In His Shadow

by Night Nymph

Summary: Spike decides he will find out what is wrong with Buffy and find a way to make it right. What he gets is a little more than he bargained for and perhaps not what it seems to be. Starts after “Normal Again.”

Rating: PG13

Spoilers:  This fanfic takes place after “Normal Again” and is AU thereafter, but some of this story overlaps the original in terms of plot. I have kept some elements, changed some subtly, and altered others altogether to fit into my little universe. Joss and the writers deserve credit for any plot lines I have borrowed. Anything up to and including “Normal Again” might be mentioned.

Disclaimers: The characters are still not mine. The back-story is still not mine. Hope Joss doesn’t mind me borrowing them again.

Distribution: You can have it if you want it, just e-mail me first.

Dedication: This one is for w-e-coyote, Darryl J, CraZchica, Aquila, and Ivy who reviewed my first fanfic - you guys gave me the motivation to post this one - and for my husband who has always encouraged me.

A huge thank you to Letta who has done an amazing job as beta on this fanfic. And thank you to my original betas, Canela and Treacle Antlers, who helped me make this a much better story.

Prologue

It was infuriating to admit it, but Harris had been right. There was no denying that. Seeing Buffy alive again, realizing that it was truly her descending the staircase and not that bloody robot whose creation he’d spent over four months regretting, had been the happiest moment of his entire existence. For Buffy, Spike now knew, the opposite was likely true.

In fact, if he thought about it, many of the best moments of his unlife probably represented the worst of hers. Spike let the memories play through his mind as he paced restlessly in his crypt: that time he comforted her on the back porch stairs after her Mum went to the hospital, the time she invited him back into her home just before their big battle with Glory, their first kiss. Even the first time they had... well he wasn’t sure if simple words could describe what happened that night. Buffy had though. She called it the most perverse and degrading experience of her life. Even if not entirely true, definitely not a happy memory for her: just like all the others.

Spike stopped pacing for a moment and glanced, without focus, at the dusty crypt window, its muted glow clearly showing him that the sun remained cruelly shining. His thoughts turned dark in response. He had lived, so to speak, through many disasters, many close calls, and many unhappy moments, but Buffy’s death had been the worst moment of his unlife. He could remember vividly how her lifeless body lay on the cold, broken concrete, and the painful wrench of loss that followed. Not so long ago, he might have enjoyed the sight, would have danced on her grave, and perhaps that would have been better. But not anymore. He had sealed his fate the moment he’d decided to help the Slayer save the world from Angelus’ crazy plan for destruction. He was lost, just as Drusilla had said.

The irony was that, for Buffy, her death had brought her release. It had meant the end of her struggles and the beginning of a peaceful afterlife. An afterlife she had been ripped from. Now she, too, was lost.

Spike started pacing again. His ruminations weren’t helping, but then again, they seldom did. He had tried to figure out how to win Buffy for himself, but nothing he’d done so far had been successful. Not really. Giving her his love didn’t seem to work. The few things that made any progress at all - trying to cut her down, tempting her, and isolating her from her friends - would likely destroy the Buffy he loved. Spike didn’t want it to be that way, a hollow victory. It had been killing her, she’d said. How had he not realized? Well, maybe he had, but had tried not to admit it, even to himself. No, he didn’t want to hurt her anymore. He really wanted to help.

Something was wrong with her, and he had to fix it, make her Buffy again. Of course that would likely mean the end of any chance he might have to be with her. Bloody hell, he thought, can I really go through this all again? Losing Drusilla was bad enough. What had he told Harmony? “Love is pain, baby.” Why did he have to be so bloody right all the time? He threw an empty bottle at the crypt wall, finding little release in the scattering shards.

Spike knew he should rest, but he couldn’t make himself be still. Besides, if he did sleep, he might dream, and that could break his resolve. He knew now what he had to do. He just wished the bloody sun would set already, because the waiting only made it harder. It gave his mind time to think of reasons not to do this, to keep on fighting for her love. Spike scoffed at himself. Yeah right, you wanker, she’ll never love a thing like you. Even you know it. You told her so the night she died. God, things would have been so much simpler if it had been him who died instead. No one would have even cared. Well, maybe Little Bit.

The thought of Dawn made him smile, and he let it distract him for a while. A glassful of whiskey or two would also help. He snatched a half empty bottle from his stash, glared out the window, drowned his sorrows and waited. As soon as the sun set, he grabbed the only recent thing of Buffy’s he had - her lace panties - and headed downtown. It would take him a while to find the demon he was looking for, but he had all night. Spike had the feeling it was going to be a long one.

Chapter 1: Downtown

Spike prowled the darkened neighborhood on the outskirts of downtown Sunnydale. He wasn’t being followed, and in a way, that fact bothered him. This was prime hunting territory, and the place should be crawling with nasties. Besides, he could use a good fight to calm his nerves. No such luck, though, as the goal of his search came into view just a block ahead.

Finding the demon had been easier than Spike anticipated. The bloke wasn’t necessarily shy. This in itself gave Spike pause. Demons generally liked to keep themselves low profile, especially in a town where a known Slayer resided. Those that didn’t... well, he, himself, a few years ago, was a fair example, and Spike now wouldn’t have wanted to meet up with his counterpart from back then. For one thing, he probably would have thought his past self too flashy and reckless - well, right before his past self staked him in the back, that is. And this demon put the Spike of old to shame in the bravado department. Not good.

