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| Starlight The Spring of Eridanus |
| November 15th On a damp November evening, Buffy finally got the courage to visit Spike again. She hadn’t seen him since he’d demanded that she get out of his crypt more than four weeks ago.. He’d been acting so strangely that day. Four weeks. She couldn’t believe how slowly the time had passed. Everyday she’d expect to see him, to run into him somewhere in town; but she never saw him, and she couldn’t understand why she felt so restless. “Am I worried about him? No way! Don’t want to think about him. Never. Again. But why did he come back?” Her mind churned. She couldn’t imagine that he had any reason to come back to Sunnydale other than to see her. But it seemed she’d been wrong. Very wrong. The door to his crypt hung open, and as she stepped inside she could sense its emptiness. He wasn’t there. In fact, it didn’t appear that anyone had been there for some time. She searched the top floor and then climbed down to search the lower level. “Abandoned,” she thought. “He’s gone.” Sitting down on his dusty, disheveled bed , she wondered why she didn’t feel elated. After all it’s what she told him she’d wanted all these years. For him to get out of her life. She thought about their last meeting and how she’d felt there was something odd about him. A look in his eye, the way he’d blushed. He hadn’t fawned over her or tried to ask her forgiveness for what he’d done to her before he left the first time. Just told her to get out. Like he was just bored and irritated that she’d shown up to bother him. Like something was missing inside of him. “The chip,” she exclaimed. “He’s back to his old ways. Completely off the leash now.” She gazed morosely about the room. The room where they’d spent so much time together. And then it struck her—what she’d sensed had been missing from the dynamic of their encounter. “He really doesn’t love me anymore.” * * * * * November 17th Anya glanced at her watch. “Almost closing time,” she thought, looking out the shop window at the streetlights which had just flickered on. She was busy inventorying a new shipment of books that had just been delivered to the Magic Box. The store was finally back in business after several months of repair and remodeling after it had been destroyed by the battle with Willow. Giles had been kind enough to finance the repairs. He’d been very sweet to her over these last months and she was surprised at how much she missed him after he returned to England. He did write though. His letters were full of advice about the business, most of which she’d ignored. Giles didn’t really like business, but that didn’t stop him from thinking he was an expert. But it had been wonderful of him to help her out and she looked forward to his letters, mostly just to gaze at his farewell signature, which he always included: ‘With much love, your friend Giles.’ She considered her current existence precarious at best. She was living a life in the shadows. She really didn’t have any other friends now and all she did was work, trying to save a little money…for what, she didn’t know. Money had begun to lose its attraction lately. She tried not to think of the future. Her dreams of life as a human, of love, marriage and perhaps a family were completely abandoned. She couldn’t afford to wish for something different now. No more wishing for her. Especially no wishes that involved him. From what she’d learned from Giles, Xander had been completely involved helping to rehabilitate Willow these last six months. He’d never even thanked her for the help she’d provided the Scoobies that day. “Why am I thinking about HIM again?” she spoke out loud, “Go away, you miserable, betraying, lying male!” “Am I interrupting?” “Spike!” she smiled. “Hello luv. How’ve you been?” Spike paused at the door, not sure he was really welcomed here. “What are you doing here? Giles told me you’d left Sunnydale for good.” “Want me to go?” he asked quietly, and turned to leave. “No!” she exclaimed, “You just surprised me. Looking for Buffy? She’s not here. None of them ever come by here anymore.” “Buffy?” he asked in an odd voice, “No, no…that’s all over…long over. Finally came to my senses about that little bit o’ insanity.” “Well come in.” She gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit down and I’ll get you something to drink…ah…tea,” she stammered. The memory, of the night of their last encounter, suddenly making her embarrassed. He strode over to the chair and sat down. “No thanks, luv. I don’t want to keep you long. I just have a small favor to ask.” “Sure. But no wishes.” She shrugged her shoulders and then suddenly moved a few steps closer to where he sat. She leaned over and peered into his eyes. “What happened to you?!” she exclaimed. * * * * * November 18th The strange thing about his new home was that it appeared to be immune from invasion by the occasional vampire or demon he’d see stroll past. He’d be sitting in the downstairs living room and sense their approach. They’d stand outside on the side walk, staring at the house, perhaps thinking that it was the perfect location for a nest. Then they’d try to