close quarters and being sufficiently distracted by her touch and his reaction to it that it took him longer than it should have to realise that the doc had swindled him. Unsure he would have drained her even if he’d been able to bite…

Saving Buffy from the demons she couldn’t see and refraining from bragging about it… helping Tara break free from the casual cruelty of her family… they could at least have thanked him…

Trying to demonstrate to the Slayer how to stay alive just that little bit longer…

Helping Buffy kill the space demon that was after her mum…

Showing Buffy what her cheating boyfriend was up to… she had the right to know he was putting all their lives at risk.. although of course she didn’t react to his revelation with the friendly gratitude he’d hoped for…

Constantly trying to show them all that he had changed but meeting a brick wall of intolerance and cruelty every time…

Learning of Dawn’s origin and deciding that it didn’t matter… he was fond of the brat however she’d come into being…

Dru’s visit and his epiphany that he no longer loved her as once he had and could never go back to her… His resulting rejection of her and his admission to being in love with the Slayer… That didn’t go down well…

Petulantly deciding that if he couldn’t have the Real Thing he’d get the next best thing and the fateful acquisition of the ‘bot.

Joyce’s death… Oh God… Poor Joyce… Miss her…

Kidnapped by the Hellbitch’s minions… Can’t tell them about Dawn… The child had wormed her way into the space left in his heart by his lost sisters… Besides, it would destroy Buffy to lose her…

That chaste little kiss… His awareness that for her it was only a thank you but for him it meant so much more… It gave him Hope.

The chase through the desert… ripping his hands open on that sword heading for the Slayer’s head… finding out that Glory was Ben and Ben was Glory… If only they’d included him earlier he’d have seen the transmutation sooner and he’d have been able to arrange to take the pretty Doctor out and put a stop to it all.

The thrill of the restored invitation into the Slayer’s house and his clumsy attempt to thank her… Not the time or the place… He’d have to work out exactly what he wanted to say and try again later… when they’d won.

Buffy… taking that dive into the Light and then lying broken on the ground…

Oh God… She’d given him One. Simple. Job.

He’d given his Word and he’d failed! Not quick enough… Not clever enough… All. His. Fault.

Instinctively wanting to follow her but was reminded just in time of his promise to protect Dawn…

Until the end of the world…

A hundred and forty seven days of guilt, pain and regret… Slow recovery and comforting gratification at his gradual acceptance into the group…

Pure joy at the vision of loveliness on the stairs…

The shattering realisation that the months of easy camaraderie were over… Now the Slayer was back they were going to shut him out again… They had only been humouring him so he’d help them… Just using him as the muscle.

He should be used to being used after all this time but it always comes as such a devastating shock.

Buffy coming to him as a friend… Keeping the secret of where she’d been… Trying to help her any way he could… Letting her get drunk not the way…

Singing his heart out… and being rebuffed yet again…

Losing his memory but still feeling that closeness with ‘Joan’ and his ‘father’… His fundamental character had changed so much by now he wasn’t even aware he was a vampire… Devastation when once more the closeness he hungered for was callously withdrawn…

The discovery that the chip didn’t work… just on Buffy… resulting in the night of his life… Convinced that now she loved him.

Horrified by her harsh words in the morning… Defensive lashing out… Not fair… She started it!

She kept coming to him… never experienced anything like it… can’t get enough of each other… she’s not the kind to sleep with someone she doesn’t have feelings for… sooner or later she’ll admit she loves him…

InvisiBuffy and his feeble attempts to reclaim some self-respect…

Incomprehension at Buffy’s insistence on turning herself in for a crime they weren’t even certain she was guilty of.

The Last Straw… The Alley Incident.

Wouldn’t have minded taking the beating to help her blow off steam if she had only come back and checked he was all right and could get home before sunrise… but she didn’t.

The trip to LA… Revelation that Dawn was still The Key… His astonished delight at Buffy coming for him… His own Hellmouth prophecy and the Emerald Sword… The Claim… Acceptance at last…

The wondrous warmth and comfort of being loved…

Dru’s painful visit… The removal of the Chip… Delighted relief that Buffy trusts him anyway!

