Resolutions

Althanea smiled at Spike and explained, “The soul you will bear shall not be a curse, William. You have expressed a genuine desire to change and a resolute intention to become more… better than you are.” She directed a brief, knowing glance at Buffy. “For this reason if the ritual succeeds, your soul will be secure. There will be no risk whatever of you mislaying it.”

She took a deep breath and solemnly asked, “I now ask William, the man who resides within your combined self, why do you wish for this gift?”

Not expecting the question, Spike dropped his eyes to his bare feet and paused to think. It was all about Buffy, of course. He wanted to be able to love her as she deserved. He wanted to be able to understand and share her moral imperatives so she wouldn’t feel ashamed to be with him and so they wouldn’t have to worry about him impulsively doing something foolish that would make her regret her decision to embrace her love for him.

Then he realised that during his meditation he had come to the self-knowledge that both as a human and as a vampire he had always felt isolated. He had always had difficulty fitting in and had tried to change himself to please those whom he loved and respected, never quite succeeding in gaining their approval despite giving them his absolute loyalty. Even as a young human, when trying to care for his darling little sisters he had been largely excluded because: ‘It is not fitting that a young gentleman should trouble himself with matters of the nursery’.

He longed to be accepted and respected as part of a group for who he really was, so he didn’t have to put on a front and hide behind a mask. He wanted to be able to follow his nature and love with his entire being without incurring ridicule and rejection, and to be loved in return with the same fierce unrestrained passion.

He looked up into the patient face of the regal priestess. “I’m not right. I’m neither one thing nor the other, neither good man nor evil monster. I refuse to go back to what I was, an evil demon. I don’t want that any more. I’ve changed. I need to go forward, grow and develop and become something more, something better. To be able to do that, it seems I need the guidance of a soul. I want to be more like a man… a real person to be family for Buffy and Dawn,” he directed an ironic glance at Xander, “…and to be accepted for my own sake rather than just because they demand it.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Althanea made a pass with her hands as she murmured a few arcane words which brought Spike’s demon to the surface. He unconsciously vamped out while his human side was completely suppressed as it had been in the forest dimension. She then said, “I am now speaking to Spike, the demon within your combined self. As a vampire, free from conscience, free to exist by your own rules, or without any rules at all, why do you wish to be leashed in this way?”

Snarling in frustration Spike tried to put his ideas into words. He knew exactly what he wanted, although in this primal state he had difficulty expressing himself. Eventually he managed to growl, “For Mate. For love. For family. For respect.” He turned to regard his Mate who was gazing at him wide-eyed with emotional tears trickling down her cheeks and reverently added, “To be worthy for Slayer. To be what she deserves.”

With a smile in her voice, Althanea murmured approvingly, “Well done, Spike.” She then whispered a short phrase that allowed Spike to revert to his human face and he turned from Buffy’s proud grin to face the priestess once more.

She gestured at the rich cream beeswax candle at the Northern edge of the circle which flared into life filling the space with a subtle honey-sweet redolence. Taking a deep breath, Althanea cried, “I call on thee, the Northern wind, to soothe this man’s spirit with thy cool breeze.”

She turned to the East and the red candle was lit, allowing a scent of myrrh to fill the air. “I call on thee, fire of the East, to burn away all guilt and shame.”

When the green candle directly behind her was lit, giving off a strong perfume of frankincense, she pleaded, “I call on thee, earth of the South, to ground this man in love and guide him in life.”

Finally the blue candle at the West emitted its Juniper fragrance. “And I call on thee, water of the West, to cleanse his conscience.”

She paused, head bowed reverently as the four candles burned steadily, their distinctive perfumes mixing and filling the air with a heady, pungent aroma.

After a few moments her head came up and she bent to light the charcoal in the little copper bowl. As it obediently began to glow red, she turned to Spike. With a small silver athame, she neatly sliced a small lock of his hair from the side of his head. While he gaped in astonishment and raised his hand to reassure himself that he didn’t have a bald patch and was forcibly reminded that his riotous curls were free of their usual gel, she tossed the hair into the fire to smoulder together with a pinch of herbs she gathered from a small pouch beside the bowl.