His intuition told him to forget the whole thing and go home. Hell, Spike knew he was no poof. He still loved a good brawl, but he had to admit somewhat sheepishly that he was a bit more cautious now. His days of confronting demons he knew little about on their own turf were few and far between. His run ins with Doc had reminded him none too gently that even an unassuming and polite demon could be more dangerous than it appeared. Maybe that’s why he found himself a bit reluctant now. God, just quit being a git, and get the hell on with it, he told himself.

But he couldn’t just yet. As he looked at the boldly colored structure with the garish gargoyle decorations, Spike wondered what magics or other defenses kept this bloke safe from attack. The building’s appearance just goaded any demons in the vicinity, daring them to come and best its occupant. No one could have that big a death wish. Maybe, if Spike was lucky, this demon was all false swagger, smoke and mirrors, the little old man behind the great and powerful Oz. Yeah, right. Like he was that lucky.

Something else in the back of Spike’s mind nagged at him. Why had he not noticed the building before? Well, this never was his part of town, so maybe that was it. Either that, or there was strong magic involved. Maybe you can only see the building’s true nature if you are intentionally looking for the demon. This thought did little to encourage him. He never did like people messing around with his head, nor did he underestimate the dangers of magics - another point that had been driven home to him mercilessly in the last few months. Bloody hell, he was buggered. He just knew it. Well, like all buggerings, best to get it over with. He reached for the ornate knocker on the large wooden door.

Spike should have been surprised when the door swung open before his hand even reached the knocker, but he wasn’t. Messing with my head it is then, he thought. Balls.

*********

The demon Gnash couldn’t believe his eyes. The vampire really was standing on his doorstep, not three feet in front of him. He must either have a huge pair of brass ones or he must be the most foolish individual on the planet. Did the vampire really think there wasn’t a demon in Sunnydale who didn’t know who or what he was? Spike. William the Bloody Traitor.

The magic wards warned Gnash that someone was seeking his services, so that must be what the vampire wanted, but surely he must know better. Most demons, including him, had lost an acquaintance or had some plan or another foiled as a result of the treasonous bloodsucker. He had gall to even be standing in a real demon’s presence. How could he think he wouldn’t be dusted on sight? Okay, true, most demons with half a brain were hesitant to mess with Spike too seriously. If anyone dusted the Slayer’s pet vampire, she was certain to find out who it was. She did have powerful witches on her team after all, and few demons wanted to discover firsthand what her idea of revenge might be once she found them. This was especially true now that rumors strongly hinted she and the vampire were lovers.

But there were other, more subtle ways to cause harm, and despite his outward bravado, Gnash’s methods were nothing if not subtle. Evil often was. All he had to do was find the vampire’s weakness. Every creature had at least one. Find that, and he could do some damage. Perhaps because of Spike’s association with the Slayer, Gnash might even be able to take her down with the vampire. What a lovely thought. He smiled, a reaction his visitor was sure to misinterpret, and moved aside with a magnanimous gesture to allow the vampire entrance.

*********

Spike watched the demon carefully as he passed over the threshold. No humans residing here, he thought after finding no barrier, a seemingly absurd observation except that nowadays humans represented a threat he couldn’t effectively counter without risking a severe headache. He perused the interior without trying to look obvious about it, and his newfound optimism flagged a little. Too organized, too precise, he thought. He felt something that sent a crawling sensation down his spine, and figured that it was magic energy, something that almost always made him twitchy. As if in confirmation, his gaze caught the bookcase lined with grimoires, agents of black magic he didn’t have to see up close to divine their nature. Evil. The thought flashed into his brain. That’s all right. I’m evil, too. Should feel right at home. Should, being the operative word.  Finally, unable to take the silence any longer and afraid he’d lose his nerve, Spike reluctantly turned his gaze back to the demon. He almost gave up right there. The demon’s black eyes and angled face reminded Spike of a snake. His strong torso and thick skin made him look like he could down an ox with one blow. But even that would have been okay. Spike had fought strong nasties before. It was the fact that the demon’s body almost thrummed with magical power that left a lump in Spike’s throat. He cleared it with a rough sound.

“Right, then. I have it on good authority that you’re an expert on dimensional travel and magic energy associated with said travel...”

“And you wish to do some dimensional travel?” Gnash asked him.

Spike frowned. The demon’s tone was not genuine, and Spike knew it. The bloke knew damn well that was not why he was here, so why did he ask? Keep your calm, he told himself. “No thanks, mate. Not much for the magic myself.”

“Most vampires aren’t, but you’re not like most vampires.”

“Right. Look, can I tell you what I want before you make me do whatever I need to do to get my answer? Just to make sure you can actually do it. I’d hate to go through a lot of trouble for nothin’.”

“Seems fair. What do you want? I assume magic is involved?”

“Yeh,” Spike said as he pulled the lace underwear from his duster pocket. “This lady recently was... She was put through some serious mojo of the dimensional variety. It did something to her. Not sure what. This is something of hers from after her... From after she got...”

“Mojoed?” Gnash asked with an amused smirk. He reached for the garment.

Spike simply nodded as he reluctantly let the lacy fabric leave his fingers and slip into the slightly taloned ones of the demon. Almost immediately he felt something insinuating itself into his mind, and a moment later, he knew what it was. Spike felt the sensations of that night rush through him; the exhilaration of their fight, the shock and pleasure of the kiss that followed, and then... things started getting a bit personal. Spike growled and narrowed his eyes as he noticed the lustful look on the demon’s face while he vicariously relived Spike’s experience with Buffy. He tried to get the memories to stop and to get the demon out of his mind, but neither effort worked.

