Disclaimer: The characters of BTVS are owned by Joss Whedon and Co.
"The magician Merlin had a strange laugh, and it was heard when nobody else was laughing...He laughed because he knew what was coming next." Robertson Davies.
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When they told him she was dead, he felt like his insides had been ripped out.
Almost he lost control; but long years of discipline kept him functional. Nothing could prevent the game face though...it rippled on for an instant. But Electra and Vladimir didn't notice. More importantly, neither did Dru...
"She's dead, Spike! The Slayer is dead!" She began dancing, the long white dress flowing about her. "She put my Angel in hell, but she can't do anything now." Her delighted laughter rang out.
No one noticed how still he'd grown...how cold. Or if they did, they put it down to jealousy, perhaps because he wasn't the one credited for the Slayer's death
"Do you want to see her, Spike?" Electra's long red hair trailed across her blood-red mouth. "She's almost completely drained."
"Yes, Spike!" Dru's voice was excited. "I had some...I had some of her blood!"
"Of course you did, dear," Electra smiled at her. "And- we saved some for Spike too." She handed him a cup; and he forced himself to take it with a nod of thanks. But when he tried raising it to his lips, he felt a wave of nausea.
"Come and look at her, Spike." Dru was urging him forward while Vladimir smiled indulgently...in the back room the light from dozens of candles flickered.
Until that instant, he'd thought it was a mistake. But there she was- the Slayer. Small and blonde and deceptively fragile-looking.... lying there with a broken neck. He couldn't force himself to enter that room. Instead, he turned and pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered to celebrate the triumph of Electra and Vladimir...the vampire crowd now rejoicing in the death of the Slayer. Somehow he found himself outside still clutching the cup of her blood. Numbly he walked through the streets of Sunnyhell...
She was his enemy...always had been...and then, somehow, they'd found themselves allies in a scheme to stop Angelus from destroying the world. He'd honored his deal with her...just. He'd saved Giles, he'd taken Dru away, he'd done what he had promised. No more- no less. So...why did he feel this way? Like something inside him was sick, and shriveled up with pain? Surely it wasn't...couldn't be... grief? But...that wasn't possible. His greatest enemy was dead; why wasn't he celebrating with the others?
"What's the matter with me?" In a paroxysm of anguish he hurled the cup at the nearest tree, hearing it smash, smelling her blood. He dropped his head into his hands. Slowly, awareness of his surroundings seeped into his brain. This tree...this house. He'd been here before, sitting on the living-room couch making nervous conversation with her mother. This was where the Slayer lived...had lived. Her bedroom window was dark...
A sudden impulse seized him; and he scaled the tree, easing open the window...she must have forgotten. Forgotten how she'd once invited him into her home...Spike switched on the bedside lamp and looked around.
The room was full of her.... her hairbrush on the dresser, her cross in its velvet case, her schoolbooks on the desk. He picked up a framed snapshot and studied it- the Slayer smiled back at him, looking much as she had that night at the school...when they'd locked eyes and tossed their weapons away.
"Buffy..." he whispered...it was the first time he had ever said her name out loud. In a swift, furtive gesture, he slipped the photograph into the pocket of his leather coat. Then...a small blue leather book caught his eye; and he picked it up and opened it. His eyes widened...it was...a journal of some sort...it was her diary! He began to read...so absorbed that he knew nothing other than the words on the page that set her voice echoing through his head.
Then...there was one blinding flash of light; and he knew nothing at all.
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"I saw your body!" Spike's voice sounded odd in his own ears.
The Slayer glared down at him. "Well, duh! If I broke into *your* house, just when *you* were about to go to bed, then I'd see your body too!"
Defensively, she crossed her arms in front in a vain attempt to hide the fact she was wearing only her underwear. She grabbed her Sunnydale T-shirt and pulled it over her head. He made no attempt to get up from the floor, staring at Buffy in stupefaction. And then- helplessly, he began to laugh.
Her initial anger gave way to puzzlement at the sight of her mortal enemy lying on the floor of her bedroom, rocking with laughter. Every time he tried to stop...to speak...the outbursts came again.
"You're hysterical, Spike," Buffy muttered ruefully. Then, as she watched him, her eyes widened in discovery. "Hey...you really are!"
She grabbed a glass of water from her nightstand and dashed it into his face. That did the trick. Sputtering, dripping wet, he roared.
"What the bloody hell did you do *that* for?"
"You were acting weird," she said calmly, handing him a towel.
He was careful not to look at her. "They told me you were dead."
"Dead? No. Been there, done that. And who told you?" she asked.
"Vladimir and Electra." He spat out the names.
"Huh...where do you vamps get these names?" Buffy shook her head in disbelief.
"Where'd you get Buffy?" He demanded, side tracked. He'd always been curious about her name.
"Never mind that!" the Slayer snapped. She sat down on her bed, frowning thoughtfully. "So...this Vladimir and Electron..."
"Electra," He corrected.
"Whatever...they're in charge of the Hellmouth these days?"
"Hardly," Spike shook his head. "Top man these days is a character called Janus the Corinthian. But- " his gaze sharpened," how is it you don't know about the Corinthian taking over? Where have you been?"
Buffy blushed. It had been difficult enough explaining her absence to her friends; but to her mortal enemy?
"I...uh, I ran away. " her voice was very quiet. "I can't explain...or justify it...I didn't see any other options." She gave him a look of appeal. "But it didn't change anything...I couldn't run from myself. So yesterday I came back."
"Me too, " he admitted.
She relaxed at that, stretching out on her bed. "So you think they found a ringer?"
"What?" He asked absently. He'd been thinking...for such a small girl, she really had long legs.
"Somebody who looks like me," she explained, leaning back against the headboard.
He wrenched his eyes away. "Must have."
"But why? Some kind of vamp power play?"
"It's possible, " he agreed. Vladimir and Electra have been gathering supporters...they need help to take down Janus."
"Where do you fit in, Spike?" Buffy challenged.
He hesitated. " I owe Electra a debt. She was the one who helped me get Drusilla out of Prague. Now, it's payback. She can demand a service of me- which I am free to refuse, once. The second service I must perform, or forfeit my life."
"Wow," Buffy commented, awed. "So, you think what she'll ask is that you help her against this Janus guy, right?"
He shrugged. "It seems reasonable, pet."
"Hmmm, know what? I think I'll call Giles...this looks like something we'll get into anyway." Buffy rolled over on her bed, reaching for the phone. Spike stared, fascinated. It was hard enough to keep his mind on business when she was still, but ... He got up hastily.
"You do that, Slayer. Under the circumstances I think we might be best off if we pool our information. " He swung out of her window, glancing back at her. He noticed that the T-shirt was riding up slightly. Spike leaned over to get a better look...and lost his balance. Cursing, he fell out of the tree crashing to the ground with enough force to jar every bone in his body.
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