After inhaling a deep draught of the resulting acrid smoke, Althanea stood and raised her face and arms to the Northern sky and cried, “Goddess, hear my plea!”

Two light female voices echoed her, “Goddess, hear our plea.”

Turning to the East, then the South, then the West, the English Wiccan repeated her plaintive cry, the second and third times echoed by her two acolytes, and the final time by the entire group.

As their voices faded away, Althanea stepped forward again and placed her right hand over Spike’s unbeating heart. With a warm hand pressed to his chest, Spike closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure at the sense of physical contact that he’d missed for the past forty-eight hours.

Then the three women began to chant.

As the incantation rose and fell in intensity, at times blending seamlessly into a melodic hymn before reverting to a monotonal chant, Spike started to feel very uncomfortable. His skin began to feel too tight, it tingled and itched. Then the ever-present hunger rose within him, forcing him to vamp out and tempting him towards the thumping pulse in the enticing bare neck inches from his mouth. He needed to feed.

Resisting with all his might, he waited and he endured.

After what felt like hours, the voices rose to a crescendo and abruptly cut off. Spike opened his eyes as his face returned to its human guise and blinked to see the priestess stepping away from him, returning to her former position. Once more Althanea raised her face and arms to the sky. She murmured softly, “Goddess, hear our plea.”

An uncertain echo rose from her protégés, “Goddess, hear our plea.”

The refrain was repeated again and again, as one by one everyone in the surrounding circle repeated the gesture and the words in tones ranging from emotional vehemence to barely concealed scepticism.

As the prayer came full circle, Althanea indicated that Spike should add his own contribution. Feeling ridiculously self-conscious and not at all certain that he had any right to address a Goddess, he raised his eyes and spoke clearly in his natural unaffected accent, “Goddess, hear my plea.”

At Althanea’s gesture the words were repeated once more as everyone spoke in unison, and suddenly a brisk breeze blew up from nowhere and the candles all went out.

There were a couple of nervous feminine squeaks at the sudden comparative darkness, then a bright golden glow began to gather about Althanea.

Frozen to the spot, Spike kept his wide apprehensive eyes glued to the priestess in front of him who was beginning to take on the appearance of a slighter, much younger, much slimmer woman. Her hair lost its white streaks and curled seductively around her classically beautiful face, her lips filled out and became a luscious red, and her friendly brown eyes lightened and became a bright icy blue.

A clear soprano voice filled the air even though Althanea’s lips didn’t move. “Beloved William. You are found worthy.”

The bright figure drifted forward and lifted an elegant, well manicured forefinger to touch Spike’s chest. He gasped as he felt a sudden shock, as if he’d been struck by lighting, then as he recovered his composure the voice came again, the golden light spreading from the point of contact to envelop the terrified blond in the Goddess’ radiance and he was filled with a warm soothing sensation. “You have transcended your nature, vampire. As reward, your spirit is blessed, your conscience is made clear. Your human soul is restored to you in the name of eternal love.”

The figure drifted back again and the ethereal glow faded as the candles flickered back to life, illuminating the shocked company. They all darted confused and nervous glances at each other and whispered awe-filled questions that nobody could answer.

An obviously exhausted Althanea, who had quickly returned to her customary appearance, stepped forward, cupped Spike’s cheek in one hand and leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. She murmured, “Congratulations, William. The Goddess has granted your plea. Your spirit has been cleansed. Your demon has been reborn anew.”

Aloud she continued, “For this reason your soul will not bring with it crushing shame and guilt for past deeds. You will remember your unlife up until now as but a dream. You will however retain full awareness of all of your actions and the demonic impulses that prompted them. Your memories will carry with them the possibility for you to measure your future actions against past events, using them as a benchmark of behaviour that will largely be unacceptable in your future.”

Spike looked around in bewilderment. Had he got his soul now then? He didn’t feel any different at all! Surely he should be able to tell?

Smiling at his confusion, the Englishwoman gestured at the Eastern sky which was brightening noticeably despite the morning mist that had deposited its dew upon the dunes while they’d been occupied. “You’ll need to hurry to make it back to the cottage in time, William. Stay there for as long as you need to, to come to terms with your new self. I shall restore your Bond with Buffy gradually during the day so you aren’t swamped with each other’s emotions. She needs your strength and support now as much as you need hers.”