The demon didn’t seem to notice anything his visitor was doing, focused as he was on the vampire’s impassioned memories, but soon his look lost its lascivious taint to finally become slightly disgusted. Spike smirked a bit as he figured out what caused the change. The demon was perfectly content with the lust and the passion alright, but he didn’t like the love that was also there. Nope, not one bit. Sensing his annoyance, Spike made it a point to focus on the love. He wasn’t going to let this demon have his thrills at his or the Slayer’s expense without paying for it.

Gnash broke the contact early, clearly perturbed. Gone was the previous pleasant tone to his voice, this harsh tone much more like his nature, Spike was sure.

“You can’t fool me, Vampire. I can tell there was much more passion and lust that night than...”

“You know nothing, mate,” Spike interrupted him. “With her there’s always something more. Always.”

Gnash stared at him, his feral eyes showing contempt.

“And that is why you are an inferior breed. Humanity taints you. And you even more so than other vampires I’ve met.”

Spike lifted his chin a bit, and gestured around Gnash’s home.

“Like your poncy style says ‘demon’. ‘Sides I don’t see it as a shortcoming. More like an endearing character trait. Variety is the spice of life and all that rot. Makes unlife interesting.”

Gnash snorted. “In your case it only seems to make you miserable.”

“Not always blood and peaches, I admit, but makes the good times that much better. Unlike some blokes, I like a challenge. Always did.”

“Like searching for a happiness you’ll never find?” Gnash questioned.

“I could say the same for you, mate. How often do you so-called ‘real demon’ types actually get what you want? I don’t see hellfire in the streets or chaos everywhere. The world still spins.”

“Touché, vampire. Now, enough of this! If you want to know whether I can tell you what’s wrong with her and how to fix it, the answer is yes, I can, but for a price.”

“There’s always a bleeding price,” Spike snorted.

“As you well know. What was your price for this night?” Gnash indicated Buffy’s lace underwear with a flick of his hand before he tossed it back to Spike.

Spike caught the garment and returned it to the safety of his pocket. He lowered his eyebrows menacingly. “Don’t know what you mean...”

“Oh, yes, you do, vampire. Things were never quite the same after that night, were they? And not in a good way.” His voice had returned to the forced congeniality, perhaps because the words were more damaging that way.

“You don’t know...”

“I see many things...”

“Look mate, I don’t care what you bloody see! Just tell me what I have to do to get my sodding answer. That’s all I want from the likes of you!”

“Fine. Here’s what I want you to do...”

*********

Gnash had to suppress his smile as he explained to the vampire what he wanted in return for his answer. The raw emotion from Spike was wonderful. Made him easier to read. A little more prodding and he just might have the answer he wanted.

“So, this shouldn’t be too hard,” Gnash wrapped up his explanation. “I may be a demon, but I do have to breathe, so getting the amulet would be difficult even with my dimensional traveling abilities. You don’t have that problem.”

“Okay,” Spike said dubiously. “But this amulet. It isn’t going to destroy the world or anything, is it?”

“Why would you care?”

“Well first off, it would make getting my answer a moot point, being as I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.”

“So confident you will be happy with your answer, huh? Think you can play the hero? Fix what’s wrong with her, and she’ll fall into your arms?”

The vampire’s eyes flashed fire for a moment, but he buried the emotions quickly. “I don’t do the hero bit. Must have me confused with another vampire.”

Gnash felt something the moment the words came out of Spike’s mouth. Not a hatred, no definitely not that. Something else. Something worse. Something that caused an aching in the vampire’s psyche that could never be alleviated, a measure he felt he could never quite live up to, whether it be a standard of evil or a standard of good. And to the vampire, this other represented both. Gnash smiled. There it was.

“Don’t worry, I give you my word the amulet does not threaten your precious world.”

He watched the vampire search his eyes for deceit, then nod in assent to take on the mission. Gnash began preparing for Spike’s journey quickly. He had his own preparations to make. With his dimension-traveling abilities, he could go somewhere with his books and take all the time he needed to find just the right thing to take the vampire down. It would be easier to do now. He had found Spike’s weakness.

*********

On the other side of town, Buffy staked another vampire. She didn’t even bother brushing its dust from her clothing.

Is this all I am now? Simply a demon killer, an instrument just like the council wanted?

She continued walking down the row of tombstones but no longer saw them, lost instead in thought. There was a time, in the beginning, when Buffy was afraid of her calling. It took time, but slaying finally grew into... well, a somewhat comfortable burden. Still later there had even been times when she had to reluctantly admit to enjoying it. Others still when she had needed it. When her powers had been taken away from her during the trial of her eighteenth birthday, she had panicked. An instinctual part of her had been lost that she had only then realized was as necessary to her as breath. Hunting, Dracula had called it, and he’d been right. When she’d first returned from the dead, it seemed the only normal thing in her life. Patrolling with Spike almost passed for a social activity - one where she didn’t have to be all “I’m fine” Buffy. He understood. Killing is what they both did. That they now killed the same things had been an odd twist of fate, but... that was where the similarities between them used to end. Now Buffy sometimes wondered if she didn’t feel as dead as Spike was.

For a while, Spike had been her refuge from that feeling, but he’d eventually wanted more, forcing her to deal with things she didn’t want to face. So she had walked away and left him with nothing, or next to nothing. At one time he might have been happy with her wanting him, but as he changed, he wanted more. She couldn’t give it. He was a vampire, soulless and without remorse, and he always would be. No matter how much he had changed or how much he said he loved her, he could never change that fact, and it was something she couldn’t allow herself to get past. Damn him for trying to make her forget that, for taking advantage of her weakness. Stupid evil vampire. And here I am again, she thought, doing the only thing that feels like mine. I should be out looking for those nerds. But she didn’t feel like it. She didn’t feel like much of anything – once again. God, was her life so bad that the idea that she was just a crazy girl in an institution - with Mom and Dad just waiting for her to get well – actually something she thought was appealing for a moment there? She would have to change that. For Dawn’s sake.  For her friends’ sakes. Hell, even for my own sake, Buffy thought, and finally felt as if she had made a decision that could make a difference.