open the gate and as soon as their hand touched the wood, they’d howl in pain, just as if they’d stuck their hand into direct sunlight or into a burning flame. He had no idea what kept them out. He didn’t sense evil or a spell. The only thing he noticed was that the air around the house felt a bit heavy or thick, as if the oxygen level was higher than usual. Perhaps it was all the overgrown vegetation. He’d tried to do a little research into the mysterious Miss Lillian Mintaka, but had come up blank. Mr. Nilam was worse than useless as an information source. All Spike could get out of the old man regarding his new employer was that she was, “Quite the gal, very nice ankles. Wears lovely big pearls.” The old git had a thing about ankles though Spike doubted if Mr.Nilam could even see that far anymore. Probably just lived on the memory of past visions of delight. He was out in the backyard trying to clear away some of the weeds and overgrown shrubs. He didn’t mind things being overgrown. You didn’t really notice such things when you spent your life in darkness. But he’d been awakened lately by odd rustling and gurgling sounds from the yard and thought if he’d clear things away he might be able to find their source. Probably just raccoons or possums. But one never knew. He thought he’d do it just to be on the safe side and if Miss Mintaka ever showed her face, at least he could say that he’d earned his salary. He tried to work just after sunset or in the early dawn, when there was enough light to see what he was doing, but could avoid the painful effects of the direct sun. He found that he actually enjoyed the physical work. He missed being physical, patrolling, fighting… making love. “No don’t go there. Mustn’t think of her, the bitch,” he swore to himself. “She never cared about me. Never loved me.” It had become his mantra which he’d chant desperately whenever the memories of her surfaced—‘Never loved me.’ He threw the rusty hedge clippers down into the weeds. “Enough for today.” He was slowly weaving his way back toward the house through the brush and trees when he tripped on something and fell flat on his face. “Bloody hell!” he growled and started to get up off the ground. And then he heard it. A small spring was bubbling beneath the overgrown grove of lilac bushes next to where he’d fallen. “What’s this?” He crawled through the overgrown branches and began to clear the debris and leaves from the water. The spring was flowing into a small pool. He noticed, with surprise, that it appeared that the pool was encircled with small hewn stones, embedded into the ground. He splashed some water from the pool over the stones and tried to clean them off with a handful of dried leaves. The stones were smooth and white. He began cleaning them with renewed vigor. Soon he had the whole circle cleared and the stones softly reflected a bit of light from the newly risen moon. The circumference of the pool was only about two feet and the stones which edged it were about six inches square. He sat back on his heels, pleased with the results of his labor. On sudden impulse he scooped up a handful of the icy cold water and took a long drink. His vision darkened and he slowly lost consciousness. * * * * * He was running through a crowded room. Smoke was pouring through the windows and swirling across the ceiling. He could see flames consuming one end of the room. People were screaming. He had to find her…knew she was somewhere trapped amidst the throngs of desperate humans trying to escape. The roof started to collapse and he saw her standing motionless beneath a molten beam falling from the ceiling. “Buffy!” he screamed. She turned toward his voice and began pushing her way toward him. The beam fell, just missing her by inches. She held out her arms to him and he grabbed her, lifted her into his arms and carried her outside and far away from the building. He set her down on a patch of grass and when she stopped coughing she looked up at him in surprise. “Why did you do that?” He looked at her, a bit dumbfounded, “What do you mean? You would’ve died in there!” “Yeah. That was the point, stupid. Why do you always mess in my life? Can’t you leave me alone?” “You wanted to burn up?” “What’s it to you?” “What’s it to me? To me?! You idiot! After all I went through for you! I’m not going to stand around and watch you kill yourself!” “What? What did you go through for me? Felt bad for a second about forcing yourself on me, did you?” She got up off the grass and started to walk away. “You’re not walking away from me. Talk to me,” he cried, “Please, Buffy! Talk to me.” “I don’t know how.” She turned back to him, throwing her arms around his neck. Molding her body against his, she gave him a soft kiss. “This is all I know.” * * * * * He woke up several hours later, lying flat on his back next to the pool. “What the hell happened?” he thought to himself. Shaking his head and struggling to wake up, he stood up slowly. A bit unsteady on his feet, he stumbled into the house where he immediately curled up on the living room couch and fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep. 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