Spike made to speak to thank the priestess but as he opened his mouth, he was forestalled by a waved hand and an amused head-shake, “No time for that…”

He blurted, “But…”

Chuckling, Althanea indicated the sun that was just peeking over the highest dune and glowing orange through the rapidly thinning mist. “No time for that, either. Run!”

She wearily leant on the shoulder of the girl beside her and began walking slowly back towards the hotel, followed by her second acolyte bearing the precious athame and copper bowl, leaving the remains of the candles to be collected later.

Spike turned and headed over to Buffy, who was holding out a hand to him. “Come on, Spike… we’ve got to dash!”

That was when he recalled his earlier observation that there was someone missing from the company and paused to ask… “Bu…”

“Come on!” Buffy cried. Grabbing his hand, she tugged him into a jog which quickly became a frantic sprint as he began to feel the threatening tingle of sunlight on his skin.

By the time the row of beach cottages came in sight, the top of Spike’s head, his shoulders and the tips of his ears were in burning agony. Without pausing for breath, Buffy tugged him past a gaping Perpalla and Clem who were standing just outside the door to their cottage and straight into the bathroom where she shoved him into the shower and turned the spray on full.

Spike leant against the tiles in relief and felt anxiously around his sore scalp for bald patches as his smouldering hair was extinguished, the stench of which filled the small room as the water swirling around the drain became speckled with tiny black cinders then quickly turned clear as the pain subsided.

For a few moments Buffy bent double, her hands braced against her knees as she regained her breath. Then she straightened up, helped Spike out of his charred clothes and handed him a bottle of his favourite shampoo before leaving the room.

As he rinsed away the result of his close encounter with the sun together with the sand that had been kicked up during their mad dash, Spike could hear Buffy and the two demons speaking. The sound of the water muffled their voices, however, so he couldn’t discern what they were saying. Then the outside door closed and Buffy reappeared and held out a big fluffy towel.

“Buffy, what…” Spike began.

Buffy held up an urgent hand. “Not with the talking. Eating and sleeping now. Talking later. We’ve got the whole day to sleep and recover while the Bond comes back. The talking thing will be so much easier then.”

As he dried himself, Spike took in the deep shadows under her eyes, which were slightly puffy and red-rimmed, something that now only happened if she had been crying long and hard. He couldn’t resist asking, “But something has happened?”

Unshed tears pooled in Buffy’s eyes. “Yes, something did happen, but there’s nothing you could have done then, and there’s nothing we can do now, so we’ll get with the eating and sleeping and then I’ll tell you all about it.”

He automatically took the black silk sleep-pants she held out and put them on and allowed himself to be led out into the main room of the cottage where she ushered him to the bed. When he obediently sat, his eyebrow cocked in amusement at her unusually solicitous behaviour, she went and retrieved a huge black mug from a catering cart, the tip of her tongue peeking between her lips as she carefully carried it to him and instructed, “Drink… or is it eat?... Anyway… have your breakfast and get into bed and I’ll just go and deal with this…” She indicated her damp, sand spattered gown and legs.

“Buffy…” He tried again.

Buffy held up an imperious forefinger and repeated, “I said, no talking. I know you have to be tired after the last couple days, and I know I haven’t slept, so we’ll sleep first, then talk when we can make some sense. OK?”

Reluctantly, Spike grunted in acquiescence and began drinking. It was only when the warm beef blood seasoned with burba weed hit his palate that his stomach rumbled and he recalled how long it had been since he’d eaten and just how hungry he was. A few gulps later, the mug was empty and Spike’s eyelids abruptly felt very heavy.

Reasoning that he might as well wait for Buffy in comfort, he slid between the smooth sheets and settled against the pillows. He followed her progress in the bathroom by the sounds she was making as he idly toyed with the laces securing the sleep pants at the waist.

This was something new… She knew he always slept naked when there was a bed to sleep in and he wondered why she’d brought them and for that matter why he’d put them on, as his eyelids got heavier and heavier until he was blinking urgently in an effort not to doze off before she joined him.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, Buffy went to check the curtains keeping the bright morning sun out of the room and then approached the bed. Spike just had time to notice she was wearing an attractive slinky pale blue spaghetti-strap lace-trimmed chemise that just reached mid-thigh, before she crawled into bed beside him. She curled into his side, wrapped one arm around his waist and hooked one leg between his, then rested her damp head on his shoulder.