The Eternal Claim… Pure Happiness…

Learning that Buffy’s life would be extended by the Claim so he didn’t have to face the prospect of losing her to old age for a very long time to come.

Getting to kill a dragon!

The stunning discovery that Dawn was his natural child… his and Buffy’s. He had a family… The sense of stability and security that he didn’t know he had hungered for until he found it.

Resolving to reclaim his Soul to help him live up to Buffy’s trusting expectations and become what she deserved and… as an afterthought… to be able to fulfil the Hellmouth Prophecy.

****

This time when Spike came back to full consciousness, he was eager to get to the end of his confinement so he could be reunited with Buffy and begin the rest of their life together… but first he had to complete the last part of his meditation. As he got up, he stretched stiff and aching muscles and grimaced as his belly rumbled loudly.

Firmly pushing his hunger and physical discomfort away he turned his attention to the ludicrous cowboy hat that was to be his third focus.

As he settled down and prepared to light the waiting candle, he paused for a moment to wonder how Buffy was coping with their separation. She didn’t have essential tasks to perform to distract her from the loss of their Bond the way he had. After a second he shrugged as he recalled that she had Giles, Dawn and the Scoobies to support her. Confident that she’d be just fine, he struck the match.

Now he would be entering unfamiliar territory. Meditating upon a specific theme was not new to him but trying to visualise an unformed future was. As a vampire he had largely lived each day… or rather, night… as it came and left the future to take care of itself.

When he had asked Althanea how to approach this section of his meditation, she had advised him to open his mind completely to any possibilities. As he sank into the trance state he should concentrate upon his desire to be a better man and upon his love for Buffy and Dawn which was leading him away from his former evil past and towards becoming a force for good and a true partner for his Slayer Mate.

He reached out and reluctantly patted the ridiculous hat as he began his breathing exercises once more. He was feeling a bit apprehensive about venturing into the unknown, but excited about what his subconscious might show him.

At first he found his mind wandering as he focussed upon the prospect of living and working beside Buffy for uncounted years. His physical desires intruded upon his thoughts and he found his mental images of his Mate kept losing their clothing and leading him into what his long-dead father would have called ‘unclean thoughts’.

He retained sufficient awareness to smile at the very satisfying notion that his sex life with Buffy would never become stale or boring and was bound to remain immensely fulfilling.

After acknowledging and accepting this fact, Spike was able to suppress the carnal side of his nature and calm himself sufficiently to sink into another deep trance.

****

Gradually, vague images began to appear and fade away into an all enveloping insubstantial mist. Accompanying the images, Spike felt emotions that in turn confused and clarified the images as they passed before him.

A constant was Buffy, in turns fighting, laughing, crying broken-heartedly, ranting in anger, playfully teasing or erotically seductive. Her appearance was constantly changing as regards her clothing and hair styles, but she remained always his glorious Slayer.

Dawn would frequently appear beside her sister/mother. In these scenes the Summers girls would invariably be wearing their emerald Portal artifacts and behind them as they beckoned him, whether in anxious urgency or excited anticipation, the familiar green swirling energy of a portal would be waiting for them.

More and more frequently brief scenes of battles would appear like trailers at the cinema. Some were small and contained, others chaotic and sprawling over a wide area. In some, he and Buffy were fighting alongside humans against a variety of demons, in others they would be allied with various demon species against humans... which momentarily shocked Spike until he was able to recognise the attendant feelings that assured him he was confident he was fighting on the side of Light.

Although he recognised he was usually following Buffy’s lead in these conflicts, there were occasions when she was content to go along with his tactics… Anything to get the job done.

The battles took place in all weathers and in localities both familiar to Spike and unknown, but from background features he knew that he was travelling all over the world.

In some scenes Spike was wielding weapons: his emerald sword, an axe or knife or just a stake. In others he was going all-out with fist and fangs, glorying in the skill and power derived from his demon as he revelled in every blow.

