| Part Five : Water Lily I should sing in gratitude weep in grace, be grateful for this gift of love be grateful for this gift this gift of fire, gift of burning endless turning, this joyful dance this trance, the bitter drink this dream unsighted, unrequited be grateful for this gift this gift of fear, frozen here loving you alone |
| * * * * * Buffy rummaged frantically through the upstairs closets. She was looking for Spike’s box of tapes and CDs. She finally found them in the back of Dawn’s closet, underneath a pile of unwashed clothes. “What a mess,” she sighed. She carried the box back to her bedroom and carefully examined its contents. There were the unmarked video tapes; she’d have to check those out later. At the bottom of the box she found the tape she was looking for. It was in a Blockbuster slip box. “Hate to pay the fine on this one,” she thought wistfully. She went downstairs and put the tape in the VCR and settled herself comfortably on the couch to watch his favorite movie. She was keeping her promise to him...her last promise. An hour or so later, she sat lost in thought, vaguely trying to remember something—something important. “Just forget it. Don’t force it. Patience.” She sat up abruptly as the word echoed in her head. “Patience.” She got up off the couch and gazed around her at the empty house. “Alone. Again,” she thought. “Well this time…this time…” she gathered up her courage. “Better get busy living, or get busy dying.” She wasn’t going to fall apart this time. This time she’d gather up all the Slayer strength she had, and use it to just carry on. Whatever that meant. “I’ve got to make it mean something,” she spoke out loud. Demon came scurrying into the room at the sound of her voice. “You’re a very bad cat, and things are going to change around here so you’d better get used to it.” The hardest part of him leaving was telling Dawn when she returned. Dawn had stormed about accusing Buffy of letting yet another important person slip out of her life. “What did you do to him?” she yelled. “He was my best friend. You only think about yourself. I hate you. I wish they’d left you dead.” She stormed up to her room. “She’ll just have to deal. Grow up a little. Like me.” Buffy suddenly felt ancient. She had one last loose end to tie up. She needed to talk to Tara. She arranged to meet Tara at the cemetery. She felt uncomfortable about it but somehow she needed to finalize things and complete the circle. So they walked aimlessly between the gravestones and Buffy listened as Tara explained her theory about what she felt had happened to Spike. The silver line of light, she explained, was a thing of goodness not of evil. It was a sign of the thread of love which bound Spike and Buffy together. It was a special sign, not often seen, for it meant they were bound together not only in this life but many lives past and future. “But he’s dead, Tara. How could I be bound to someone who is already dead and will never die...never be born again into life?” Tara thought for a moment and then she expressed her fear to Buffy. “It could happen, but it would mean that you’d be dead. You’d be immortal too.” “But I can’t be immortal,” she protested. “Hello. Slayer here. Limited lifespan and all that.” “Yes, I know Buffy, but just because something is good doesn’t mean it doesn’t come without a price...without consequences. I mean there’s only one way you could become immortal.” She lowered her head, unwilling to look Buffy in the eyes. Buffy stopped as Tara’s words sunk in. “He’d never…do that,” she said with quiet urgency. “Are you sure? Are you sure you really know and really understand what and who Spike is? I mean beyond all this love and lust thing?” “I guess I just don’t know.” She thought about the night she found him crying on the couch, and his urgent demand that she never leave him or else he’d turn to dust. Yet he was the one who left her. “That’s why he had to leave, Buffy. Perhaps he needed to get some distance. Just didn’t trust himself with you anymore. Afraid he’d take that last step.” Buffy leaned against the wall of a crypt. The coolness of the stone reminded her of his skin…ah his skin… so smooth slipping softly against her body. She pushed the memory out of her mind. “Tara, I might not really know who Spike is but I know his heart. He’d never harm me; he’d rather hurt himself. Don’t ask me how I know this. Just know it.” “No one knew or understood what he gave to me. My friends brought me back to life, but Spike made me come alive. He knew when to be silent, and when to dance. I can’t imagine going on without him...without his silly stupid lies and his clumsy tenderness, and his strength. But I have to. I know he wouldn’t want me to give up. He gave me a gift. Not really sure I understand it. I took it for granted...pretended not to see the impossible situation we were in.” She paused and gazed about the cemetery, her eyes finally coming to rest on Spike’s abandoned crypt. “I’m scared Tara, but I guess that was his gift too: no life without fear. But you know one thing I’ll never forget, I think he really loved the Slayer in me, understood the Slayer, and loved her just as much as he loved me.” * * * * * The day after her conversation with Tara, Buffy decided it was time to examine the rest of the contents of Spike’s “special” box. “These unmarked video tapes first,” she said to herself. She sat on the floor in front of the VCR with the small pile of unlabeled tapes scattered around her. She selected one at random, put it in the VCR and pressed ‘play’. She opened a small notebook and wrote at the top of the page. Tape 1: Me fighting various Vampires and Demons. Always fighting without the other Scoobies. The camera seems to focus occasionally on my face, usually after a kill. Mostly just close ups of my various punches, slams, kicks, and weapons. Pretty good technique! Some fights several years ago. No recent fights. No fights since Spike was “chipped”. Definitely none since I died. Spike “studying” the enemy??? --- about 45 minutes. Tape 2: Lot’s of quick scenes of me with various friends, joking and laughing. At the Bronze dancing. Me with Riley. Me with Ben. Me in my bedroom sleeping. OMG. Me dressing. OMG !!! All seem to be taken before I died. Spike on the outside looking in. Always on the outside. ---about 20 minutes. Tape 3: Many, many clips of me alone. Looking worried, sad, or lost. After Mom died. After I came back to life. Dawn laughing and making faces. Me sleeping on couch with Demon. Cute. Seems to have been replayed many times. Tape is a little out of kilter, worn out. --- about 30 minutes. Buffy put down the notebook and stopped the tape. “Need a break,” she wiped her eyes. She stood up and went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. She sat at the kitchen table thinking of Spike, thinking of him alone in his crypt, watching those tapes. “Ok, next. Better get this over with.” She went back into the living room and popped the next tape in the VCR. Tape 4: Me chasing Spike around his crypt with a stake. Ripping open his shirt. Don’t remember that outfit??? Kissing?? When did this happen? OMG!!! It’s Spike and the Buffybot! Having sex, snuggling on the floor together. Eew!! Buffy stopped the tape. “I can’t believe I’m jealous