As she nuzzled into the crook of his neck she mumbled, “Missed you… missed you so much!”

Spike wrapped his arm around her and turned his head so his cheek rested on the top of her head, inhaling the fresh rose-hip scent of her shampoo. “Missed you too, sweetheart…” he murmured dreamily before he finally allowed sleep to claim him, unaware of the tears that slowly seeped from Buffy’s sleeping eyes to trickle down his chest.


****

In the early afternoon, Spike woke to an overwhelming sadness. Tears started trickling down his cheek onto Buffy’s head before he realised what was happening. He heard a quiet sob, muffled by Buffy’s face being pressed into the crook of his neck. As it was combined with a slight shudder that went through her body, he realised that their Bond had returned and the desolation he felt originated with his Mate.

“Buffy, love…” he began, quietly.

She immediately turned away from him, sitting up slightly to reach for a tissue from the side table with which to mop her face. She whispered guiltily, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you…”

“C’m’ere…” he murmured, gathering her back into his arms. “You ready to tell me what’s wrong now, or do I have to guess?”

She rested her cheek against his chest and sighed. “Badness. Whole truckloads of badness.”

“This badness, it’s the something that happened while I was here meditating?”

“Yeah…” She took a deep breath. “You remember Warren…?”

“’Course I do… robot geek and all ‘round obnoxious git.”

“Well… he came back.”

Spike dreaded what she was going to say. In the back of his mind was the thought, ‘I knew I should have lopped his bloody head off when I had the chance…’ Aloud, he said, “I should’a been there…”

Buffy looked up into his face anxiously, shook her head and lifted a damp salty hand to cup his cheek. “Oh, no… Don’t think that. What you were doing here was so important and anyway, you couldn’t have done anything. He came in broad daylight… full sun.”

She settled herself a bit more comfortably in the circle of his arms, resigned to telling the full story. “Xander had brought Will over to go through what remained of her stuff and she and Tara were sorting out what they wanted to take to England with them and what they were going to store in the basement over the summer.” She let out a wry little chuckle. “I think there was a certain amount of smoochies going on too…”

Spike smiled fondly, “Good for them…”

As if he hadn’t spoken, Buffy continued, “Xander and I were in the back yard. I was kinda having one last check around to make sure there weren’t any more hidden cameras while Xan was talking about how much he was going to miss Will while she was in England and how he was trying to come to terms with Anya and Giles being together. How he understood now that he hadn’t treated her right and that he wished he could have a second chance but he knew it was never going to happen ‘cos Anya looked so happy and he couldn’t hate Giles however much he wanted to ‘cos he was Giles… y’know?”

She took a deep quavering breath. “Then suddenly Warren was there yelling about not letting me get away with spoiling his plans… And then there were all these bangs and then Xander was lying on top of me on the lawn and I thought, ‘It’s not the fourth of July yet, who’s letting off fireworks?’ but there was all this blood… and there was this dreadful heartbreaking wailing noise from upstairs…” She broke off with a huge gulping sob.

Spike rocked her and stroked her hair, crooning that everything was all right… even though it was patently obvious that everything wasn’t all right… and that he had her and she was to let it all out.

After several minutes, Buffy managed to compose herself, blow her nose and continue, “It took a while to figure out what had happened, y’know? Warren was long gone so I got Xander off me and we helped each other up and checked ourselves over and I found a neat little hole in my shoulder that was already healing.” She looked up at him, bemused as she explained, “It was totally weird… as it healed it kinda pushed the bullet out until it dropped on the ground…”

Spike could only sit in horrified silence and listen as she related the terrible events that meant that while he hadn’t been there to help, she’d nearly died… again.

“I think Xander saved my life ‘cos he’d seen the gun before I did and he’d tried to shove me out of the way and got himself between me and Warren. Y’know, I don’t think even my special super-duper combined Slayer/vamp healing would have brought me back from being shot in the heart. Thing is… before it got to me, the bullet had gone clean through Xander’s arm. That’s where all the blood was coming from.”