In a few of the fights Buffy was laying about her with a weapon that Spike hadn’t seen before. It had characteristics of an axe but its central grip and the sharp wooden stake set at the reverse end from the blade gave it a versatility that he knew his Slayer would appreciate. In these scenes, his Mate appeared particularly magnificent, the Slayer power veritably radiating from her as her exultant grin lit up the field of conflict.

He saw bloody evidence of horrific injuries both to Buffy and to himself, but even as he flinched and mentally prepared himself for loss or death, the wounds healed as if they’d never been… and the images continued to pass before him.

Sometimes new individuals would appear to fight beside them… both human and demon. Some would feature in several scenes and become familiar and well-loved as they slowly aged, before they faded away with a wave of grief. Others popped up for one or two fights then vanished as abruptly as they had arrived, their presence fleeting and their absence accepted with calm resignation.

Between battles there were domestic scenes of respite and peaceful everyday life. He saw them in comfortable homes, ramshackle huts, anonymous hotel rooms and crowded dormitories, laughing, bickering, making love or just snuggling on a couch listening to music or watching the TV.

The constant reassuring theme underlying this entire trance experience was that he was never alone. Always he had the awareness that Buffy was either at his side or he had secure knowledge of her wellbeing and the certainty that they would be together again as soon as physically possible.

Interspersed with the expected battles and portal jumping images came a long series of faces and figures of young girls. These were the images that really confused Spike. At first there seemed to be no common factor to their appearance.

The girls were tall, short, slender or stocky and from all possible ethnic backgrounds. They were variously happy, sad, scared, sullen, flirty, angry or just plain irritating… but the procession of girls continued relentlessly on, sometimes one by one, at other times in pairs or groups.

Then Spike realised the similarity. They were all young. Oh so very young. The youngest appeared to be barely into her teens while the eldest couldn’t have been much more than twenty.

Some blinked in and were gone in a second before Spike was able to take in their features. Others stayed for a while and he could see Buffy and himself getting fond of them as they trained them to fight and to enjoy themselves in the process.

Always however, lurking behind these images was the harrowing certainty of loss and grief to come.

****

It was with some reluctance that Spike felt himself swimming up through the mist, back to the present day. He tried to cling on to the images, eager to try to figure out the significance of all those little girls and explore more possibilities for his future with Buffy. Finally it dawned upon him that he would have to leave the possibilities behind in order to build a genuine future… and even the most favourable dream couldn’t possibly compete with the reality of life with his warrior Mate.

It was as he let go of his focus on the future and allowed his mind to empty completely that an uncanny warning stamped itself upon his awareness. He didn’t exactly hear the words… it was as if they simply imprinted themselves indelibly upon his mind.

“You think you know what’s to come.. what you are. You haven’t even begun.”

As he began to come to, his vampire senses kicked in and he realised that he was not alone in the room. The ominous admonition immediately fled from his thoughts.

Evidently the isolation spell had expired as he could hear the pounding surf and smell the salt tang of sea air as well as the mingled scents of Buffy and the Scoobies which clung faintly to the single person standing over him… Giles.

Could it really have been forty-eight hours? It hadn’t seemed that long… or it had seemed much longer. His head felt slightly fuzzy, as if the mists from the visions in his trance had accompanied him.

He opened his eyes and looked up from his recumbent position, his scarred eyebrow raised as he hazily formed a question as to why the weary-looking Watcher was the one to rouse him. However when he opened his mouth to speak, he was forestalled by an urgent gesture.

“You’re not supposed to speak, Spike. You have to keep focused on what your meditation has revealed to you until the Blessing ceremony begins. I’m only supposed to say enough to explain…”

He held out a pale yellow bar of soft, herbal scented soap. “Here… take this and shower. Then put on the clothes that have been set ready for you in the bathroom and we’ll join the others outside to walk in reverent silence to the place Althanea and the girls have prepared.”

Emerging into the moonlit night, Spike headed straight for where a waif-like Buffy was standing flanked by Xander and Dawn, but was brought up short by a firm grip on his arm.