of a robot!” She re-wound the tape and re-played several times the scene of Spike and the Buffybot having sex, or as she finally had to admit to herself, making love. She started getting angry. “Spike you unbelievable perverted creep!” She didn’t know if she was angrier about seeing him with the Bot or about the fact that he’d kept the tape. “Why would he keep it once he had the real thing?” She fumed. She ejected the tape and threw it across the room. She put in the next tape and starting taking notes again. Tape 5: Is this tape blank? Erased? Half way through tape - scene of a hill with a stone wall – large oak tree. Familiar?? Movie last night! Shawshank Redemption! looks different…dream, my dream! “It’s the dream!” She cried, suddenly remembering, in full, the dream she’d had the night before the storm. The image on the tape went blank and fuzzy. She fast forwarded it almost to the end. Suddenly some images appeared. The camera panned slowly around a wild garden edging an overgrown meadow. The images were rather dark as if it were taken just before dawn or at twilight. The camera paused on a strange circle of low stone blocks, and then quickly swung around to focus on a small wooden bench sitting near the most beautiful buckeye tree she’d ever seen. The film ran for several minutes on the scene of the bench and tree and then the tape ended. She gathered up the tapes and placed all of them except for tape 5 back next to the box. She dumped the other contents of the box – his cheerleader movies and CDs out onto the rug. At the bottom of the box was a brown, stained envelope. She opened it up and looked inside. There was a photo and a small business card. The photo was of her sitting on her back porch. She was smiling at whomever was holding the camera. She couldn’t remember when it had been taken or who had taken it. The handwritten inscription read: “To Spike, my love, forever, Buffy.” It wasn’t her handwriting; it was Spike’s. “How incredibly pathetic is that?” she thought. She wondered at the intensity of his love for her, and the lengths to which it had driven him: the mannequin, the bot, these tapes and now this forged signature. She’d meant so much to him. Every tiny crumb she’d thrown his way must have seemed like a feast to him. What did she really understand about such a love? She shivered. How much he’d hidden from her before she truly allowed him into her life frightened her a little. She was awed and humbled before his love. What had she given him in return? She’d tried to give him the love he needed, but somewhere deep inside, she knew she’d held something back. She placed everything back into the box except for Tape 5 and the envelope, the photo and the card. She picked up the business card. It read: “F.D. – Breeder of Fine Kittens.” She turned the card over. On the back of the card, Spike had written “Better get busy living or get busy dying.” The next morning, she sat in the Sunnydale University office of Dr. Wand, professor of horticulture. She played Tape 5 for him. “Do you know where or what these might be?” She played, and replayed him the scenes of the stone wall, the Oak Tree and the garden. “Well the last scene is quite familiar to me,” he smiled. “Not a very good use of light,” he critiqued smugly. “Yes?” Buffy interrupted him impatiently. “Hmm, well of course, that’s the California Garden in the Strybing Arboretum…Golden Gate Park. Ah San Francisco – you know.” Buffy’s heart jumped a little. Maybe Spike was in San Francisco. He’d fled there before. “What about the first scene? She asked eagerly. “More difficult, but somehow, not quite sure, but that oak...extremely fine specimen. Just a minute. He stood up and examined his bookcase. “Ah yes, here we are.” He placed a book down on his desk. “Yes. I knew I’d seen it before.” He turned the book around so Buffy could see the picture and its subtitle “Sunnydale Hills, Oak Tree near the remains of the Basque Walls – Sinclair Ranch.” That night, she lay in bed unable to sleep. “Ok Spike. I got your messages. But what do you want me to do? Why do you have to be so cryptic about everything? Oh yeah – you’re dead, comes with the territory. Why couldn’t you just send me a map, you stupid vampire? And how could you keep those sex tapes of you and the bot!” She yelled. There was a knock at her door. It opened and Dawn stuck her head inside. “Are you talking to Spike? Is Spike back?” She looked around the room eagerly. “No Dawn. I’m sorry. Just me talking to the walls. Come in.” She sat up and patted the bed next to her. “But I’m glad you’re awake ‘cause I really need to talk to you about something.” * * * * * Dawn nervously sat down on the edge of Buffy’s bed. “I know you’re disappointed in me. I haven’t been much of a sister to you lately and I know you blame me for Spike leaving. Well, I probably deserve a lot of what you’re feeling about me. Just want to say that I’m sorry, really sorry.” Buffy spoke softly as she stared down at the floor. Dawn and Buffy sat in silence for several minutes. Dawn tentatively reached out and took Buffy’s hand. “I miss him. He talked to me. You know I didn’t feel weird around him, like there was something I had to hide. I felt safe with him. But you always gave him a hard time... making fun of him ‘cause he’s a vampire. You say you love him but you don’t act like it and you know…well sometimes I think you’re just pretending.” “Pretending what?” Buffy asked. “Geez, Buffy, wake up! I’m not real. I’m just something the monks made up…just some weird energy frequency as Giles said. I don’t know why I am or what will happen to me. I mean, will it be…one day I’m just a normal unhappy teenager and then suddenly, zap, I’m all energy and light and you all forget me. Spike understood. He didn’t really know what he was either. We used to talk about it all the time. Now he’s gone.” Dawn began to shiver and hugged herself tightly. Buffy took the comforter at the foot of her bed, scooted next to Dawn and wrapped the warm blanket around them both. “Dawn, listen to me. I never told you what Mom said to me before she died. I guess I just wanted things to be normal, to pretend, maybe just forget, and then everything happened so quickly after that, you know, with Glory and then me dying and coming back. Anyway this is what she told me, ‘Dawn’s important. To the world. Precious. We have to take care of her.’ Then she made me promise, you know, if she didn’t make it. She said, ‘No matter what Dawn is, she still feels like my daughter. I have to know that you'll take care of her, that you'll keep her safe. That you'll love her.’” “Mom did love me…really miss her.” Dawn wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ve always loved you too, Dawn. You’re a part of me. I mean it literally. You know the monks used my cells, my blood, to create you, so in a way you’re more than a sister. You’re like my daughter too.” She gave Dawn a quick kiss on the cheek. “Though I always kind of wondered why you didn’t look more like me, you know in a genetic clone-ish kind of way.” She smiled as Dawn rolled her eyes and made a face. “Always wondered where you got those beautiful, high cheekbones. Reminds me of Spike’s.” She paused, “Spike…loved you like a…daughter…a daughter.” Buffy frowned, lost in thought. She turned to Dawn and gave her a big hug. “We have to find him, no matter what. And now I’ve got to tell you the whole truth. But you know what? Starving here, stomach all growlly. Let’s go munch first.” Dawn and Buffy sat at the kitchen table eating yesterday’s warmed up pizza. Buffy wiped her mouth and said, “Ok, here goes. I’m different.” Dawn started laughing, “Yeah, this is news.” “No, no,” Buffy smiled at Dawn’s laughter, “No serious, now. I’m different since I came back. I don’t mean all depressed or broke or in love again with yet another vampire.” She continued, “For some reason, since I died and came back, Spike’s chip doesn’t work with me. I mean, he could hit me and his chip wouldn’t react, you know, to cause him pain. At first he thought it was the chip, but it still worked when he tried to attack other humans. It just didn’t work with me. So we figured there’s something different...maybe wrong about me. Spike accused me of being a demon when we’d get into fights. “Yeah, you’re definitely a demon sometimes.” Dawn smiled. “Well…I was saying…I think this whole thing with his chip, made Spike afraid. Afraid of what he could or might do to me. I really love him Dawn. I do, and I know he loves me, but I think he just didn’t trust himself and, you know, I think I kind of felt the same. And he knew it and sensed it as much as I tried to forget it. It was always there between us. “You think that’s why he left us?” Dawn asked. “I’m not sure. But I have to find him, he and I… we…need to figure all this out together. So, Dawn, here’s my plan.” * * * * * The next morning as Dawn and Buffy drove out to the Sinclair ranch, Buffy explained all about the tapes she found, about her visit to the professor, watching Spike’s movie and of the dream she’d had the night before the storm. Dawn sighed, “He must have made me watch that movie with him a hundred times. Just like him to do something all dramatic and angsty like that. He’s such a romantic.” “Yeah, well, I would have appreciated a map and phone number myself. Well here we are, I think.” Buffy parked the car in a small valley surrounded by gently rolling hills. They got out of the car and began to search for the stone wall and the tree. “There it is,” Buffy cried. She grabbed Dawn’s hand and they walked quickly up through the tall winter grass toward the massive oak tree. They reached the tree and started searching the wall for what they’d hoped was a clue to Spike’s disappearance. “Look, Buffy, I think I’ve found something.” Dawn pointed to a large grey stone that had been slightly displaced. Something bright blue was visible in the small crack where the stone had been moved. Buffy leaned over and pulled out a Blockbuster video case. She laughed, “I think Spike left ‘cause Blockbuster had a warrant out for his arrest.” Buffy and Dawn both sat down and leaned back against the wall. They looked at each other anxiously. “OK here goes.” Buffy closed her eyes as she opened the case. She opened them and she and Dawn gazed down at the contents. Then they looked up at each other in disbelief. They both burst into hysterical laughter. “Oh my god! Spike, you big drama queen. You sick puppy. If you weren’t already dead, I’d kill you again!!” Buffy shouted. The case contained a large packet of “Miss Meow’s Gourmet Kitty Treats”. After they stopped laughing, Dawn suggested they open the bag. “You never know. He might have left something else.” She said hopefully. Buffy started to open the bag, and noticed it had been re-sealed. “I think you’re right Dawn.” She carefully emptied the contents of the bag into the Blockbuster case. A small red silk bag fell out. She opened the little bag and poured out its contents into her hand. She looked down at her hand where two silver rings carved with intricate patterns of Celtic knots, and a tightly folded piece of paper lay. She handed the rings to Dawn and slowly unfolded the piece of paper. It was a note from Spike. She read it out loud: Slayer, If you’re reading this, you’ve realized what a first class wanker I really am. But anyway, just to make things clear, the Kitty treats are for Demon, not you. The rings are for you and the Niblet. You’d better take good care of her else I’ll send the monks after you. Well, not to get all mushy here, but I do love you both. Will always love you. Maybe next time round things will work out differently. But as you’ve always known, I’m just a bloody vampire and really do need to get on with my evil ways. Thanks for the tasty interlude. Spike. Buffy crumpled the note in her hand. “You know I think I really do hate him.” Dawn was examining the rings carefully. “Look, I think this one’s for me – it has an inscription ‘e=mc2’,” she smiled and handed Buffy the other ring, “Is there something written inside your ring?” Buffy read the small inscription carved into the band of her ring – ‘Always and Forever S & B’. * * * * * Buffy hung up the phone. “Giles says he really needs a few more weeks before he can come. Says he thinks he’s found something and needs to follow up on it. But I can’t wait Dawn. I need to do this now.” She didn’t say what she was really thinking, “Before it’s too late.” They locked up the house, packed up the car with their bags and started driving. Buffy looked over at Dawn and said cautiously, “I’ve asked Willow to research everything she can about the monks of Dagon.” Dawn grimaced. “Dawn, give her a break, she really wants to do this. It’s her way of trying to make up for what she did to you. Time for us all to face the truth about ourselves.” Buffy pulled the car up outside Xander’s apartment. “I’d rather stay with Tara.” “Look Dawn, you promised. Tara’s going through a lot right now and it’s safer for you to be with Anya and Xander. Willow will take care of the house, but I just don’t want you to stay there alone with her. Remember Giles will be arriving in two weeks to stay with you at the house, so you can move back home when he gets here.” Dawn, holding Demon in her arms, reluctantly got out of the car. Buffy carried Dawn’s bag and books and they walked up the stairs and stood outside the apartment door. They knocked on the door. The door slowly opened about six inches and Anya looked out at them suspiciously. “We don’t want to purchase any fluffy meat products.” Dawn gave Buffy a pleading look. “Anya, hi! Didn’t Xander tell you we were coming?” Buffy gently moved inside pulling Dawn along with her. “Well, yes, he did mention something about Dawn, but not about that.” Anya pointed accusingly at the cat in Dawn’s hands. “He has a name.” Dawn said indignantly. “So I’m supposed to be impressed?” “His name is Demon!” Anya smiled, “Nice choice. Is he into vengeance by any chance?” “Absolutely!” Dawn laughed. * * * * * Buffy and Dawn stood beside the car. “I’ll call you as soon as I find a place to stay.” Dawn threw her arms around Buffy, “I’m sorry, you know, about what I said the other day about wishing they’d never brought you back. Love you.” “Love you too Dawn.” Buffy gave her a tight squeeze. Buffy drove slowly out of Sunnydale and was soon speeding north up highway 5. * * * * * Buffy pushed her car to the limit, carefully watching out for the highway patrol. The day was incredibly clear. The wide plains of the San Joaquin Valley