“I took him in the kitchen to bind his arm up and call the police and ambulance… ‘cos geeks with guns? So a police matter… and Xander needed to have his arm treated ‘officially’ ‘cos he was probably going to need to take a few days off work… when I heard this quiet crying coming from upstairs and remembered that awful wail…”

She nearly broke down again at this point, but clearly desperate to have the whole tale done with, she steeled herself and haltingly pressed on. “We could hear the sirens coming as we went upstairs… The crying was coming from the master bedroom… Willow…”

Another sob interrupted her until she took a deep breath and forced out, “Willow was just lying there… Tara was cradling her head in her lap… Rocking her like a baby… There was so much blood… The window was smashed… There’d been a stray shot… and Tara looked up at us… Her eyes… Oh, Spike… I’ll never forget the look in her eyes… Such unbearable pain… She said… So calm... “It should have been me… We were so happy and excited about going to the Coven in England… We were giggling and Willow spun me around and then there was a crash and blood on my shirt… and Willow was gone. If she hadn’t twirled me around it would have been me… It should have been me…”

Spike couldn’t quite absorb the news. From Buffy’s behaviour he’d known it was going to be bad, but this… “So… you’re saying that Willow’s…?”

In a barely audible whisper, Buffy confirmed, “Willow’s dead, Spike. Warren came to kill me and he missed me and got Willow. And… and it’s all my fault…” She sobbed inconsolably.

Spike didn’t know what to do except to continue to hold her and try to comfort her, so as she cried herself back to sleep, that’s exactly what he did.

Running through his mind as she slept, was a confusing, jumbled argument. What he presumed was his demon side was smugly satisfied that the arrogant, power-hungry little witch had got what was coming to her for dragging Buffy out of Heaven and trying to control all of them with her magic, while the part that had to be his new soul kept countering with the fact that Willow had stayed loyal to Buffy for years and helped her fight the good fight even though there was no reason on earth why she should have put herself in constant danger that way, and that she had deserved better than to fall victim to a wayward shot from a psychotic human, especially now that she had accepted her faults and was trying to rectify them.

Buffy didn’t sleep long and this time when she woke she gave him a grateful squeeze, kissed him and disentangled herself from his arms, explaining she needed the bathroom. After she’d done her business and washed her face she returned to bed to complete her narrative.

Before she could begin though, Spike took the opportunity to say, “That explains why Red wasn’t at the soul ritual. I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong at first, it just seemed cockeyed, off balance. Wasn’t until the chanting began that I recognised Anyanka’s voice in there instead of Willow’s and twigged that she wasn’t there. How come Demon girl got to be the stand-in? Surely as a demon…”

“Althanea asked her if she would take Willow’s place at the third point. You know Anya can do magic, don’t you? After all it was her proficiency in turning her boyfriend into a troll that got her the vengeance gig. Anya protested that it wouldn’t be right for her to take part in a wiccan ceremony but Althanea insisted. All Anya had to do was lay aside her power source for the blessing… and undertake a thorough cleansing ritual first. She claimed that as the whole point of the ceremony was to benefit a demon she saw no reason why a demon shouldn’t participate. She was confident her Goddess wouldn’t object.”

Spike nodded and remarked, “Gonna have to remember to thank Anyanka properly. Must have been hard for her at such short notice, studying to get that complicated incantation right and going through that cleansing… those can be nasty… And for Tara to go on with it straight after… She’s a brave, strong woman.”

Buffy nodded her agreement. “You ready for the rest now?”

“Yeah… go on then…”

“Where was I? Oh yeah… Giles arrived at the house just before the police and ambulance, I guess he must have heard the shots. Xan refused to be taken to hospital so while the paramedics treated his arm, Tara, he and I explained what had happened. When Giles found out what was going on, he called Althanea to come over and then called Willow’s parents to tell them…” She sniffed and blew her nose again. “Giles knew that they’d need to arrange the funeral as soon as possible and... something called a… um… Chevron Kaddish? And he knew that Willow wasn’t to be left alone before the funeral ‘cos of um… shimmy.”

