disclaimer on first part
Again.
"Spike!" yelled Buffy.
"Buf...Summers!" shouted Spike.
"What are you doing here!" they screamed together.
Buffy regained a semblance of composure first. "I saw Whistler when I woke up on the moor," she explained. "He told me to walk due west, and..."
Spike's groan cut her off. "This pillock Whistler, he wouldn't be a short chubby bloke dressed like a cartoon, would he?"
"I resent that." Whistler was suddenly standing beside them, munching on a cheese sandwich. "I have my own sense of style."
Buffy uttered a surprised squeak, while Spike swore loudly.
"Here, you stand still for half a tick!" he ordered. "We've got questions, you know!"
"First, where are we?" Buffy jumped in hastily. "This isn't... heaven, is it?"
"Nahh," Whistler went on chewing.
Spike lost what little patience he had. "If it's not heaven, and it's not hell, then where is the bleedin' place?"
Whistler finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on his pants. "Limbo."
"We're in limbo?" Buffy looked around dubiously.
"Part of it," Whistler confirmed. "There's lots of different parts. You just ended up here temporarily, until you decide."
"Decide what?" Spike prompted.
"What you want to do. Here's the story, kids..."
"Here, I'm 127 years old," Spike objected.
"Compared to me, you're a kid," Whistler smirked. "Here's the deal. Normally the Slayer here would be whisked right into heaven."
"But? Blotted her copybook, did she?"
"Shut up, Spike," Buffy ordered. "Whistler, why am I here? And, why is Spike, of all people, here with me?"
Whistler sighed. "It's the old problem of balance, kid. The forces of good really took a hit when you went down for the count."
"But, what about the new Slayer?" Buffy asked in a tiny voice.
Whistler looked her in the eye. "There isn't one."
"What?" Buffy cried. "But when one Slayer dies, another is called! "
A sudden thought gave her pause. "We ARE dead, right?"
"Oh yeah," Whistler agreed. "No doubt about thta. But, a Slayer was already called to replace you, a long time ago. Remember?"
"Kendra," Buffy murmured.
"Yep. One replacement Slayer per customer. To get another, Faith would have to die, and since..."
"Since she's a psycho fugitive, she's not exactly active on the slaying front," Buffy said bitterly.
"You said it, kid. And a Big Bad is baout to make some major moves."
Spike had a chilling sense of what was coming next.
"That's why you both get another option," Whistler said slowly. "You can join your pal Kendra in heaven. Nice place, you'd like it."
"Or?" Buffy asked steadily.
"Or- stay as you are. Go back to earth, and try to help out."
Spike watched the Slayer closely, fascinated as always by the shifting emotions on her face. So absorbed was the vampire that he almost didn't notice that Whistler had turned his attention to him.
"You're a different story, Spike. Things got more of a twist, you might say."
"No, I sodding well wouldn't," snapped the vampire. "How can I when I don't even know what you're going on about?"
Whistler pursed his lips. "Normally, you'd be in hell by now," he said bluntly. "But, there's certain ...see, you're a problem. I won't lie to you, you've done major bad in your time, but you've also done some good. Now, the two don't balance, not by a long shot. But if you want, you got a choice."
"A choice?" Buffy glared at Whistler. "Choice to do what? And what do you mean, go back to earth?"
"Well. That's the tricky part." Whistler rubbed his nose. "You can't just go back like nothing happened. 'Cause you're both, you know, dead. The power to restore life is rarely granted."
Spike scowled. "Are you saying that we've got to be reincarnated or something?"
"That's one way," Whistler conceded. "But that takes too long; things are getting urgent. So you decide, here and now, if you wnat the third option. We've ruled out resurrection, we've put the kibbox on reincarnation. That just leaves..." he paused expectantly.
Spike and Buffy looked blankly at one another.
Whistler shook his head sorrowfully, like a disappointed teacher stuck with a particularly dim class.
Then he began to...whistle.