Absently noting that Xander’s left arm was supported in a simple linen sling, Spike reluctantly turned his gaze away from his love and followed Giles’ motioned instruction, setting off into the dunes following the three female figures in long linen gowns who had already gained an appreciable lead.

Althanea’s stately gait set the pace, her glossy, loosely flowing tresses swaying slightly over her hips with each stride as she murmured a rhythmic chant under her breath, too quietly for even Spike’s hearing to discern her words. Her two smaller companions flanked her, just a half-step behind. Each of them carried a flickering candle contained in a glass shade, although their light was not needed to guide their steps. The moon was high and full and lit the scene almost as brightly as full day.

Spike glanced back once to see Buffy and her escorts following arm in arm a few yards behind him, with a solitary Giles bringing up the rear. He absently noted that there was something amiss with this formation but once he faced forward again his thoughts returned to his purpose in being here in the dunes in the small hours of a fine, moonlit May morning.

As he walked barefoot through the loose sand, Spike mulled over the memories and images that had emerged during his meditation. As a vampire, he had killed thousands of people, that fact he couldn’t fail to acknowledge, although he didn’t feel particularly bad about it as by far the majority of the deaths had simply been to provide the essential sustenance to keep his demon-animated body going. He considered, it wasn’t as if your average human felt guilty about the innumerable cows, sheep, pigs and chickens that died to keep them fed…

He suspected that he might feel differently about that part of his history once he was all souled up, and he couldn’t help thinking about the effect Angelus’ soul had had upon him and feeling a shiver of apprehension as to how he would react. He forcefully thrust that thought out of his mind. He wasn’t Angel and there was no way he would take up brooding as a favourite pastime!

If nothing else, the meditation process had made it clear to him that the turning point in his unlife had undoubtedly been his alliance with the Slayer to prevent Angelus sending the world to Hell. From then onwards, his every act, his every reaction had seemed to be part of an unavoidable progression to where he was now… Mated to the woman whom he respected and admired above any others and preparing to regain his human soul to spend the rest of eternity trying to be a better man to become a worthy partner for a unique Slayer.

He gave a quiet ironic snort when he finally accepted that his offer just over a year before to ‘turn his back on the whole evil thing’ to become the kind of person Buffy could love, meant that he had even then unknowingly volunteered to help her save the world… again and again, and again. It had been at that point that he had finally changed sides and completed his metamorphosis into ‘one of the good guys’. It had just taken a long time for him to let go of his insistence upon clinging to his ‘Big Bad’ persona and succumb to the inevitable, and even longer for Buffy and her precious Scoobies to accept his sincerity.

Spike was so deep in his reflection that he didn’t at first notice his arrival at a natural bowl in the sand where the three women in front of him had fanned out. It wasn’t until Giles grabbed his elbow that he stumbled to an abrupt halt and looked up.

In the centre of the natural depression in the dunes, the sand had been brushed flat into a smooth surface and a sacred circle had been inscribed with crystals and fat white candles sheltered from the sea breeze by tall glass hurricane shades. There were four much larger variously coloured candles that remained unlit, one at each cardinal point, and a small copper or brass bowl positioned directly in front of the English Wiccan who stood just inside the circle at the Southern edge.

Over the tang of salt he could pick out the cleansing aroma of citrus and eucalyptus together with soothing sandalwood and lavender as Giles guided him to his place in the centre of the circle facing Althanea whose expression was briefly warm and welcoming before she took a deep breath and assumed a calm serenity as she prepared to call upon her Goddess.

Glancing around, Spike saw the others taking their places at regular intervals around the circle, taking care to remain just outside the marked enclosure.

He turned his attention to the woman standing before him within the circle when Althanea spoke, her low even voice clear and penetrating.

“William. We come together here tonight in your honour. You have expressed the desire for the restoration of your human soul, even though you understand that it will restrict your freedom of action and curtail your demon’s natural impulses towards violence and the pursuit of selfish gratification. Do you sincerely wish to proceed with this transformation?”

His voice hoarse with emotion, Spike squared his shoulders and answered with the simple acknowledgement, “I do.”

TBC