Her head shot up, and as she engaged another vampire,  Buffy grumbled, annoyed that he had rudely interrupted her train of thought. She tossed off the requisite insult. “Excuse me, some of us are thinking here. In words of more than one syllable, even. Maybe you should try it?”

Okay, so her heart wasn’t in the witty repartee tonight. Not like the vampire would be around much longer to remember it. The fight took a few minutes, and by the time his dust joined that of the previous vampire on her clothes, Buffy had forgotten what it was she had been thinking about. She knew it had been important... After taking a moment to survey the graveyard, she pushed forward, looking for something else to slay.

Chapter 2: Deception

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered as he opened his eyes. Above him was a dark red sky, featureless and devoid of clouds, sun, moon, or stars. A barren, foreboding landscape followed when he turned his head to the side. “Didn’t mean that literally,” he grumbled as he slowly sat up.

His whole body protested the action, aching on every level. Dimensional travel is no bloody picnic, he thought. Funny, how the demon managed to leave that part out in his detailed information and instructions. Well, at least Spike knew what to do.

Gnash had told him how to find the amulet, and that time would be different here. Spike would be in this dimension longer than he would be gone from his own, but his body would feel like it had “lived” for whatever time he was here. On reflection, he probably should have eaten more before he left. No oxygen most likely meant there was nothing worth eating.

He turned slowly, taking in the scenery. Not only did the landscape have few features of note, it also seemed to be two-toned, everything in various shades of red, punctuated only by areas of black. The visible aspects of the landscape were indistinct, almost hazy. Strange, the vampire thought. He would have expected them to be jagged and sharp, the kind of obstacles that would cut flesh and impede progress. Instead they seemed barely there at all.

As for the temperature, the air registered as nothing - neither cold nor hot, but it still seemed oppressive. Spike felt as if gravity here was more than he was used to. When he stood and took a few steps, it seemed as if he were walking through water. Yeah, a creature that needed to breathe oxygen would definitely be buggered here. He started on his journey, thinking that his appreciation for the colors red and black would soon be greatly tested.

*********

Willow felt a little left out, something she had unfortunately been feeling a lot recently. It seemed like the people she lived with had been tiptoeing around her, afraid that if they shared any of their problems, it might upset her. Like anything they could tell me would be worse than what I’ve been through recently. What secrets could Buffy or Dawn possibly have that she couldn’t handle? Okay, so she had found out about one of Dawn’s secrets - her stealing - but that had been by accident and along with everyone else. Plus, she was sure there had to be more. And Buffy? What could possibly be upsetting her so much that she wouldn’t take the antidote the first time I gave it to her? Even try to harm us to keep from facing her life? Just a few short weeks ago, it seemed, her friend had told her that she was glad to be alive again. Had Buffy lied? And what about Xander? Why wasn’t he confiding in her - his oldest, bestest buddy? Willow could help him through this problem with Anya if only he would let her. But he seemed uneasy around her too.

At least there was Tara. Things were finally going well between them again, so that had made all of the recent heartache at least mostly worth it.

Everything was still so much harder without magic. It had defined her for so long now, it seemed. Sure she had lived longer without it, but once someone grew, evolved, they weren’t supposed to go back, right? Well, not in her case she guessed, but giving up magic had been necessary. And Tara was worth it. She would just have to learn again how to do things the hard way... Well, actually, she had been doing that. Finding the nerds’ hideout, making Buffy’s antidote, both had been done with old fashioned, painstaking research and legwork. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she had to learn to like doing things the old fashioned way again. Willow sighed. That, she supposed as she went back to her computer, might be a little harder.

But they were depending on her. What the Scooby gang had found at the nerds’ hideout had hinted at more things to come, and this latest attack seemed to indicate that they weren’t giving up any time soon. She had to keep looking, find out all that she could. The temptation to use magic was great. A simple locator spell would be so useful. If the nerds had a protection spell, she could simply use a stronger spell to counteract that... and therein lies the danger, Willow thought. She ran her fingers across the keys of the laptop. No, here was the answer. Somewhere here, and in this way lies no danger. Except maybe a headache and tired eyes. But I can handle that, she thought, and as she watched Tara pad from the kitchen with her hands filled with snacks and her smiling face filled with love, the ex-witch knew she could more than handle it.

*********

Warren smiled as he looked at his latest acquisition. The orbs would give him all the power he needed to pull off his latest venture, and give him what he needed to defeat the Slayer. Getting rid of Jonathan by letting him get caught would just be an added bonus. He had to plan this carefully. The Slayer had come too close last time and had almost found them. Warren hoped she had enjoyed her little trip into madness. Maybe it had taught her who was the real power in this town, or maybe he’d have to give her another lesson.

Best to be free of Jonathan before that. His short comrade was growing increasingly unreliable when it came to such topics as ridding themselves of Buffy. The guy was definitely getting all Barclay on them, paranoid and twitchy and second-guessing everything little thing. Shorty just didn’t get it. To have power there had to be sacrifices, difficult choices, and some people had to get stepped on in the process. Now was not the time to wimp out and get squeamish. They had come too far for that, and he wasn’t going to let anyone stop them - not Jonathan, and not the Slayer. He looked around at the poor excuse for a hideout that they had been forced to inhabit. They were hiding in a dark basement like rats. Oh, Buffy will pay for this, Warren assured himself. She’d been a thorn in his side for far too long. Time to get to work. He looked over at his two partners in crime who were thoroughly engrossed in yet another round of Tomb Raider, and he sighed.