Spike's jaw dropped. "This is no time to fool aound, you tell us..." he broke off at the sight of Buffy's stunned face.
"That...that's the theme from..."
Whistler nodded sympathetically. "Kid, it's the only choice we got. Sorry."
"WHAT choice?" Spike yelled, feeling he was ready to explode with frustration. "The theme from WHAT?"
Buffy's lip trembled. "It's the theme from...from Casper, Spike. Don't you understand? We're going back as..."
It hit him with the impact of a sledgehammer.
"Ghosts!"
Now that the cat was out of the bag, Whistler tried to cheer them.
"It's not so bad, kids," he promised. "You can walk though walls! And float objects in the air, even materialize once you get some experience under your belts. It's all just a question of practice!"
Spike was dubious, but figured anything had to be better than hell.
Buffy was more vocal. "If we're ghosts, how're we supposed to fight the Big Bad?"
Whistler shrugged. "You'll think of something; you were always very resourceful."
"How long do we do this ghost routine?" Spike demanded.
Whistler rubbed his chin. "Pretty much forever."
"What? " Buffy squeaked. "No!"
"It's like this," the demon explained. "once we get things set up, we'd like to get some use out of...I mean, no point going back for a brief time, huh? So you decide, knowing you'll be ghosts..."
"Forever," Buffy supplied.
Whistler considered. "Until Judgment Day, anyway. THEN you can go on to heaven; and Spike here...well, if he's fixed the balance, he gets to go too. If not..." Whistler jerked his thumb down.
Spike thought hard. One thing he was sure of...he REALLY would rather put off going to hell. He nodded.
The Slayer wavered; but he'd been around her enough to recognize the essential selflessness of her nature, and in the end she opted, as he had known she would, to go back and help.
"What're we all standing about for?" Spike was impatient; he'd seen enough of limbo. "If we're going to do the haunt thing, let's go to it!"
Whistler says we can only return on one of the high festivals," Buffy said testily. "On Samhain, or Lammas, or..."
"Beltane." Whistler was suddenly there; in that inexplicable manner of his. "It's Beltane, a fine time to start something new. Good luck, kids!"
His voice faded, and once again Spike experienced the velvety darkness with its vivid streaks of color, the same unintelligible voices, the bright light.
"Oof!" He landed on something soft...he opened his eyes to stare down into the Slayer's pretty face.
"Unh, get off me, Spike." She pushed at him with her little hands.
He moved reluctantly. Ghost or no ghost, he found he had the same physical reaction to her that he'd always had in the past. He pulled his coat closer around him.
"Isn't that your crypt over there?" Buffy pointed. "I think we're in the graveyard."
"Yeah." Instinctively he held out his hand to help her to her feet, realized what he was doing, and hastily dropped it.
"What do you say, Summers? Should we head into town, or.."
"Spike!" Buffy clutched his arm, and he found himself staring at a simple granite cross containing the inscription 'Buffy Anne Summers- The Chosen One.'
"That's my grave." Her voice sounded strange as she stepped closer. "That's where they put me...after Morgan killed me."
"Come away, Buffy!" Spike ordered, in something approaching panic. He did not want her thinking about Morgan; or about the circumstances of her death.
By mutual consent they headed into town.
"Spike," Buffy murmured as they passed the Sun Cinema, "I never heard of that movie." The marquee advertized a film titled 'Hellblazer.'
Spike shrugged. "I don't suppose you've heard of every new movie out there."
Buffy ignored him. "That used to be a sporting goods store over there- but now it' s a bakery."
"What's your point, Slayer?" Spike snapped.
Buffy turned to him, eyes filled with fear. "What's going on, Spike? What day is this? What YEAR is this?"
They stared at the newspaper, stunned. May 1, 2013.
"Twelve years," Buffy whispered.
Spike reached for her hand, remembering something he'd once heard- that earth time was different from time in other dimensions. He had gone after Morgan within one day of Buffy's death, but somehow the seemingly brief interval they had been in limbo had expanded.