stretched out to her right, eventually curving up against the foothills of the Southern Sierras and on her left, the Diablo Mountain Range undulated in an erratic pattern. She enjoyed surrendering to the trance like, mindless state of driving, enjoyed not thinking about anything except the road. It was about 10 pm when she pulled into Berkeley. She decided to check into a low profile motel on San Pablo Avenue, where she could come and go without too many questions. The room wasn’t too bad, but had a definite mildewy scent, as if it hadn’t been used for quite a while. “Hopefully, I won’t be staying here too long,” she thought as she unpacked her bags. Later that evening, she walked up University Avenue searching for something to eat. She noticed quite a few vampires and a few demons strolling around. They seemed to move about freely here. She avoided them, not wanting to attract attention or alert the vampire community that there was a Slayer in their midst. She walked hungrily past several closed restaurants and grocery stores. “Where are all the humans?” she thought, “Demons clear the whole town out?” The only place she could find that was open at that late hour was a gas station. She bought some suspicious looking chips and a bar of chocolate. Diner was not going to be pleasant. Later that evening, after a long hot shower, she lay on her bed thinking what in the world she was going to do next. A wave of uncertainty washed over her as she wondered if and when she’d find Spike, and would he really want to see her or perhaps he’d truly put their love and life behind him and her presence would be awkward and un-welcomed. She was suddenly filled with a desperate longing for him. Now that she was alone and didn’t have to appear brave for her friends or Dawn, didn’t have anyone or anything to take care of, she felt the grief she’d held back since he’d left her. She tossed and turned all night, unable to find a comfortable spot between the lumps and potholes of her bed, knowing she really needed to sleep but completely unable to find release. Finally at around 5am, she fell into a deep sleep. She woke up to find the sun streaming into the window of her dingy room. “Strange,” she thought, “I’m sure I closed the curtains last night.” She looked around the room and suddenly started at the sight of a shadowy figure sitting in the armchair in the darkest corner of the room. “Hello love.” He stood up and walked slowly over to her bed and knelt down beside it. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak. Her mind was racing without coherent thought. “Hello love,” he said softly and picked up her hand and raised it to his lips. He placed on each of her fingertips the lightest of kisses and then placed her palm against his cheek. He closed his eyes and remained motionless for several minutes. Buffy couldn’t breath. His face felt strangely warm as if he’d been out in the sun. He’d never felt so warm to her before. She watched him take a deep breath and exhale slowly. He opened his eyes and gazed at her with a look that was both peaceful and strangely serious. “Why are you here? What did you expect to find here, Buffy?” “I don’t know…” she said, finally recovering her voice. I only know I had to come. Had to find you.” “Nothing’s changed. I’m still a vampire with a chip in his head. You’re still a Slayer with a demon problem. There’s just nothing we can do about it. You have to face it. You must face it.” She pulled her hand away from his angrily and got up off the bed. “Then why did you leave me so many damn clues, and give me this?” She waved her left hand in front of his face. She was wearing his silver ring on her ring finger. She threw him back against the wall, tearing his shirt. She placed her hand over his heart and pushed him firmly against the wall. She grasped his left wrist tightly in her right hand. She cried in anguish. “What have you done to me? What have you done…?” She suddenly jumped back from him; she’d felt a heart beat beneath his chest, a pulse in his wrist. Her face paled. “Who are you?” “I’m whoever you want me to be, sweetness. William, Spike, demon, human, dead, living or just plain gone. Anything you want.” “This is a dream! Has to be a dream.” Buffy turned back to the bed and got in. She covered her head with the blanket. “I just can’t bear anymore,” she cried. You hear that: you council, you watchers, vampires, demons, friends, all of you! Get out! Leave me alone!” He pulled up the blanket and slipped inside next to her. He was naked and warm. Buffy moaned, “I want Spike. Want my Spike. Go away,” as she pushed at him weakly. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. She nestled her face against his chest and felt the steady strong beat of his heart and wept. He pressed his face into her hair, breathing in her scent with a deep sigh. Gently cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her eyes, her tears, and her mouth which slowly opened to accept his deep kiss. His warmth was overwhelming. The heat of his body and his tongue driving deeper into her carved out her very breath. He rolled gently on top of her, still in a deep kiss, his right hand stroking softly through her hair and his left hand stroking the length of her from her wrist, down her arm, tenderly cupping her breast, stroking down her waist and hips and finally grasping her buttock and pushing himself slowly inside of her. She stroked his back. When he was fully sheathed inside her warmth, when he had filled and stretched her so deeply, that she felt he’d become a part of her, he stopped. Stopped kissing. Stopped stroking or thrusting. He lay perfectly still. He raised his head and stared at her. “Do you love me?” His voice was the slightest whisper. “Do you love me like this? Would you love me if I were a man? Or do you want a vampire?” He suddenly morphed into his game face. She felt his body turn ice cold. His heart beat stopped. He thrust his face against her neck and bit down sharply. She screamed with pain and the horror of his sudden transformation. She tried to struggle against him but her limbs seemed paralyzed. She felt him drinking deeply, sucking her life away, grunting and thrusting brutally into her. She finally was able to raise her hand and grasped the side of his head. “Get the hell off me, you filthy, hideous thing. Get off.” As her full Slayer strength kicked in, she twisted out from underneath him, and pushed him off the bed. She jumped up holding her hand to her throat where he’d been feeding. She felt her hot blood pulsing down her neck. He just sat on floor and smiled sadly up at her, his human face returning. “I guess I was right, Slayer.” He stood up, pulled on his pants and walked shirtless out the door and straight into the sunlight. * * * * * She woke up a few hours later. She rushed into the bathroom and examined her neck in the small cracked mirror. There was no bite mark. She examined the rest of her body and found no marks or signs that he’d been with her. She walked back into the bedroom. No scent, no torn shirt, no evidence that he’d ever been in her room. She took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed and, in that moment, she knew for sure that she’d never see him, never find him, until she faced her fear...until she could understand what she really felt or wanted. She knew that, in a way, it didn’t have anything to do with him; it had everything to do with her. The answer wouldn’t come from Giles, or Willow, or some mysterious magical force that would suddenly reveal the truth to her. Because, no matter what the outer reality of the form of her life or his, she had to find her way inside to the truth of her heart, her blood, her love. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the essence of him, not his warmth as a man, nor his coldness as a demon. Not the gentle or the vicious face. She tried to feel, underneath his skin, that which called to her and had always been calling to her. His blood, his heart. And the only thing that would come to her mind was Spike sitting at her kitchen table sipping hot chocolate, carefully sneaking marshmallows to the worshipful kitten sitting at his feet. He never had to be kind. That chip was just a smokescreen. Just an excuse. The chip was never meant to make him kind, or help her or always be there for her. It didn’t make him need to take care of Dawn, or be gentle and loving to her. Yet all those things were Spike. Something deeper, more magical, more real than chips or demons or slayers or ghosts. Love. It was just that simple. * * * * * Just before dawn, Spike found himself sitting on his favorite bench in the secluded garden, and he wondered to himself why he was out and about at this dangerous hour. He saw a pale form appear from beneath the shadow of the oak tree that stood across the meadow. The small figure stood gazing at the small circle of roughly hewn stones at the end of the small valley. It slowly stepped onto the open grass and moved towards the stone. It was female, a slender small woman, gracefully weaving across the grass. Her hair was dark gold in the early morning light. He watched as she slowly tilted her head to catch the first light of the sun. “Buffy.” His heart leapt as he recognized her face. He stood up and slowly followed her as she made her way down the meadow. With a pang, he recognized she was wearing the pale, translucent dress she’d worn that night in the Bronze—that night he naively and desperately tried to claim her. “Buffy, wait,” he called to her. But she didn’t hear his call. The sun began to rise strongly over the grove of trees and captured him as he stood unprotected reaching out to her, calling her. He felt the ancient fear of consummation by fire, but he didn’t care...would never care again. Because he had to touch her, hold her one last time. She turned suddenly, her face blossoming into joy, as she recognized him. “Spike, I found you. Found you,” she moved quickly to his side. “Love,” she cried, weeping, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her...down to her lips, into the sweet scent of the curve of her neck. He moaned her name, sang her name deep inside his chest. He burned for her, was burning for her. His demon rose and his soft kiss against her slowly deepened into a sharp bite. He bit deep into her neck, he suckled greedily, drinking in her slayer blood. Her blood filled his veins, pumped through his weary heart. He was filled with the memories of a thousand slayers, and of this slayer, his slayer, ah she loved him, loved him. He felt a momentary pang of guilt, but she placed her small strong hand beneath his shirt and slowly stroked the silken skin of his beloved back, urging him on, crying his name, demanding him, begging him for something deeper and wilder than she had ever asked. She clasped the back of his head, unwilling to let him pull away from their inevitable last dance. He pulled her down onto the grass, still drinking, savoring her, becoming her. Yes, this is what he wanted...what he’d truly wanted all along: his heart’s desire, becoming her, letting her blood fill him completely, letting her blood claim him. He couldn’t stop what he’d begun. He couldn’t ever lose her again and so he’d turn her—turn her into his own kind. He’d never be alone again. She’d be by his side through the long dark years of eternity, loving him. Loving. Him. As he drank the last fatal drop, she fell limp in his arms. He pulled away and sat staring at her fallen, silent body. Staring at what he’d done, staring in horror at what he’d always feared would happen, and what Giles’ letter had prophesized. He was roused out of his grief by the warmth of the sun beating down upon his pale arms and face. He wondered at the feel of the sun, the tender warm embrace of the sun. He held his hands up and felt the sweet warmth and wept. “Love,” he cried desperately, knowing he’d drunk too deeply and now she was gone. “Buffy…” He shook her lifeless body, lifted her into his arms, held her slowly cooling body tightly, and tried to find her soul deep inside her silent eyes. She was dead. And he was alive. * * * * * “Mr. Spike, wake up,” a strong claw like hand was shaking his shoulder. Spike, suddenly alert to an unknown threat, thrashed his arms around, striking a small demon standing next to the bed where he lay. “Ouch, Mr. Spike, ya didn’t have to go do that.” The demon rubbed the small lump starting to rise on the side of his face. Spike, completely awake now, his dream forgotten, grabbed the demon by the arm and demanded, “Where am I and who the bloody hell are you?” “Why you’re at Mr. Bertram’s house, sir. Came last night. Quite a mess, you were, if I don’t say so myself. Never saw a vampire with so much blood in ‘im. Curious it was and I told the master so. I says “don’t you think that’s a powerful lot of blood to come out of a vampire? He says yes, quite, very interesting…he looked down right puzzled. Said you were a bit of a special case. You’re quite heavy for a vampire, you know. Poor Mr. Bertram, him being so old and all, had a terrible time of it dragging you into the house. I had to help. Strained my back, I did and for what? Now you’ve gone and messed up my face and me having to serve dinner tonight to the guests. What will they think?” “Dragging me? Bleeding?” Spike raised his voice in frustration. “Now demon, tell me your name and then stop your bloody yammering.” “Ernest, sir.” the demon gave him a mischievous grin, turned on his heels and walked toward the bedroom door. “The master expects you downstairs for breakfast.” He disappeared into the gloomy hallway outside Spike’s room. Spike lay back on the bed and looked around at the room. It felt oddly familiar. He recognized the furnishings and décor as something right out of the late nineteenth century – all very authentic, very old and somewhat comforting. An antique dealer, he thought wryly, living in the past. Ah well why not? A vampire has to have something to do to pass the time. He stretched his arms and legs and slowly rubbed his hands down his body, feeling the cold, hard muscle of his chest and stomach. A sudden memory of running his strangely warm hands down a cool surface, struck him with an odd feeling of deja-vu. He shook his head and got up and started searching the room for his clothes. “Bloody gits stole my knickers.” He stood before the mirror knowing it was a stupid, futile habit. He was dressed in an elegant pair of black Italian slacks and a soft red cashmere sweater. The red reminded him of blood and he felt