Buffy sat at the kitchen
table papers and envelopes strewn about, a calculator and checkbook in front of
her. “I’ve got exactly $32.47 left from my Doublemeat check after I pay all the
bills and I’ve still got to ask for time-off.
Do you think I have any vacation pay coming to me after two months of
work?” She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes.
Rummaging through her
backpack, Dawn called out the contents,
“I have a stick of gum, my pager, lip gloss, a scantron and $3.00. Can you pawn a pager?” She looked up
hopefully at the others.
“After paying for the
reception hall that never got used, the penalty on the plane tickets and the
cancellation fees with the travel agency, I’ve got about 400 bucks,” Xander
confessed with a sigh. “Definitely not enough to fund our little recon
mission.”
Clicking away on her
laptop, Willow groaned. “I just checked my bank account and I’ve only got
$76.00. I could just make it to San
Francisco. Maybe we can stow-away?” She
said the last half-kiddingly.
The doorbell rang and
Buffy looked around, mentally checking attendance. Tiredly pushing back from
the table she volunteered, “I’ll get it.”
If that’s Spike smoldering under a
blanket, I swear I’m just going to leave him there to fry on the front porch. Opening the door, Tara’s warm smile greeted
her.
“Tara! It’s great to see
you! We can use all the help we can get right about now.” Not giving her a chance to respond she
pulled Tara into her arms for a hug. “Look everyone! Tara’s here!”
Xander saw a pained
expression flit across Willow’s face at the mention of Tara’s name and reached
across the table to squeeze her arm.
Buffy marched into the
kitchen with Tara, who looked like a breath of spring in her peasant top, long
skirt and shy smile. Tara tentatively
waved at the group. “I just came to see
how the scrounge for money was coming and put in my 2 cents. Or actually my $122.00”
Suddenly, a noise came
from Willow’s computer, “Thank you sir! May I have another?” bellowed a
masculine voice.
Xander perked up and
yelled, “I got it! Animal House!”
“Mmmm. Gold star for you.” Willow looked down at
her laptop, “Hey! I got an e-mail from
Anya!”
“Why would she be
e-mailing us?” Dawn asked.
Xander, who looked
genuinely curious, “Do you think she has news?”
“Hold on, let me open
it.” After a moment of clicking, Willow
began to read:
Olivia, Giles’ girlfriend,
or at least I think that’s what I understood from her lengthy and convoluted
explanation of their relationship--after she enlightened me that ‘orgasm
friend’ is not an appropriate appellation--has lent me the use of her small
computer much like Willow’s in order for me to communicate with you in a more
cost effective manner.
Buffy chimed in, “That’s
Anya, always with the miserly methodology.”
Willow nodded in
agreement and continued, skimming the message in front of her, “Then she
berates me for not properly explaining to her about the business potential
computers lend to small enterprise… um… here we go:
I realize that it is essential for all of you to come and help search for
Giles. Even though I know I seem
thoughtless and insensitive, I recognize that he means more to the assemblage
of you than I will be able to comprehend.
Through sensible saving and wise investment choices, I have some money
that I’ll be willing to advance you in the form of plane tickets.
“Excellent! And how Scrooge McDuck of her.” Buffy remarked.
Willow interrupted
Buffy’s positive tone, “Wait, there’s a stipulation…”
“Of course. Anya rarely does things out of the kindness
of her demonic heart.” Xander said resignedly.
“She says that we have
to agree to work at the Magic Box for 45 days without pay during the rest of
the year…. or pay back the cost of our ticket within 1 year, with interest.
Then there’s columns of figures showing accruement rates and due dates for
monthly payments.”
Scanning the screen
Willow continued, “Ouch this next part is kind of abrasive, ‘Except for Xander because he’s the reason I
left Sunnydale, and I don’t even think I really want to see him now, let alone
for 45 days, so he has to choose the payment plan’.”
Willow gave Xander a
look of sympathy and then continued to read, “Also, with your current problem
with magic and all related objects I don’t think that you, Willow, should
choose to work unless Buffy or Dawn would be willing to be with you, which
effect me labor-wise, so you need to choose the payment plan as well’.” She
looked up indignantly from the screen. “Oh! I think that I’ve been doing really
well! I mean with Spellcaster’s
Anonymous, and steely willpower I just received my 75 day pin…”
“Well, at least she made
the offer.” Tara tried for reasonable middle ground.
"She's got us
between a rock and... and something hard and she knows it!" Xander pounded a fist into his other hand
and paced the floor ranting, “She never mentioned any savings or ‘wise
investments’ while we were together. I bet she was planning on separate
accounts after we were married too!”
Willow tried for a
placating tone, “Xander, it’s really not so bad. I mean, it’s not as if any of us could ever afford to scratch up
enough to go on our own. And 45 days,
well, that’s only 2 months in work days and a year is pretty generous, and…”
“As long as I don’t have
to help the same customer over and over and over again, I’ll do whatever Anya
asks.” Looking at Xander with determination Buffy said sternly, “And so will you, Xander. You are not going to sulk and be mule-headed
just because your ex-almost-wife has solved our transportation problem. I don’t mean to be harsh, but Giles’ life is
more important than your twisty guilt issues.”