"Let's go to your house, Slayer," he suggested. He kept tight hold of her hand, for she was trembling so violently he was afraid she'd break down if he didn't.
The House on Reviello Drive still looked much the same. Through the dining room window, Spike and Buffy could observe Joyce, seated at the table with another woman.
"That's Sheila Rosenberg," Buffy said softly. Then, "My mother looks happy. Doesn't she?"
Joyce and Sheila were evidently planning a vacation together, studying travel brochures. From scraps of conversation they could overhear, it appeared that, following the deaths of both Buffy and Willow's father, the two women had been drawn together by loneliness and had become good friends.
"Spike," Buffy began soberly, "do you think everyone has forgotten me?"
He opened his mouth to say, "Of course, you ninny, everyone's expendable."
Instead, to his horror, what came out was," Never, Slayer. Just because the first grief passes, it doesn't mean we forget the ones we loved. Your mum still thinks about you, but now it's more about ...happy times, not sad ones."
"I guess that's better," Buffy admitted. "But I'd hate to be forgotten."
"Forgotten? You? Not bloody likely, Summers!"
That brought out a half-smile; and Buffy remarked as they turned away, "I wanted things to stay exactly the same. But I guess that everything changes."
"Not everything," Spike managed as they turned a corner and stood stock-still.
The sign painted on the front of the small store-front building read 'Angel Investigations.'
Buffy was shivering more than ever; with a muffled curse Spike drew her into a darkened dorway across the road.
She raised her brimming eyes to his. "He must have moved back to Sunnydale," she said brokenly. "After I died."
The sound of the door opening made the both tense as a tall, dark-haired couple emerged.
"Cordelia. And Wesley." Buffy said softly.
Cordelia and Wesley walked together, shoulders touching. The two shades flowed after them, easily keeping pace.
"Sunnydale Museum of Natural History." Spike stared at the tall gothic building.
"I fought a mummy girl here, once," Buffy remembered.
And Angelus and Dru had killed the museum director, Spike recalled, but didn't mention.
Wesley and Cordelia hurried into the side entrace, where a security guard opened the door, then locked it after them.
"Now what do we do?" Buffy asked gloomily.
Spike remembered Whistler's instructions; and took a tighter grip on her hand. He stepped forward resolutely- right through one of the thick stone walls. It was a curious sensation, almost like falling into a pool of water.
"Ohhh," Buffy's eyes widened, "that was ...sort of..."
"Neat," Spike supplied.
They smiled happily at one another; then Buffy thought about what they were there for. They drifted hastily through three floors of the dark and silent museum, until, at the top, they heard voices.
"Up here," Buffy urged, pulling him toward an oak door with a brass plate that read 'R. Giles, Executive Director.' They didn't pause or bother to open it, but instead flowed right through into a book-lined room with a conference table and thick burgundy drapes swathing the long windows.
It was a handsome room; but Buffy's attention was immediately focused on the six people who sat at the table.
A dark-haired woman who looked vaguely familiar glanced up to ask, "Is there a draft in here? I feel a chill."
Buffy clutched Spike's arm. "They mean us!"
"So? Not a lot we can do about it, is there, pet? And you can stop hissing in my ear, because they can't hear us, either!"
"Oh," Buffy realized her mistake; but kept staring at her friends.
Of them all, Giles had changed the least, she decided, her hungry eyes devouring his dear face. The years between forty-six and fifty-eight had wrought fewer changes than those between twenty and thirty-two.
But the others...already there were streaks of gray in Xander's dark hair, and her heart clenched as she wondered how they'd got there. Yet he looked obviously handsome in a way he hadn't in high school.
Wesley had some gray hair too; well, he'd be in his forties by now.
The women had changed too, but mostly for the better. Cordelia was more beautiful than ever; and Willow had retained her elfin features and bright red hair.
Buffy frowned as she studied the third woman..."Spike, it's Amy! Amy Madison! She must have finally got de-ratted!"