his hunger rise. “Let’s see what the pair of them are up to for breakfast.” Bertram was sitting in the elegant dinning room, which was filled with paintings and old photos, mostly of the British and French royal families. The table was set with crystal, heavy sterling silver and fragile looking bone china. Spike threw himself down in the nearest chair. He noticed the strange crest on the center of the plate before him. The crest consisted of delicate etched images of the sun and moon shining down upon two pale clasped hands, male and female, which floated above what looked like a water lily blossoming in the center of an azure lake. A long crimson ribbon beneath the crest was inscribed with the following words: “C’est toujours le sang. Le sang est la vie.” (It’s always the blood. Blood is life.) Golden bees and dragonflies chased each other in a frozen dance around the plate’s rim. They looked so real, he could almost hear their drowsy buzzing sound. He looked up from the plate and saw that Bertram was staring at him intently. “Sleep well?” Bertram asked, “Pleasant dreams?” Spike shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No bleeding dreams, thank you very much,” he replied quickly. “So what’s for breakfast? I’d like a little cuppa of warm A negative, if you don’t mind.” Bertram rang the small silver bell that was sitting next to his cup. Ernest, the demon, came stiffly into the room carrying a huge crystal decanter filled with a thick red liquor. “What’s this?” Spike complained as Ernest filled their cups. Bertram laughed, “It’s a type of transitional drink, not quite blood, not quite whiskey, with a little protein powder mixed in for nourishment. This is California after all.” He smiled and emptied his cup quickly. They sat in companionable silence as Spike consumed the rest of the contents of the decanter. “Lovely stuff.” He rubbed his stomach and looked at Bertram. ”OK, now why don’t you tell me what you want from me?” “Let’s go into my library. Much more comfortable there and we can have a little smoke.” Spike sprawled, smoking contentedly, in the soft leather armchair. Bertram coughed self consciously, and spoke. “I’m going to tell you the story of my life. Spike rolled his eyes. “Not another bleeding Vampire Chronicle.” He snuggled deeper into the chair. “Perhaps he won’t notice if I take a wee bit of a snooze.” “As I was saying, and I think perhaps...” He poked Spike’s chair with an ivory and hawthorn wood cane which had been leaning against his chair. “Ahem…I think perhaps, this is not the most appropriate time for a nap.” He began his story. “I was a watcher. My slayer was the most beautiful young woman that has ever existed. She had the palest ivory skin and thick auburn hair, the deepest green eyes. Ah… those eyes, they could pierce your very heart. I loved her,” he said quietly and paused, lost in a silent reverie. “One day she came back from her nightly battle, all bruised and bloodied. I tried to help her dress her wounds, but for the first time since we’d been together, she wouldn’t let me touch her. As the weeks passed, I realized that she’d placed an invisible barrier between us. At times she would be ecstatic with a strange joy. She’d even hug me as she’d always done before in the past, and then for days, she’d be withdrawn and silent. I’d catch her crying. She’d always try to hide her tears, explaining that she was in pain from some encounter with a demon. I wanted to believe that nothing was wrong. The council was overwhelming in their praise for her accomplishments. Some nights she burned like a flaming torch through the dark streets of London, cleaning them completely of demon and vampire vermin. Other nights, she wouldn’t return until dawn, unmarked from battle, with a strange lost look in her eyes.” “I knew I was losing her, but I didn’t know why. I felt enraged and bitter toward her as she slowly withdrew completely from my love. I started following her secretly as she made her nightly rounds. She must have sensed my presence for I could never find anything that would let me understand her strange behavior. Months passed and it’d come to a point between us where we hardly spoke. She told me one day that she was tired of being a slayer and wasn’t there someway for her to be released from her fate. She was almost like her old self, sitting quietly at the table with her hand lightly resting on top of mine as she pleaded. I couldn’t bear to tell her the truth...that her only escape was death, so I lied. I’ve regretted that lie for the last 140 years.” He paused in his story, and took a long drink out of the glass of red wine he’d been holding in his hand. Spike sat up in his chair and leaned forward to take another cigarette from the pack lying on the marble table in front of him. He struck a match, took a long drag, and exhaled into the darkened room. “Bert, my friend, never lie to a woman, specially a Slayer. They tend to find out and the consequences are never pretty.” He thought of his Buffy, of all the lies between them and the secrets he’d held from her. “Love’s a bloody bitch, Bert. Makes fools of us all. So what did you tell her?” “I told her there was only one way she could escape. She’d have to find someone to get her with child. The council would never allow her to continue her duties if she was with child. I volunteered. I’ll never forget the look that came over her face as I spoke those words; shock, and disgust, finally a cold hatred gleamed from her eyes. I lost her completely in that moment. She fled the house that night with a few belongings. I never saw her again, except once.” “I was completely in disgrace with the Council. They cast me adrift. The years passed and I used to wander the streets looking for her, seeking any thread of knowledge that would lead me to her. I became deeply acquainted with the demon world of London, yet no one had seen her or heard of her since the night she’d left my house. One night I took the train down to Kew Gardens. I used to take her there in better times. I broke in and was wandering the paths when I heard a sound coming from a secluded grove and cautiously crept closer.” “There she was, lying in naked glory on the soft midsummer grass. Her lover, her demon lover, stood over her, his pale skin reflecting in the moonlight and his erection full and strong. She laughed and called to him in a husky voice. She spread her legs apart and I gave a small gasp as I saw her wetness glistening in the pale light. Her lover threw his body upon her. I saw his shaft push slowly and deeply into her waiting warmth. She cried out in joy as he filled her up and started thrusting in a demonic fury. Their cries rang out through the night as they reached their climax. But that was not the most terrible part of the whole night for me. It was their tender kisses and softly murmured words afterwards...their words and their gentle caresses of love. She loved him. I was filled with utter hatred. I pulled out the stake I always carried with me, and ran into the glade with a cry of frenzied anger. Her vampire lover looked up at me in horror as I plunged the stake through his back and deep into his heart. I’ll never forget his look... his face.” Bertram paused, and gazed at Spike’s face. “He exploded into ash, covering