She looked up at him in dismay. “Giles knew about all these Jewish customs I’d never heard of. I was such a bad friend… My very best friend was part of this whole huge ancient religious and cultural tradition and all I knew was that she didn’t really celebrate Christmas and that her father would have freaked if he’d known she’d nailed wooden crosses up in her room…” She mused sadly, “I wonder if they’re still there now the room’s been turned into a study? They were concealed behind the drapes…”

Spike shrugged, “Sorry, love. I know nothing about Jewish customs. Back when I was human, we didn’t exactly move in the same circles. And the only funerals I had anything to do with were those for my pa and sisters and believe me, you wouldn’t want to know about Victorian High Church C of E funerals.” He grimaced. “Very stiff and regimented and incredibly boring.”

“C of E?”

“Church of England, love. State Protestant religion.”

Buffy nodded in understanding. After taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she went on sadly, “Dawnie was due home by then, so I stayed with Tara and Althanea to wait for her while Xander and Giles went with the coroner… so Willow wouldn’t be alone until her parents could get there…”

Feeling waves of overwhelming guilt emanating from her, Spike couldn’t hold his question in any longer. “I don’t get why you think it was all your fault? You didn’t do anything wrong. It was all that bastard Warren…”

“Don’t you get it? He was coming after me,” she exclaimed. “I let Willow get involved with the Slaying and not only did it lead to her getting all freaky with the magic but it got her killed, Spike! All ‘cos she was my friend…” She shook her head and said guiltily, “I should never have come to Sunnydale… or at least I should never have let Will and Xand get so close and involved with the Slayage…” She sighed. “The Slayer is supposed to work alone. I never understood why before, it seemed so stupid. I get it now…”

“Bollocks!”

“Huh?”

“Anya told me about why she first came to Sunnydale… about the cheerleader’s wish. If you’d never come here, both Willow and Harris would be vampires and half the town would be dead, the other half just waiting their turn to die at the hands of the Master. As for not making friends with them and letting them get involved in the Slaying… you know perfectly well that if you’d kept them in the dark they’d have gone toddling about town after dark all vulnerable and wouldn’t have lived to graduate High School. You know either of them could have got out at any time… but they didn’t. They knew they were contributing to something important and they made the decision to go on helping you, knowing the dangers. Don’t you dare take that sacrifice away from Willow now and take it all onto yourself. It was her life; her decision, not yours!”

As Buffy sat gaping at his indignant outburst, he prodded her in the chest and added, “You wouldn’t have lasted long either, without their friendship to ground you and their support in research and on patrol.”

With wry smile, she capitulated and breathed, “I know… it’s just… when I fail to save someone, it feels as if I’m the one who killed them…”

“Well… that’s just you being you, sweetheart. You wouldn’t be who you are if you didn’t feel that way, but you have to try to get past it, ‘cos you can’t...”

“I can’t save everyone… yes, I know.” She pointed to her head. “I know it here, but here…” She laid her hand over her heart. “I still feel responsible...”

All Spike could do was enfold her in his arms and hold on tight.

After a few moment he frowned and demanded, “’Ang on… if the Ubergeek is wandering around town shooting people… why the Hell are we lying here instead of out there hunting him?”

Smirking slightly, Buffy gestured at the window where the brilliant spring afternoon sunshine was trying its best to penetrate the curtains. “You mean apart from the fact that it’s the middle of the day and you may have a soul now, but you’re not immune to Mr Sunshine…?” When he reluctantly acknowledged the truth in her teasing statement with a sulky grunt, she went on smugly, “Besides, we don’t need to hunt him. We know exactly where he is.”

Spike’s scarred eyebrow went up by way of query.

“It’s all thanks to Anya going back to being a vengeance demon…” Buffy raised an admonishing finger, adding, “and if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it! After the cops had taken their statements and gathered up their yellow tape and cameras, and Xander and Giles had gone off with the coroner, it wasn’t long before Dawn came home and we had to tell her…” Buffy rubbed her face wearily. “She was mad of course and started saying ‘I wish Warren would…’ Well.. I don’t know what she was going to wish and I don’t think I want to. Thank God she never got a chance to finish ‘cos that’s when Anya popped in and startled us all. Her demony senses had detected a desire for vengeance and when she recognised where it was coming from she closed the shop and came to see what was wrong.”

Spike blurted out, “You made a vengeance wish to Anya?”

