***************************************

"If I say no, will you shut up? Be glad I'm even going along."

"Didn't ask you to, did I? Don't need any favors from you." But even Spike's customary resentment and needling was passionless; his voice was flat and dead. It was true enough that he hadn't asked that Angel accompany him to the meeting, but the stragetist in Spike - rusty though he was - recognized the wisdom of Angel's presence. He had more experience with the Powers; not exactly a sterling record of success but the old boy might have some helpful knowledge to impart. As long as he let Spike run the show.

"There's still time to stop this," Angel was telling him earnestly. So much for helpful knowledge. "Spike, diverting the natural course of things can only end badly. For everyone." His voice hardened. "You're blinded by guilt."

He was right, of course, and Spike was too far gone to even let that bother him. Remorse clawed at his heart, unrelenting, so different from what he'd felt since getting the soul, and yet the same. The pain: he remembered the pain. It had never been like this, though; never been so perfectly agonizing, not even when he'd woken up weeping on a cave floor in Africa. This...this tragedy had his name scrawled all over it, in bright letters the color of blood.

Since he'd heard the first droning boilerplate message from the hospital (but too late, always, too late to stop Doc from cutting Dawn and Buffy from diving off that tower and all the rest of it, years after for which he'd never atone) he'd replayed that night. Over and over, as if he could bid his imaginings into reality by sheer force of will. This time it didn't end with Spike sending them off with harsh words, abandoning them to their doom, his rejection still ringing in their ears until it was replaced by the sound of screams. This time he saved them.

He would sit back, contented, on his side of the booth while Buffy and Dawn nattered on about their happy humdrum lives. He'd watch them eat - seemed a simple thing, but eminently satisfying to him - and admire the way the flickering candlelight played over Buffy's honeyed skin. Dawn would say something typically loud and blunt, and Buffy would go red to the tips of her ears. Across the table she and Spike would share a swift, secret smile while underneath their legs brushed, a promise of things to come. The little one would insist on dessert, something enormous that she shouldn't possibly be able to consume but did, with their help and Spike's dire predictions that she'd be revisiting the whole of this meal later. She'd squeal at him, half-disgusted, half-delighted, and the unutterably sweet sound would cause the attorneys and accountants at the other tables to look over. And Spike would know that they considered him so goddamn lucky, to be with these two shining-bright girls. At last Buffy would declare herself tired, done for the evening, but they both knew that wasn't so. They'd link trembling fingers in anticipation as he drove them home - his place was so much closer, and he was a more experienced driver than Buffy, and he'd taken his girls out for a night on the town, hadn't he? With Dawn napping in the backseat, Buffy would gently lay her head on his shoulder. He'd press one reverent kiss to her forehead, and she'd close her eyes and smile.

"Oh, Spike," she murmured. "You take such good care of us."

He was jerked back to the present when Angel swung the car into a long circular driveway. "We're here."

Spike sat up in the passenger seat, looking around suspiciously. He'd expected an ancient cobwebby chapel, a warehouse, maybe some lately-realized mystical structure underneath Browns Stadium. Instead they'd pulled up in front of a gleaming modern office building.

"You sure this is the right place?" Spike muttered as they walked through the glass doors into the lobby.

"712 St. Claire Avenue. This is the address Eve gave me."

Spike snorted. "Eve. Yeah, she's trustworthy."

"This was your idea. These are the kind of people you're dealing with, and Eve's going to look like Mother Teresa once it's all over. Mark my words -"

Hidden from view as they waited in the elevator bank, Spike shoved him up against the wall. "Mark my words, Angelus. You've had your say, and now I'll have mine. Don't interfere."

Angel shoved back. "Do you think I want her to die? Do you think I'm ready to lose her? My God, Spike, I've had my fill of losing people. I just -" His anger seemed to flag, then. "I'm trying to keep from losing all of you. Do you understand? All of you."

The elevator dinged its arrival. Angel pulled away, and he and Spike rode to the penthouse in silence.

As they stepped out, a brisk middle-aged woman greeted them. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. May I offer you some coffee? Or...other refreshments?"

Angel waved a hand; Spike stuck his hands in his pockets and glared. The woman remained unfazed. With cool efficiency, she led them down an expansive hallway, escorting them into a sunny conference room and quietly closing the door as she left.