“Would you morons get over here? We have work to do.” He shook his head and wondered how he had ever come to this. One answer came to him. Buffy.

*********

Gnash gazed over the now researched and arranged collection of volumes that had been his companions for the last three weeks and smiled. This was going to be fun. He would prove Spike wrong by getting something he, the “true demon” type, wanted: sweet and devastating revenge. Sure it wasn’t chaos in the streets, but the subtle, yet devastating, artistry of his plan pleased him.

It had required more time than he expected to find just the right instrument for his vengeance. First he had learned as much as he needed to about Spike’s rival, Angel, from his beginnings to his now resouled status. That had required a little side trip to steal a Watcher’s diaries. He would have to return those volumes as soon as his business with Spike was concluded, or someone might become suspicious at their absence. Returning them would be trickier than taking them, he suspected, but the risk had been worth it. The information they contained had been integral to the second part of his research: finding just the right thing to take advantage of the blonde vampire and cause the most trouble at the same time.

The first part of the revenge wouldn’t even require deception on his part. Spike would bring him the amulet, and all the vampire would get in return was the answer that nothing was really wrong with the Slayer. Just a little energy difference. Gnash couldn’t wait to see his face.

Then would come the second part. Gnash had found something to play on the vampire’s weakness, to exploit his deeply buried feelings of inadequacy concerning his vampire rival and grandsire. And he would offer it up in the guise of a gift. She’s only unhappy, Spike, devastated at being brought out of the peace she had after she died... Here’s what you need to make her feel happy about living again. Spike would believe it, too. Of course he would think that she’d want Angel. And when he discovered exactly what he’d been given, well... Gnash smiled. There were a few potential outcomes, and all of them were deliciously awful.

He had considered most of the possibilities; from the chance that Spike would kill the Slayer in a jealous rage once he discovered what the “gift” was, to the small, but deadly flaw he included in the spell should the vampire actually use it for its intended purpose. The only avenues he couldn’t cover, at least for now, were the prospects that Spike would use the spell on himself - though that would be a revenge in itself - or that the vampire would simply discard the “gift” once he learned what it was. Gnash would have to think of something should that last one occur.

The demon licked his lips. No, he would likely not have to think that far ahead yet. Spike would do something eventually. That was why the vampire had come to see him, after all, and from what he could gather during his brief trip through the vampire’s brain, Spike was an impulsive being. There would be some chaotic outcome for certain. Just the way he liked it.

Gnash gathered up his books in preparation for returning to his own dimension. He wanted to be back to meet Spike on his reappearance, and his detour to get the Watcher’s diaries had eaten a little into his time in his home dimension. Good thing he was able to teleport himself to England and back. Being a magically inclined demon had its advantages. And it was time to go reap some more rewards. Gnash chanted the powerful words and gathered the necessary magical energy around him. In a blinding flash of light he was on his way home.

*********

Spike was starving, and perhaps equally excruciating, he was bored. Sure, his body felt weak and tired, and finding an obstacle to his goal this late in the game would likely be devastating, but at least it would be something to break up the monotony. He’d long ago grown tired of filling the silence with his own voice, and that was saying something for how long he’d been at this. He’d seen the landmark he was supposed to reach after a day, but no matter how far he traveled since, the landmark only seemed a little closer: just enough to give him a small glimmer of hope to keep him going, but not nearly enough to give him the satisfaction of true progress.

Once again, he took out the small orb he was supposed to smash to return him to Gnash’s lair, but if he did so without the amulet, he’d never get his answer. Well, he’d promised himself he’d do anything for her. Didn’t want to break that promise now, did he? He was enough despicable things already, so he needed at least one illusion to hold on to. Spike put the orb back in his pocket and looked towards the hazy, blood red horizon. Blasted if that damn landmark didn’t appear closer now. Growling loudly, the vampire continued on, tired of his own thoughts, but having nothing else to keep him company.

After three more days in that dimension’s time, Spike reached the large monolithic stone and entered. He was beyond caring what he would find by that point, the fact that the amulet laid there, no obvious strings attached, giving him no satisfaction. Spike snatched it off the stone altar, vaguely wondering who would go through all this trouble just to put an amulet out in the middle of nowhere and half-expecting lightning to strike and turn him to dust in response. No answer and no dusty end came as a result, just a continuation of silence. He slid the amulet into his duster pocket with a trembling hand, then slipped the orb out of another pocket, and his eyes closed for just a moment. Wobbly legs brought him out of the monolith and back onto the red, red and more bloody red landscape. Spike worked his jaw a little then turned his face skyward and opened his eyes. More red.

“Get me the bloody hell out of here!” he yelled, and smashed the orb to the ground beneath him. He actually welcomed the blinding light and painful sensation that followed.

 

Spike didn’t want to move. Not ever again, if necessary. The return trip hadn’t really been worse than the arrival, but the lamentable state of his body made it seem so. He needed blood. Now. He vaguely thought that he heard a low chuckling. Poncy bastard.

“Well, it took you long enough,” Gnash said, not even bothering to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Sorry,” Spike replied in a dry rasp. “Couldn’t help doing some sightseeing. So bloody much to see.” He was proud of himself. Still managed the sarcasm despite his sorry shape.