Xander sank back into
the kitchen chair looking grieved. “I
just don’t know how to deal. I feel all
torn, loving her, wishing things were different, but angry that she’s gone, and
kicking myself for what I’ve done.” He put his forehead on the table. “I’m a
miserable, miserable man.”
The girls watched Xander
throughout his outpouring of emotion, quietly absorbing his pain. Dawn reached for his hand saying, “Well, at
least we still like you. And that’s
something, isn’t it?”
“Sure it is!” Tara piped
up, “And what man doesn’t dream of having the love and admiration of not one,
but four women?” Her quiet smile
punctuated her words as he lifted his head to look at her.
“Yes, otherwise why
would we have put up with you for all these years?” Buffy teased. Looking at each person in turn she took
command. “Now, let’s get cracking. Dawn
and I are going upstairs to start packing.
Xander and Tara, you should go and do the same. Willow, can you start looking for cheap
flights that leave ASAP?” After
receiving nods from the group, Buffy smiled and then looked fiercely serious,
“Let’s go find Giles.”
*****
Spike looked at his
cards, anted up and glanced to his left.
Clem was staring intently at his cards, notoriously slow to decide
whether to hold or fold. Spike's mind wandered back…
Back to when that Witch
had slammed open his crypt door and pinned him to the wall with her stare. It
didn't matter that Willow wasn't actually using magic, for which he was
eternally thankful. He stood there, nearly hypnotized, filled with a mixture of
excitement and anxiety at the thought that Buffy had finally owned up to their
relationship. Quite quickly he concluded that
wasn't it. Willow might be a soft touch most of the time, but fiery fierce at
the core all of the time. And unlike a tootsie roll pop, he hadn’t wanted to
know how many licks it took to get to the center. He pulled at his ear unconsciously, her words of reproach still
ringing. God, he hadn't been dressed down like that since Darla. But he'd take
Darla's cruel tongue or Xander's boorish digs over her disappointment. One
simple task: Make sure Buffy drank the cure. And he'd screwed it up. He shook
his head recalling that Willow wasn't nearly as upset about her own brush with
death as she was about imagining what a trainwreck Buffy would have been if she
had believed the delusions. At that moment Spike realized the guys were staring
at him. Play'd gone around and it was back to him. When poker's your
livelihood, best not to play when your mind is elsewhere.
So he folded, cleared
out and found himself inside the Doublemeat Palace. While he couldn't see her,
he heard her voice clearly through the din.
Inside the manager's
office Buffy sat on the edge of the chair, hat in her hands, which suddenly had
a desperate feeling, so she set it on the chair next to her. Only to realize
her hands were shaking, so she clasped them between her knees.
"I know this is
short notice, but I've got a - a family emergency and I need some time
off." She bit her tongue to keep from sliding in a reference to the big
Doublemeat secret.
"Actually, it's
spring break this week. Peter, Tony and Kristin have been begging me to double
up their doublemeat hours. Will a week be enough?"
"I think so. By
then we'll either have answers or we never will. Thank you." She looked
toward the door, willing the shake out of her voice and asking herself if she
wanted fries with that. Finally she
stood. "Well I better finish out my shift."
Spike nearly flew to the
house. If anything's hurt her, he thought, he’d... and there was Dawn, just packing
a bag but otherwise looking healthy and whole. Thinking better of it, he
returned to the alley behind the Doublemeat to get an explanation.
Buffy stepped out the
back door. He was nearby. She rolled her eyes and kept walking, having
no time for either his suggestions or his ultimatums.
"What's wrong with
Dawn?" he asked as he stepped out of the shadows into step with her.
She looked at him out of
the corner of her eyes, instantly worried about her sister. Slowly she asked,
"Where did that come from?"
"Come on, I heard
you telling the chief bottle washer 'bout a family emergency."
"Damn, I need to
look the word 'private' up, because I don't remember eavesdropping being a part
of the definition." Buffy sped up, momentarily outpacing him as she headed
into the cemetery.
"So my hearing's
sharper than a dog's. So what? I demand to know what's wrong with the
Bit."
Buffy stopped, crossed
her arms and stared. "You demand?"
She continued to stare, narrowing her eyes, attempting to stonewall him. But
she couldn't. One of the few things in her world she felt certain about was
that he genuinely cared for Dawn and it was wrong to leave him on tenterhooks,
even if she so enjoyed these rare moments of his off-balancedness. Sighing, she
said, "Honestly Spike, Dawn's fine. While I can understand why you'd jump
to that conclusion, it's not her."
"Who then? Not your
father?" Realizing as he asked that her eyes were too bright, too shiny.
He steered her to a bench saying, "Talk to me."