Someone was already there. Grinning, he quickly dropped his half-eaten doughnut onto a napkin. "Doug Sherman," he said affably as he rose, all suburban beefiness and sprinkles of powdered-sugar on his fingers. "Regional Branch Manager. Which one of you is Spike?"

Spike stepped forward, saying nothing. Angel took Doug's outstretched hand in his. "Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice."

Doug's grin didn't fade as he sat back down, gesturing for them to do the same. "Not at all. Quite a nice little city you got here. I'm from Rockford, originally. Gosh, where are my manners? The wife would have my head -" He gestured to the plate of pastries in the center of the table that he'd been plowing through when Angel and Spike walked in. "Have something, relax a bit. The room is booked for the rest of the day."

Spike couldn't help himself. "You're from the Powers That Be?" he asked incredulously. "You look like you ought to be coaching Little League."

"Oh, no," Doug answered seriously. "Season just ended. My little Brianna went all the way to the semi-finals." He beamed proudly. "She's got a swing you wouldn't believe -" He trailed off at Spike's black gaze. "Well, you didn't come here to listen to me brag, I'm sure. Let's get started, shall we?" He propped open a slim laptop and began punching keys. "Okay...on the agenda for today: the former Vampire Slayer, Buffy Summers? Do I have that right?"

Spike nodded tightly. More typing.

"Ah," Doug said. "We have a whole database on her. I'm impressed. You should see this PowerPoint presentation - very moving." He stared at the screen for a few moments, then looked up. "Shame about how it's turned out, though. Young girl like that, her whole life ahead of her."

"I want her to live," Spike bit out. "I want her whole and right again, the way she was before. Make it happen."

"I'm afraid it isn't that easy," Doug replied. "There are consequences. Balances to be maintained."

"I know all about your balance," Spike said. "You guys got suckered by Wolfram & Hart. Years and years of doing their bidding and you didn't even know it. You're here now because you have to give something back. Fine. Give me back Buffy."

Doug sat back, rolling up his sleeves. "Look, I'm just a representative. Karmic customer service, for lack of a better term. The Powers are aware of the improprieties that occured during Wolfram & Hart's previous administration. In the interests of a continued, mutually beneficial relationship, they've agreed to begin negotiations on this matter. But let me get this out in the open: nobody gets nothing for free here. Understand?" Doug's expression remained pleasant and amiable.

"We understand," Angel put in. "What, exactly, can be done?"

"Believe it or not, the Powers do appreciate Buffy's work on their behalf. Her sacrifices have been recorded and reviewed by the appropriate commission."

"Good to hear," Spike snarled. "Now it's time for the Powers to pay up."

"The Powers have no problem restoring Buffy - in theory. In practice, however, it brings up rather a lot of thorny issues. What happened last night was purely in the human, earthbound arena. The Powers can't involve themselves every time a tragic accident occurs. If there were some bit of mysticism, some supernatural tinkering with the brake lines -"

"Yeah, she's human. Ordinary. Wasn't always, though, was she? So she's got a little goodwill stored up, I'm figuring."

Doug nodded. "You figure right. The Powers have authorized me to make what you'd call a settlement offer."

"What are the terms?" Spike demanded.

Smiling, Doug consulted the computer screen once more. "Well, she'll be made as she was before. With the strength she requires to fully recover from her injuries. Just as you asked."

Beside him, Angel stiffened. Spike closed his eyes.

Stupid, that he hadn't thought of this before. Stupid not to realize that this was as much about what the Powers wanted as what he did. And they wanted their Slayer back.

Buffy, smart bird that she was, had diffused her strength among the rest of the Potentials. Thousands of them around the world. By the end, there'd been none left for her. She certainly didn't seem to regret the loss. But her move had been unprecedented, unsanctioned, and Spike was certain that the Powers resented it - and her - on principle. This was their chance to have the last word.

He found himself, incredibly, looking to Angel for guidance. But the vampire stared fixedly ahead, offering nothing. This was on Spike's head, this choice. And Christ, it was harder than he expected. He was desperate for her, in any way, shape or form she took. But to force her back to that life...it had been a comfort to him, during this long lonely year, that she was a normal girl now, that she'd gotten what she'd earned so many times over.