Gnash chuckled again. “Thought you’d like it. Where’s my amulet?”

“Where’s some blood?”

“You expect me to have blood around?”

Spike growled. “Here, you git,” he swore, then reached inside his duster slowly and extracted the amulet, letting it drop on the floor beside him. He felt something hit him on the chest, and his fingers closed on a bag of blood.

“Can’t have you as a permanent fixture on my floor,” Gnash explained.

Spike hardly heard him as he morphed and sunk his fangs into the bag, draining it quickly. God, that was good. He couldn’t wait to down four more just like it.

“I’m impressed,” Gnash said, though his tone was spurious. “I’ve sent other vampires on this same mission and you’re the first who’s come back with the amulet.”

“Hoo-bloody-rah for me. What’s my sodding answer?” Spike sat up, stifling a groan as he did so.

Gnash smiled at him, handing him another bag. “Impatient, aren’t you?”

Spike just sunk his fangs into the plastic and gave Gnash a look that promised some impatient action if the demon didn’t hurry this up.

The demon narrowed his eyes. “I would learn patience around me if I were you vampire.” As if to illustrate his point, blue energy crackled off of his talons before dispersing.

Spike sighed and looked up at the large demon. God, how he hated magic. “Fine. I can wait. You don’t happen to have a telly do you? Or some nice scotch? Maybe a pillow?” He managed to keep his tone and expression innocent, even around the fangs. When all else fails, annoy the hell out of ‘em.

Gnash snorted. The vampire was predictable. He smiled. “Still sure you want the answer?”

“Yes, you git. Why the hell would I go through all this?”

Gnash shrugged. “Fine. Here’s your answer: nothing.”

“What?” Spike’s eyes narrowed and his lips curled.

“As I said. Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s fine. Just a little change in her...” He waved his talons off-handedly. “Let’s say metaphysical being. Just enough to confuse the chip in your brain. She’s only unhappy, Spike. Devastated at being ripped from her peaceful afterlife.” Gnash made sure to put on the requisite look of false compassion.

Spike growled. “You knew all along.”

Gnash just looked at him with an expression that said, of course I knew. He waved his hand again. ”So no need to answer the second half of your question. There’s nothing to fix.”

“No,” Spike said. “Just ‘cause there’s nothing physically wrong, doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong. You still owe me an answer of how to fix her. How to make her happy again.”

The demon shook his head and rolled his black eyes. “So predictable.” He took a piece of parchment off of a table behind him and dropped it unceremoniously on Spike’s lap.

Spike wasn’t sure if he was insulted or not. “What’s this then?”

“I knew you were going to insist on something. Consider it a gift.”

“Hello? What is it?”

“How to make her happy again. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

His expression was smug, and for a moment Spike felt unease creep into his brain. He looked at the parchment, glanced over the Latin words. They seemed familiar, but the demon gave him no further time to figure out why, instead lifting him up by the shoulders.

“Now take it, and get out. Don’t ask me for anything again.” Gnash’s tone made the rest of his threat obvious without words.

Spike was back on the street before he even realized he was on his feet. He gave the parchment one last look before smiling and shoving it in his duster pocket. A sudden shift in the air raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and he looked up warily in response. The building in front of him appeared drab and unassuming. A chill went through his body despite the warmth of the air, and he suddenly felt the urge to be far away. Forcing himself to walk away casually, Spike searched the streets for any sign of trouble. It would ruin everything if he couldn’t get his precious prize home. Finally, he could do something right.

Chapter 3: Reality Returns

The look on Spike’s face was one that Tara hadn’t seen in quite a while: the type of genuine smile he’d always seemed to reserve for Dawn in days past. As she followed his progress into the shop, her lips curved up slightly in an unconscious response. “You seem happy tonight,” she said, ducking a little to hide her face.

“I guess I am,” Spike replied with a tilt of his head. His tone and expression conveyed surprise as if he’d just realized that fact for himself. “Doing research?” he asked her.

She nodded, and Spike returned her gesture. “Got a little to do myself.”

Tara tried to hide her amazement as Spike glided over to the shelves of books and began to scan the titles. It didn’t take him long to find the texts he was looking for, which gave her the feeling that the vampire knew a lot more about them than any of the Scoobies realized. With the volumes securely in hand, he took up a position opposite her at the table, and dropping the books casually in front of him, he slid into a chair.

For a while Spike said nothing, and Tara watched as he scanned various sections of the texts. One she could identify as a Latin to English dictionary. He alternated his attention between the dictionary, a parchment he’d pulled from his duster pocket, and a pad of paper where he’d scribbled numerous translations.

Surreptitiously, she tried to steal a glance at the document. There didn’t seem to be anything intrinsically wrong with it, just simple paper and ink - no blood or anything unusual, but somehow it gave the witch a bad feeling, like an annoying vibration against her skin. Maybe bad wasn’t the right word. ‘Off’ was maybe better. Frowning, Tara admonished herself for her paranoia. Spike distrusted magic, so it was unlikely that the parchment was a spell, although that could be the only reason she could think of to explain her reaction to it.

After a moment or two, Spike lifted his eyes to her. “Can you keep a secret?”

“...Yes,” Tara said hesitantly.

“Really keep a secret. Even from Willow?”

“If there’s a good reason,” Tara assured him.

“Oh, there is. Red can’t know about this.”

He indicated the document with a pointed finger, and comprehension animated Tara’s eyes. She swallowed nervously before nodding firmly to let him know that she wouldn’t tell anyone. As if he’d read her thoughts, Spike started to explain.

“I think it’s a spell of some sort.” His eyes didn’t leave the paper, as if was afraid his research would disappear if he lost the contact.