There was a long moment
of silence, followed by a shuddering breath.
"It's Giles. He's missing."
"He's just across
the pond, I wouldn't exactly call that missing."
"Anya called. He's
missing."
"I'm sure he'll
turn up. Probably lost track of time reading some dusty old book in some dusty
old archive and got locked inside.”
Spike shrugged, “He'll get out in a day or so."
Buffy bristled.
"This is not a joke! Something, something terrible has happened. He needs
my help. I have to find him."
What Buffy left out was
that she'd known something was wrong even before the call. She felt her
connection with him break. A connection she'd never fully realized they shared.
It was like every one of her senses was muffled. No wonder Giles had been so
disoriented by her death and
reanimation.
Spike bolted up.
"So you're off to England?!?"
"Say that a little
louder Spike, some vamps on the other side of town didn't hear you."
"Oh, that's
rich." He said, pacing in front of the bench.
"What's your
problem?"
"You! You and them! They leave you high and dry. Then they snap their fingers and you
come running. Sticking around doesn't
get a bloke anywhere. I should leave you in the lurch. Maybe you're tune would
change when it comes to me."
In a flash, she was up
and in his face, teeth clenched. "This is not about Angel. Or Riley.
And it’s most definitely not about you!
It's Giles." She took a
couple steps back. "You know, I thought about asking for your help, but
that would have been a mistake." Turning on her heels, she wondered why
she hadn't left out the front door.
Flatfooted, Spike
shouted at her retreating figure, “Well bloody good you didn’t because I’d have
said no anyway!”
***
The cigarette butt
glowed in a red arc to the ground, where it fell amidst a heap of its
mates. A black boot-heel ground it into
the dirt, crushing the spark to lifelessness.
"Oh, dammit!"
Spike burst through the
door to sounds of anger and frustration coming from upstairs. "Why can't we just get Tara to put a
spell on it?" Dawn cried. "Then it will all fit."
Willow's voice floated
from her room. "That's not what
magic's for. One day, you're resizing
luggage, and you've taken the first step toward erasing memories. You... " her voice broke "you have
to reserve magic for the big stuff that you can't do otherwise... Once you cross the line, it's too hard...
too hard to go back."
"Buffy!" Spike
yelled up the stairs. She stood at the
top of the stairway, glaring down at him.
"What do you want?" she sneered.
"Look, you don't
want me to go with you, and I'm ok with that," Spike paused. "I
think. Bloody hell, I am. But I've got something, the kittens have
been very good to me this month, treated me right, and I've got a bit, not
much, stashed up. I thought, I thought
you could use it, in England, for food, and such like."
"Spike, I
don't..."
"Just take it would
you? If not for yourself, take it for
Dawn, and all the little guppies going with you. Here, I'll just leave it on the table." He wandered into the kitchen.
"Fine." Buffy
went back into her room, grabbed her luggage.
A car horn honked below.
"C'mon," she hollered, "time to go!"
Willow came down the
stairs, lugging a suitcase and wearing a backpack. Dawn struggled behind her, holding three suitcases on top of each
other, and attempting to peer over the top.
Buffy sighed, and grabbed the top one in her left hand as she maneuvered
two others into her right. The three
women banged and clattered down the stairs and out the door. Buffy dropped her bags, turned and grabbed
the money off the table, and helped loaded the luggage into the waiting
taxi. A clash of doors closing and they
were off.
The house was empty,
except for Spike who continued to putter in the kitchen. "Don't these
people have anything bloody edible!!?"
He couldn't see what was happening in the living room.
Blue lightning flashed
up the legs of a small table, turning its legs to rubber. A black sludge tinged with blood-red
highlights flowed from the center over the suddenly bowed legs toward the
floor. The goo hardened and coalesced
slowly into a small flat rectangle. The
black faded and was replaced by browns, oranges and a splash of sky-blue. The legs straightened and turned back to
ordinary wood.
Spike stood at the
bottom of the stairs. Up above him, a
measly dozen feet away was her room. He
knew what he would find there, her clothes, her smell upon them; and on her
bed, her pillow would have the shape of her head, strands of her hair caught in
the folds, and the smell, oh God, the smell.
He imagined holding it to his face, drinking it in, drunk on the
sensation. He put his hand on the rail,
his foot on the first step.
Then, shaking his head,
he blurted "Oh, sod it!" and headed into the living room. He sat on
the couch and took off his coat. He looked about for something to do and
spotted the table. There was a postcard on it, and he took a closer look.
"Well, innit that
curious." He turned it over.
"Oh that's bloody
clever. I hate those milk pillocks."
By time you read this...
Spike instinctively
looked at his watch
he will be gone. And nothing you do can bring him
back!
"Can almost hear
the 'Bwahahahahahahaha' there, can't you?"
"This git does go
on, doesn't he?"
and nothing can stop me now.
He glanced at the
signature. "Bloody hell!" Spike grabbed his coat and almost went
through the door instead of out it, such was his speed.
*****