“Noooo, of course not.” Buffy waved away the question as ridiculous. “Dawn said she wanted to, but even while I was trying to convince her it wasn’t a good idea and if she did she’d regret it later, Anya explained that if anyone had a right to vengeance it was Tara. She was the injured party as it was her girlfriend who had been murdered.”

Spike was doubtful. “Can’t see pickle making a vengeance wish… not her style at all…”

“I didn’t think so either so I didn’t give it another thought… We were all busy trying to figure out what we were going to do about Willow’s funeral. Giles had called and told us that it would be that same evening. It seemed so rushed it felt kinda disrespectful, y’know? But he said that’s the way it had to be. Did you know that they don’t have flowers at Jewish funerals? And Willow couldn’t be wearing her nice clothes, just a plain white shroud… and her parents couldn’t choose a nice smart coffin for her, it had to be a plain pine box. If there had been more time, Xander could have made something beautiful for her… but no… It felt all wrong…” She started tearing up again and paused to collect herself before getting back to the point.

“It was while we were all getting ready… Xander was over with Giles, and Althanea and Anya were in Dawn’s room with Tara while Dawnie and I were getting changed in our room. I found out afterwards that Anya and Althanea took most of that time working out the exact wording for a wish that had no loopholes and couldn’t backlash onto Tara as a normal spur-of-the-moment vengeance wish would… ‘cos Anya explained that’s kinda the point. That the person who makes the wish should suffer along with the victim. Seems Tara was insistent that they had to compose something that would exact vengeance on Warren without inflicting physical pain or bloodshed.”

“Yeah?” Spike’s estimation of the English wiccan went up a few more notches. “What was the wish then?”

“I can’t remember the exact wording, it was very long with lots of specifics and exclusions, and Anya wrote it all out very carefully for Tara to read out, but basically it made Warren go to the police and confess to all the crimes he had committed, taking all the evidence he had left that they hadn’t already found in the nerdvan, but he had to leave out any mention of the supernatural. He couldn’t say anything about demons or magic or Slayers or Dawnie being the Key, but he had to own up to the diamond robbery, the bank robbery, killing Katrina, stalking me, kidnapping Dawn, attempting to murder me and anything else he’d done that we don’t even know about.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t sound much like vengeance to me.” Spike was highly dissatisfied. In his book, such a crime deserved the ripping off of a head… or at least some amusing experimentation with entrails. “If he’s got a clever lawyer he’ll be able to talk himself down to a charge of attempted murder and manslaughter… ‘cos no way he meant to shoot Willow… and he’ll be out in ten years. Still a young man with an axe to grind and looking to take it all out on you.”

“No… see... that’s the clever thing.” Buffy became as animated as he’d seen her so far that day. “Part of the wish was that any time anyone asked him what he would do when he was released, he’d have to tell the absolute truth… still omitting any mention of the supernatural. So if he still wanted to be a super-villain and rob banks and come try to kill me again... he’d be forced to say so! So… no parole for Warren unless he really has reformed… and the chance of that?” She gave a careless wave of the hand and made a ‘pfft’ noise, sitting back against the pillows with a satisfied nod. “Never happen.”

Unsure how the modern American justice system worked, Spike had to take her word for it, but it still seemed a somewhat unsatisfactory solution to him and he sat sulking for a while until a loud echoing rumble attracted his attention.

He turned to Buffy, who had her arms wrapped around her middle and was blushing furiously. He tried not to laugh as he asked, “And when exactly was the last time you ate, Buffy, love?”

As Buffy rang room service, Spike was reminded of seeing Perpalla and Clem by the cottage while he was dashing past to safety. “Clem’s back!” he blurted out.

Having given her order, Buffy hung up. “Yeah, he’s finally got Pavel settled back with his family. It seems he managed to find him some help with his mouth problem too. Some kind of demon doctor.” She shrugged regretfully. “They couldn’t do anything about his arm…” She grimaced anxiously. “Something else he told me… when he got back to the crypt, he found Nathan gone. He’d packed up all his stuff and cleared out.”

“Damn! Forgot all about the lad, what with everything that’s been going on.”