his lover’s body with the last fragments of his existence. She went mad, grasping handfuls of ash trying to gather it up, rubbing it over her forlorn breasts, keening her sorrow into the night. It was horrible, horrible. I fled from the garden in terror at what I’d done to her.” “One day about nine months later, I found a small bundle lying on my doorstep. It was a newborn, male child. The baby was wrapped in a soft red blanket, marked with the crest and motif you noticed this morning. I knew it was hers—hers and the demon. I had no idea how it had come about and I knew that the child would be in danger as long as it was in my care. For although the council had expelled me, I knew they still kept a careful watch on my activities. So I fostered the child out to a woman I’d had dealings with before. Unfortunately, she soon disappeared into the mass of transient humanity that thronged London in those days, taking the child with her. I never found her or the child.” “Until now,” he poked Spike with his cane. “Ow! That cane’s made of hawthorn you bloody old fool,” Spike roared in pain. “And now I need to explain what’s going to happen next,” Bert gave Spike a gleeful smile. * * * * * Buffy drove out of the motel parking lot and turned right. As she waited for the light at the corner of San Pablo and University Ave, she glanced over to her left and noticed a huge Blockbuster store. “Gotta theme going here Buffy? Is this yet another sign?” she laughed to herself. The car behind her honked impatiently. “Ok, Ok, anxious to get to your day job?” she muttered into the rear view mirror at the black SUV that dwarfed her little car. She quickly turned right and drove onto 880 towards San Francisco. She was immediately stopped in a huge traffic jam. An hour later, she drove into Golden Gate Park and parked near the Arboretum. She’d decided to scout out the garden during daylight hours. She wasn’t ready to run into Spike wandering around. She walked through the entrance gate and meandered slowly over to a small pond. Several snow geese were basking and playing in the sunlight and she spent several hours sitting on the grass watching them. Several couples were seated on the benches near the pond and she stared at them as they laughed and talked and flirted. “Just plain normal couples,” she thought sadly. “Why am I so far away from life? Can’t I just have a little bit of normality for once and love a normal man?” She shook herself and stood up feeling so very lonely, so very lost. She didn’t know if she was heading for disaster or for heaven. “I’m tired, Spike,” she whispered, “I’m tired and scared.” She wandered through the small trails and pathways seeking the garden she’d seen on Spike’s tape. She finally found herself descending a path into a small valley. At the entrance of the valley was a small grove of aspens and a tiny stream. She paused there reluctant to make the end of her long search a reality. Was this it? What would come next? She’d find the garden and the tree and the bench, but what about Spike? She was tempted to turn around and flee. As she stood there pensively on the narrow path, an elderly man walked up behind her and accidentally bumped into her as he passed by. “Excuse me, young lady,” he gave her a small bow and a smile. “Uh…oh sorry,” Buffy replied. “Are you lost?” He asked. “Not, uh, well a little bit,” she replied, grateful to talk to a friendly stranger. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said politely. “My name is Bertram Sinclair.” He didn’t hold out his hand, but merely smiled again. “Nice to meet you Mr., er, Sinclair. My name is Buf…Elizabeth,” she replied cautiously. “Have you had lunch yet?” he asked, “You look quite peaked.” He held up a large bag. “I have some excellent sandwiches here. Perhaps you’d like to share.” Buffy was suddenly famished. “Yes, seriously peaked here,” she replied. Without thinking twice, she followed Bertram over to a small bench and helped him to unpack his lunch bag. He offered her a sandwich. As she sat back against the bench and swallowed the first delicious bite, she gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. “I was just hungry.” She started to take another bite of the sandwich when she suddenly froze, and called out, “It’s the buckeye tree!” “Well, yes, that is a buckeye tree…a very fine specimen, quite magnificent in the early hours around dawn or at twilight.” The hair on the back of Buffy’s neck stood up at Bertram’s words. She looked at him closely, and thought to herself, “Doesn’t look or feel like a demon. He’s sitting and walking in the sun so he can’t be a vampire. Oh well, he’s just a sweet harmless old man.” They finished up the rest of the delicious lunch, laughing and talking. Buffy told him about raising a teenage sister alone and he told her stories about his life in England as a history professor at a small university. “I have a friend who was born in England,” she told Bertram. “I’m sort of looking for him now.” Bertram gave her a kind look, “And does he know you’re ‘sort of’ looking for him?” “Well he,” Buffy stopped, and thought to herself, “How does he know I’m looking for a ‘he’?” “Yes?” Bertram prompted her. “Well he doesn’t actually. I’m not completely sure I should find him. But I do want to. But not really sure…well.” “Well Miss Elizabeth, I have a feeling, just a feeling that you’ll find what you’re looking for, although, things don’t always turn out to be what we expect.” He pulled out two beautiful bone china tea cups and a large thermos and proceeded to pour her a steaming cup of jasmine tea. They sat in silence enjoying their tea. Buffy finished her tea and noticed the delicate motif of bees and dragonflies on the bottom of her cup. “This is pretty,” she said, looking inside the cup, “It’s strange you know, sometimes I dream about dragonflies.” “Ah yes, dragonflies, such a difficult life they lead, so much beauty purchased at such a terrible price. They’re very brave.” Buffy shivered at his words. “Where did you get these?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “I inherited them from a dear old friend. They’re quite old, like me.” He gave her a shy smile. “He also willed me an old mansion here in the city. You must visit me during your stay.” “Well, maybe,” Buffy replied. “Here my dear,” he pulled out a small card and placed it in her hand, “This is my address. I’m having a small party tomorrow night. Perhaps you’d do me the honor of attending. And now I must go. It’s getting late and I don’t like to be out after dark. See you tomorrow then?” He gathered up his bag and gave her a little bow. Before she could respond, he’d walked quickly back up the path and out of sight. “Well, that was weird,” she thought. She suddenly felt very sleepy, quite exhausted after all the emotion and anxiety of the past few days. “I’ll take a little snooze, right here. But no dreams, OK?” She snuggled into a comfortable position on the bench and promptly fell into a deep sleep. And she dreamed she was floating in a warm pond in the sunlight, floating weightless in the water with the sun warming her face and her body. A deep peace settled into her heart, her bones, and her very blood. Water Lily will you love me as the sun loves the water lily on a warm, still pond are