“What kind of spell?”

“Don’t know. The bugger wouldn’t tell me. Just said that it was what Buffy needed to make her happy.”

He scrawled another couple of translated lines on the note pad, and the rhythm of the words wiped away any lingering doubts Tara had about the nature of the document. Her worry grew. “Spike, after what Willow did with the ‘tabula rasa’ spell...”

The vampire looked up, his expression showing that he understood Tara’s fears. Both of them knew Buffy had been happier that night, but also that the cost of her happiness had been too high. “I’m not gonna do anything like that,” he assured her. “That’s why ‘m trying to find out what it is. If it’s something like that, I won’t...” The words trailed off as his gaze returned to the paper, then to the Latin dictionary, and back again. As she watched, his features slowly twisted in disbelief. “This can’t be...”

Tara started as a low growl began to emanate from Spike’s throat. Her mouth opened slightly, before snapping shut with an audible click. Nervously she began worrying her bottom lip, whilst angling her body as far from the table as she could without moving her chair.

Spike looked back and forth between the texts and the parchment for a while longer, his movements increasingly agitated and his low growl continuous. She thought perhaps he wasn’t even aware of it as more words were added furiously, almost illegibly, to the paper until finally the pencil lead broke.

Tara backed swiftly away as Spike began to make a sound somewhere between a growl and a wail that somehow communicated both anger and anguish. It was unlike any sound the witch had heard before and drowned out the crash of the chair that fell behind him and the slap of the books that smashed to the floor. Spike seemed to forget them as soon as they landed, instead pacing with teeth bared, his body restless in the confined space of the shop. Tara saw that the blue of his eyes were bled through with gold as he vented his rage.

“After all we’ve bloody been through!” His eyes scanned for something to vent his anger on, but nothing seemed to present itself as suitable. Instead he growled in frustration.

“S-spike, what is it?” Tara asked, her voice trembling.

He turned on her. “You want to know what? Here!”

He shoved the translations at her with a violence that caused her to flinch, but she took it. Reading the words, the realization slowly came to her. Tara hadn’t seen the original spell that Willow had worked a few years ago, but her lover had told her about it in detail. This spell seemed to have been designed specifically to counteract a dangerous flaw of that curse. The incantation would prevent the soul from becoming forfeit if the cursed vampire found true happiness.

She looked at Spike with sudden understanding.  There was only one vampire with a soul, and that was Angel. If this parchment held the key to Buffy’s happiness, then that inferred her happiness lay with him.

When Tara finally looked at him, their gazes locked. Spike’s jaw worked, and his azure-blue eyes were liquid with emotion so powerful Tara swore she could feel it in her soul. She longed to say something, anything to lessen the blow, to refute the translation on the page, but no words seemed sufficient. Spike let out a pained growl through clenched teeth and closed his eyes briefly, and without another word, he turned on his heel and ran from the magic shop.

When the final echo of his footsteps on the basement stairs had faded, the silence that pervaded the shop was unnerving. Tara thought she could sense the change of emotion in the air, the happiness of earlier that evening having been washed away by rage and despair. The light from the table brought the words on the parchment into sharp focus, and somehow the sight of them angered her. She made a decision. She would translate the spell again herself. For something that was supposed to bring happiness, it surely didn’t seem to be doing its job, and Tara’s gut instincts about such matters were hardly ever wrong. Decided, she picked up the reference books Spike had been using and added a few more from the shelves for good measure. Taking a deep breath, Tara reseated herself at the table with the book spread out in front of her, trying to find as comfortable a position as possible. It was going to be a long night.

*********

Buffy looked again at the camera in her hand, curling her lip at it. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed that ugly gnome that had been hiding it. As it was, she’d only discovered it after she’d tripped over the thing on her way home from patrolling.

“I’m telling you, Buffy, he’s the one that makes the most sense,” Xander implored her.

Buffy looked at him skeptically. “Somehow I don’t see Spike wasting effort on stealing a camera, Xander. Whiskey, cigarettes, a TV? Yeah, right with you there, but I mean, come on. Wouldn’t it be easier for him to stand outside under his tree? Besides, doesn’t he need a computer to see what came out of it?” She directed the last at Willow, who took the camera out of her hand and placed it by her laptop.

“This type of camera, yeah, he would. Along with some type of antenna feed... or some way to transmit the signal.” Her tone reflected a sense of pride at actually being useful again.

“Don’t seem to recall any computers or antennas over at his crypt any of the times I’ve been over there recently.” Buffy caught the odd look Xander was giving her, before adding quickly, “...for patrol. I can’t carry large weapons down the street. He’s got some at his crypt.”

Xander happily accepted this explanation, finding solace once again in his state of denial. “He does have some nice weapons.”

“Yeah, not like he’s going to let you borrow any of those again any time soon, Xander the Duster Slayer,” Willow teased.

“That wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh, of course not,” Willow agreed with a smile as she tapped some more keys on her laptop, trying to get the signal to connect. “You just had to show him that you could use a broadsword and ruin it for the rest of us.” She seemed on the verge of laughter, her tone remaining mock serious only with some effort.

Buffy smiled at Willow’s good-natured ribbing, glad to see her friend in such good spirits. She turned to Xander. “Somehow I think I missed an interesting story here while I was dead,” she teased.

“So very not interesting, and Willow’s not going to mention it again. Are you, Will?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” The ex-witch answered him, in a tone that told Buffy she would hear the whole story later on, and then suddenly gasped. “Oh... my Goddess!” As Buffy and Xander came to her side, she continued in amazement, “There’s more than one feed here. Look at all this...”