“Yeah… me too. I hope he doesn’t start killing…”

Spike shrugged. “Doubt it, Slayer. If he didn’t do much of it before there’s no reason to suspect he might start again now...” He puffed himself up in mock pride in an attempt to lighten the sombre mood and make Buffy smile. “Not now he’s been exposed to my shining example.”

All he got in response was a trademark Summers eye-roll.

It wasn’t until Spike was satisfied that Buffy had eaten her fill and he’d consumed another big mug of animal blood that he thought to ask, “So while we’re here… who’s looking after the bit?”

“She’s fine. She’s with Giles and Anya. Althanea’s taken poor Tara under her wing until they go off to England, so she’s in good hands. The funeral was really hard on her because Willow’s parents had either forgotten or chosen to ignore the fact that she was Willow’s girlfriend, so she was relegated to the sidelines with us.” She made a face. “It wasn’t fun being addressed as ‘Bunny’ again either. I’d forgotten that Willow’s mom could never remember my name.”

“So if Dawn’s with the Watcher and Demon girl, and pickle’s with her ladyship, who’s looking after Harris? He told me once that Willow had been his best friend since kindergarten…”

Buffy gaped at him in dismay. “Oh God…” She dug her phone out of her bag and frantically called her Watcher. “Giles? I can’t believe I didn’t think… where’s Xander? Please tell me he isn’t alone in that apartment he shared with…” Spike could clearly hear the other Englishman’s voice reassuring Buffy that Xander was quite safe there with him and Anya and they were sitting listening and making appropriate soothing noises as Xander sadly reminisced about all the silly funny things that had happened to him and Willow through the years. “Oh… thank God. I was suddenly so worried…” Buffy clutched her hand over her heart in relief.

Spike tuned out the conversation then and only vaguely heard Buffy assuring Giles that they’d be home after sunset so Dawn wouldn’t need to stay the night across the road. He had become absorbed in trying to determine just what had changed within himself with the addition of a soul. He hadn’t had much time to think about it up until then, what with sleeping off his exhaustion and then the emotional revelations of all the drama he’d missed.

There were quiet sounds of Buffy using the bathroom and moving around the room, but Spike didn’t look up until her quiet voice hesitantly interrupted his musings. “You’re quiet…?”

He shrugged, “Just thinking.”

“Thinking? Oh, of course… my bad… these last few days were supposed to be all about you.” She sat on the side of the bed and rested her hand on his. “How do you feel?”

Spike deliberately thought back to one of his most brutal killings, one that had nothing to do with the fundamental need for a vampire to feed and everything to do with his need for violence and a demon’s casual enjoyment of inflicting pain for its own sake, and felt nothing more than a stern disapproval. He looked up to gaze searchingly into Buffy’s eyes and thought… “Yes… still love her… still want her… doesn’t feel any different from before…”

Aloud, he admitted his bewilderment, “I honestly don’t know, love… It’s hard to accept I have a soul now. I was evil and I was good at it but I don’t feel particularly guilty and I don’t feel like brooding… Don’t feel all that different at all, really.”

With a sly, mischievous smirk, Buffy rested her hand on his cool bare chest and slowly stroked down past his waist and under the covers and finally as Spike pulled his stomach in with a startled gasp, slipped her hand under the waistband of his sleep-pants. Her action caused the usual quick physical response that her advances always had, so by the time her hand reached her target, it was ready for her. She giggled, “Yeah… you feel just the same…”

Chuckling, Spike reached for her. Before their lips met, he murmured, “What’s with the jammies anyway, sweetheart? Not quite my style, you know?”

Panting to regain her breath a few toe-curling minutes later, Buffy eventually managed to respond. “Well… William was a shy Victorian virgin… I didn’t know if… that is, you might not’ve…” She looked down shyly and abstractedly fingered the lacy hem of her chemise. “I didn’t know how Williamish you were going to be after… and I didn’t want you to feel all embarrassed…”

She looked up when the bed started shaking to find Spike laughing so hard he couldn’t make a sound. She pouted and slapped him playfully on the chest, protesting petulantly. “Meh. You’re laughing at me… stop laughing at me…”

When he’d regained the power of speech, Spike assured her huskily, “Don’t worry, Buffy… I’m still all Spike.” And proceeded to prove it to her… several times.


TBC.