you the gentle lover that I have waited for shall I wish you into me shall I wish you into my bed to lay your skin upon me shall I say the words to draw you to let the maleness of you find the woman lost inside me shall I make you want me want to spread me as a flower beneath the sky, caress the sadness from my eyes and will you love me forever as the sun loves the water lily on a warm, still pond * * * * * Spike struggled out of the dream. He’d found Buffy at some run down motel and she didn’t recognize him. She’d thought he was a man and when he’d revealed himself to her she’d pushed him away in disgust. He knew then she’d finally faced the truth about him. “Can’t even damn well sleep the peaceful, dreamless sleep of the undead and conscienceless!” “Can’t you love me just a little Slayer?” he thought sadly. “I don’t think I can ever find a way into your heart. So I just think I’ll stop trying. Where is this love in me coming from? Can’t I stop it? Can’t I just go back to being what I was before? This damn chip, this bloody, bloody torment. I know this is wrong. I know I’m wrong to want you. I’m a demon and I’m dead. You let me in a little, but it was never enough, never ever enough. I can’t bear not knowing what you’re doing, where you are, if you’re even alive. Just can’t bear the distance between us. I’m doubly cursed. Oh god, please let me rip this chip out. Where’s a knife? Let me just end this.” He stood at the bedroom window and stared out at the hills across the bay to the east. “Where are you love?” For some strange reason he felt as if she were close, as if he could stretch out his hand and touch her, send his longing in an ice cold wave that would reach her on whatever shore she was stranded. He felt her—felt her stranded and confused as he was. Felt her in pain, suffering and yearning for him too. “I’m going mad, just like Dru.” He closed the curtains against the night. “Bless you Dru wherever you and your tormented soul may be. Hope you’ve found peace in oblivion.” He remembered the ancient and twisted hawthorn tree he’d seen in a secluded grove, near the beach. One of its strong branches would make a very good stake. “The absolutely best kind of stake. Hawthorn.” “I don’t give a damn about Bert and his tragic love story. So Bert thinks I’m the son of a Slayer and a Vampire. What a bleeding joke, such delusions. So who cares? Who cares if it’s true? Who cares who or what I am? No one. Not one person living or dead. Not a vampire or demon. No one in this world would wake up tomorrow and feel sad because Spike is gone. Bit the dust so to speak. Ha! And Bert! Bert’s had too much time to fantasize these past 100 years. I’ll be damned if I mope around for another hundred years or more over Buffy. Hawthorn. Brilliant. The fastest death a vampire could wish for. No soul to fuss about. Already mussed up that chance. Just a nice quick dust storm. I’ll do it in the garden. I’d do it right before dawn so the sun would rise on my ashes, one final time in the sun before I sink back into the earth. Would she care? Would she even think twice about me?” He remembered her angry words to him the day he left. “Aren’t you going in the wrong direction?” she’d yelled, when he’d gone down into the basement instead of leaving the house as she’d demanded. “Hawthorn. Brilliant.” Bert would understand, he thought. “Think he would’ve done it to himself if he’d had the nerve.” But Bert said he’d been waiting all these years for Spike. “Ha! Wants to make himself feel better by mucking up my pitiful existence.” Spike laughed. Bert didn’t get it. Buffy didn’t love him. Buffy did not love him. Would never love him. Man or Demon. Never. He sat with his head in his hands. “Oh god for some good whiskey, six or seven bottles just might do it. Just need to forget. I hate you Bert for giving me hope, such a cruel thing, more bloody insidious than pure evil. Hope. Hell, hope is Hawthorn stake.” He started laughing uncontrollably. But perhaps he’d turn her first. “I’ll make her suffer what I’ve been suffering. Let her live eternity without me, knowing that the only being in the universe that was truly made for her, who could love her completely, was gone.” Damn Giles and his letter. Isn’t this just what Giles had warned me about? ‘Your love will destroy both of you.’ “Giles, you stupid wanker, tell me then, who the hell made me feel this love for her? Bloody Bert and his stupid dreams.” He threw himself down on the bed and moaned, “Ah…if only it were true.” For a day or so after Bert had revealed his plan to him, he’d thought it might work. He’d had hope for a day. He’d lived a fool’s dream for a day. Bert just didn’t realized how bad he really was...how completely and utterly unredeemable. But she knew. She’d always known, even when they’d shared a short bit of paradise together. She’d known he was the snake in the garden and had never really trusted him. Bloody chip. Well, she was right, always right. She was the slayer wasn’t she? Memories of a thousand years of fighting vampires flowing through her cells. Perhaps he loved her because he was seeking death, the final release of death. He’d loved watching her kill and stake other vampires and demons. He loved her Slayer strength and her sense of absolute right and wrong. Humans good. Vampires bad. Spike … on the borderline. Once his chip was out, he feared he’d never be able to control the demon inside him. He was sure of it, sure of it, almost sure of it. That’s what everyone thought. Even Bert said he wasn’t completely certain if Spike’s slayer blood would be strong enough to combat one hundred and twenty years of evil. He felt that he could no longer stand to exist within his skin, this outer shell, this dead husk. He felt his dead skin twist and undulate, with the torment of his internal struggle. From moment to moment, he was tossed from decision to indecision, from the slight possibility of ecstasy to such utter despair that he felt he was pulling the very moon out of the sky burying it in his own darkness. The burning inside him was tangible. He felt as if his heart and lungs were on fire. Ah… he just couldn’t bear this heart rending, searing, brutal, struggle. “Hawthorn,” he gasped to himself, “whiskey,” he muttered. “Oh someone, please someone, help me,” he cried. And then a strange feeling swept over him, embraced him. It was quiet and full of tenderness. It surrounded him with an innocent wildness, all silvery and delicate, like his garden, all glassy with dew just before the dawn. And it reminded him of her softness as she held him after he’d made fierce love to her and oh… the way she opened to him, so deep and wet and fragrant, a beautiful flower unfolding beneath him, yearning for him to fill her and to complete her. It was as if the moments of their joy together were revealed to him as more real, more truly beautiful than the dark bitterness in which he struggled. It was then, with the wild comforting feeling filling his heart, that in the back of his mind, he thought that perhaps, just perhaps, he might choose hope over death. And so he fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of water lilies floating gently in the sunlight. continued in “Midsummer Night's Dream” Back to Dragonfly Series Home Back to Dark Dreams |