And Willow showed her friends just how much of their lives had been viewed by their new enemies.

********

Blissfully unaware of what was happening to their surveillance feeds, Warren, Andrew, and Jonathan carried out their plan to rob the carnival outside of Sunnydale. The orbs Warren had obtained made the task as easy as a game of Pac Man, and now once again they had some ready cash on hand.

Jonathan knew he should have objected when Warren insisted that he, as the leader, be the one to carry the bulk of the money. But even he hadn’t suspected the extent of his friends’ betrayal, until the sound of police sirens carried over the deserted carnival grounds, and by then, it was much too late. When Warren activated his jet pack and rocketed skyward, Jonathan was already panicking. His anxiety over being left to hold the bag only slightly eased when Andrew’s attempt at a similar escape failed miserably. Even so, it wasn’t enough to erase the hollow pit in his stomach, as the cuffs were locked shut around his wrists. Andrew whined at his side, insisting that Warren wouldn’t leave them like this. Only he knew that their friend was not only capable, but also very willing to betray them. And without him and Andrew to hold him back, Jonathan wasn’t sure exactly how far Warren might go.

*********

Denial would have been a nice diversion, Spike conceded, but he knew very well where that sort of thing could lead. His delusions that Buffy would love him if only she would admit she could, if she would let herself embrace the darkness, if she could see that he was the only one there for her - they were illusions he had tried in vain to hang on to, but had known as only false hope in the end. So knowing that truth, why was he so surprised by what the parchment had contained? The answer, that he shouldn’t be, only fueled his rage.

Oh, he’d like to thank Gnash for this little gift all right. As soon as the thought entered through his head, he proceeded to distract himself with some very inventive ways to accomplish just that - including getting Tara to do some counteractive magic so he could really take his time. That mental exercise didn’t last long, though, as Spike knew very well that there was nothing he could do against the powerful demon. An evil smile crossed his lips. That didn’t mean there weren’t other demons he could pulverize in Gnash’s place.  Shifting into game face, he searched the grimy tunnels for a victim on which to vent his anger.

Three vampires and one Blalock demon later, Spike was just a little worse for wear, and the adrenalin rush had played itself out. The rage had subsided to a dull growl, but his mood was still loathsome. Fortunately, he was almost back to his crypt, where the distraction of a nice bottle of whiskey lay in wait. He only hoped he had enough to do the job.

Slamming the door open with enough force to rival one of Buffy’s entrances, Spike practically lunged at his bottle of whiskey. He took a long swallow before snorting at the label. Next time he’d have to nick a better brand. Falling into the familiar comfort of his tattered chair, he stared at the wall as myriad thoughts swirled in his head.

He’d always known that his had to end somehow, and now that the truth had finally bitten him on the arse, he might as well accept it and finish this already. Buffy would have her happiness, all right, but he’d be damned if he’d stay around and watch. Another shot of whiskey burned the back of his throat and dulled the pain just a little. Yeah, maybe he’d go get the sodding chip taken out and start over again somewhere. He could come back in a few years, refreshed from the vacation, and laugh at the sad mess Buffy’s life would be after his poof of a grandsire had bored her to tears with all his brooding. Sniggering, Spike downed another shot. She’d be begging to take him back...

The mostly empty bottle bumped into the side of the stuffed chair as Spike let his body go limp. But who was he kidding? He should pretend he never saw that blasted spell. Instead he should just try harder to make her happy all by himself. But that was never going to happen unless he could make her see.

Those same thoughts kept gnawing at him until the alcohol and the fatigue from the previous days’ trials finally allowed him to lose consciousness.

 

He came in the door with a swirl of leather, throwing the duster over the banister as he climbed the stairs. He knew she was there. Her scent told him that, even from here. Now all he had to do was get her to listen to him, make her understand.

“Buffy, we have to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Spike. Now, get out of here. I just want to...”

“But I’ve changed. I have. This is real, Buffy. Can’t you see that?”

She nodded vaguely. “I know it is. I know how you feel, Spike. But it’s not enough.”

“What more can you bloody want from me? I’ve given you all that I can...”

“Yes, and I never should have...” She shook her head. “You are what you are, and I should have remembered that.”

With frightening swiftness, he grabbed her arms and made her look at him. “Look at me, Buffy. Look in my eyes and tell me there’s not love there.”

She only looked for a moment then turned her head. ”Don’t. Don’t make this harder. I can’t...”

“Yes you can,” he growled and smashed his lips into hers.

“Spike, stop it.”

She was struggling now, but he wasn’t letting her go. He couldn’t let her go. “Just let yourself admit it Buffy. I know it’s there. I know you love me...”

He smashed his lips to hers again, and suddenly he just wanted her body against his again. He knew she’d want him to, if only he showed her that it was okay. That she could let go. Why was she fighting this so hard? They’d done this before. He wasn’t sure how they’d ended up on the floor or how she’d gotten under him, but now that she was there, all he had to do was... there, her hands above her head, force her legs apart...

Spike woke with a gasp. “Oh, God, no. Please, no.” They were the same words he’d said after another dream, long ago; and like that dream, this was more intense, more real than his usual nighttime diversions, and it was telling him something. But, that couldn’t be. He’d never... but as he looked at the evidence hard between his legs, and felt the desperation in his heart, he knew that he could - that he was capable. He slouched back down into his chair, taking heavy, unneeded breaths.

“What am I going to do?” he whispered to himself. “If I ever hurt her that way, I’d...” He buried his face in his hands and wondered how everything had gone so wrong. 

TBC