"There's got to be another way."

"I'm afraid not. I'm sure you're familiar with the extent of her injuries; we're going to have a hell of a time repairing the damage as it is. Why, the last Slayer we had in a coma didn't wake up for -"

"I get it," Spike interrupted dully. Buffy, sweet, he thought, my love takes such a toll. He knew what his answer would be; had known as soon as the offer was made. And he'd worship her, from afar if need be, and watch over her as she took up the mantle again. She wouldn't be alone. That she might hate him after all of this was over, that he might lose her forever to his betrayal and her calling, was immaterial.

Doug surveyed him knowingly. "She was the best we'd ever seen."

"Yes," Spike replied. "She was." He felt old, all at once; old and human and terribly flawed. "Do it."

"Great. I think the Powers will be real pleased with this, real pleased. Now, as to the mechanics of her recovery, any preferences? We'll see what we can do..." Doug outlined scenarios while Spike felt himself drained, finished off. Sensing his weariness, Angel took over the mediations. Spike allowed his eyes to close briefly, allowed this day to recede for the moment. The sun was warm on his lids. He wanted to sleep.

And abruptly, in the midst of Angel and Doug's low-pitched discussion, he smelled Joyce.

It was her essence, that Spike had always vaguely considered all things welcoming and warm, but it was tuned up higher than Joyce's had ever been in life. The scent was pungent and determined, impossible for him to ignore although the other two men seemed unperturbed. Spike slowly sat back in his chair and looked up.

Sure enough, she was there; reflected in the spotless picture window across from him. And mother makes three. Joyce, what are you doing here?

He knew it wasn't her; the pose she 'd taken was from one of his memories of her, culled as if from a scrapbook. Leaning against something - the kitchen counter, perhaps? - she smiled at him in that way she had. Duly noting his mischievousness but not sending him on his way as she ought.

Spike thought, for a moment, that her visit was one of gratitude or reassurance; a sort of spectral pat on the back for a job well done. She was a pistol, always had been; swung a mean axe and comforted him in his lovelorn idiocy and even unwittingly let him goose Angel and Buffy, back when that was a more amusing pastime. But for all that, Joyce hadn't been much for unnecessary pomp, and this wasn't Joyce anyway, just his mind's amalgamation of her rememberance. He waited for some cryptic instructions but she remained silent, and after a while that made sense. So the muse was the message. He stared at her, hard. Her smile didn't dim.

Spike had never thought of himself as particularly brilliant. His best moments had resulted from hours upon hours of observation and methodical, halfway-subconscious sussing-out until, finally, it all just came together, a conflagration of synapses to create one single and precise insight. And in this manner he watched Joyce, while his mind worked, taking in bits of information and discarding them, her smile a beacon for his burned-out brain. He slowed, seized on one memory he couldn't shake. Joyce's smile widened.

He was at the hospital, laying it out for Dawn, asking her what to do because he couldn't trust himself. "...But the doctors -"

"Fuck them." Dawn shifted abruptly, wincing, and brought a hand up to her stomach. "They don't know, Spike -"

He remembered the doctors telling him that she had only broken bones and bruises; he remembered his own almost-embarrassing pleasure at hearing that Joyce was out of the woods, and the blow of her unexpected death.

In the window, Joyce nodded approvingly. She winked at him, and faded from view.

"Dawn," Spike said.

And if nothing else had, Doug's reaction confirmed it for him. Angel turned to Spike in confusion, but abruptly, Doug's face, that had been so open and cheery before, became a mask of schooled indifference.

"What about her?" Angel asked.

"Dawn, too," Spike told Doug, eyes never leaving the other man. "She's part of the deal."

Doug began to put the laptop into his briefcase. "My report indicates that her condition is stable, and improving. Some scrapes, and she won't be running a marathon anytime soon."

"Is that a guarantee?"

Doug paused, gave Spike a surprisingly astute glance. "Nothing in life is guaranteed. You must have figured that out by now."

The rage built in him, fury at the knowledge that he was being taunted, toyed with. "She's part of the deal."

"I don't think so. Buffy is the former and future Slayer. Her duties - in the past, and those she has yet to perform - were sufficient to grant her a reprieve in this case."

"And Dawn was the Key. You stored bits of the universe up in a teenage girl, no thought to how she'd suffer. She's done right by you. Now you do the same for her."

Doug shook his head regretfully. "The monks operated on their own in that regard. Religious zealots," he said. "Can't trust 'em. At any rate, the junior Ms. Summers has been relieved of her Key status. Not to put to fine a point on it, but...she's meaningless to the Powers now."

Spike stood, placed his hands on the table. "She is not meaningless to me."

"Then perhaps we need to strike another deal." From his briefcase, Doug pulled out a contract. "I think you're acquainted with this particular arrangement...?"

Spike gave the sheet of paper a perfunctory once-over. You gotta be kidding me, he thought. Angel grabbed it out of his hands.

"You certainly don't have to do this," Doug shrugged. Encouragingly he added, "Why not just play the odds? She's young, strong. She'll probably be fine."

"Guess I'm just a greedy bastard. If she really is fine, then you win either way, don't you?"

"Indeed we do. The Powers have made certain of that."

Spike gestured to the contract now in Angel's white-knuckled grip. "Why?" Spike asked. There was more curiosity than anger in his tone.

"You amused the Powers. That doesn't happen very often. Of course, your career got off to a rocky start, but since then it's been one exciting episode after another. You're very fortunate, you know - to still have something left to trade. I'm sure Dawn will be grateful."

"No," Angel burst out, tossing the contract onto the floor. "Absolutely not."

"Yes," Spike told Doug. Angel dragged him to a corner of the room. Doug watched them with interest.

"Don't, Spike. It's a fool's bargain. They're manipulating you, it's what they do -"

"You think I don't know that? I'm starting to think they engineered this whole bloody mess, from the amulet on. Maybe even before. Hardly matters now, though." He caught Angel's gaze. "Dawn is on the line. You saw that wanker, saw how he acted."

"I don't care. This is an abomination. My God, isn't that soul of yours putting up a commotion right about now?"

Spike's crisp and icy eyes met his. "Soul is abstaining from this vote."

"You're dooming yourself. You must know that. Yourself and very likely them as well."

"I'm saving them."

"This is the very definition of wrong, William. It's -"

"You're hardly one to talk. You think you can buy justice with that fancy law firm of yours, but I'm thinking caveat emptor and all that rot. A bit of bad for a hell of a lot of good and you know all about that, don't pretend otherwise. I'm doing what I have to for them. I'll not have Buffy wake up in a world without her sister."

Angel regarded him with loathing. "Buffy will never forgive you for this."

"Buffy will know what to do, if it comes to that." He grinned recklessly. "No tears, Peaches. I was born for this moment." He turned back to the blank-faced Doug, who had retrieved the contract from the floor. "I'm ready."

"All right, then," Doug said agreeably. He pushed the piece of paper forward and handed Spike a pen.

"A life for a life?"

***************************************

Angel walked out of Buffy's room, unburdened of his tale but still furious. A woman he dimly recognized as one of the girls' doctors approached him. Jessica Lawrence, M.D., was sewed in flowing script above the breast pocket of her white coat. "An amazing recovery," she was saying, and Angel thought, you have no idea. "And the sister, too - she gave us a quite a scare earlier."

Angel stopped. "A scare?"

Dr. Lawrence smiled apprehensively. "Some internal bleeding that wasn't diagnosed immediately." A nurse stuck a chart in front of her and she initialed it quickly. "We discovered it, of course -"

The nurse made a sound of derision. "Wouldn't have, though. If every damn machine in that room hadn't suddenly gone haywire. Like a short-circuit or something. Weird, but lucky. If we hadn't all come rushing in there..."

"Yes, well," Lawrence interrupted. "I just wanted to inform you that they've both been asking for the other man - Spike? If you could pass that along I'd appreciate it. He's had a rather disruptive effect, frankly, and if it continues he won't be allowed back -"

"He won't be coming back," Angel said. He was struck, all at once by the absurdity of it all. "It's over now. It's all over."

Part 12: Goodnight Normal

| HOME | WHAT'S NEW | ABOUT | FANFICTION | BLOG | LINKS | VERBIS | NOMINATIONS |