Part 4

Spike trembled. Emotions flooded him: love, guilt, and somewhere underneath it all the purest happiness he had ever experienced. Tears escaped from his eyes. Quickly he wiped them away before they could trail down his cheeks. Stop. It. He was turning into a broody wanker. Nevertheless, the tears still came and words too, unbidden.

"Buffy. Oh God. Buffy."

Unconsciously he reached for her with shaking hands, to feel her, to see if she was real, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the stake she pressed to his heart. Yeah. Reckon that would stop any bloke. Any undead one anyway.

She smiled. "I asked what happened to your hair."

Raged surged up in him and he did some smacking of his own. Her stake clattered uselessly to the floor. "Bloody hell woman! You were dead. I wasn't thinking about personal grooming!" He ran a self-conscious hand through his blonde-brown mane. "'Sides, I came to rescue you from the Underworld and all. You should be right grateful. Now if you could just point me in the direction of whatever big nasty I have to chat with to spring you . . . "

He looked around. They weren't at the construction site anymore. They were at the Bronze.

"Wha?"

"Haven't you ever read Dickens Spike?"

"Of cours . . . nah."

Buffy sighed impatiently.

Wonder if he could light a cigarette in this netherworld place? He took out his crushed pack of Marlboros. Guess he'd find out.

Success.

He drew the smoke into his lungs, savouring it, then slowly exhaled. "Yeah, yeah, so you're the Ghost of Christmas Future?"

Ghost Buffy coughed as his second-hand smoke lingered between them. "Well, not exactly. Look down there."

Then he saw her. Young Buffy. Pre-Angelus Buffy. Relatively-Innocent Buffy. Dancing-with-Xander-at-the-Bronze Buffy.

He'd wanted her even then.
He'd loved her even then.
He'd wanted to kill her even then.

Then out in the alleyway. The words that haunted his nightmares.

"What happens on Saturday?"
"I kill you."

Then he saw it all. Joyce swinging an axe. Buffy fighting vamps on video. A helpless maiden at Halloween. The assassination attempt. An uneasy truce. An invite to the Summers' home.

Angelus. Dru. He was alone. He'd always been alone. No one had ever wanted him.

The scenes came faster now. Fighting Buffy in the sun of Sunnydale. Betraying them to Adam. Was he any better than Angelus?

Following Buffy. Smelling her scent. Stroking cashmere. Games with Harmony. Naughty games. Trapping Buffy. Chaining her up. Controlling her . . . not controlling her. Creating things in her image to control, to shag.

But none of it was real.

Glory's finger thrust into his chest. Spike screamed in pain.

"Death and Love, baby. Eros and Thanatos. I ate Freud's receptionist you know. Tasty. Never liked cigars." Spike was babbling now. It Was All. Too. Much.

Buffy kissed his swollen lips.

He knew. Maybe he'd always known. Maybe that had frightened him. He loved her. He wanted her. He'd die for her. But he'd failed.

He saw Buffy leap into space. Oh God had he failed. It should have been him. He began to cry.

"So what was the point of that trip down memory lane, pet? Torture me a bit? Punish me?"

Ghost Buffy licked her lips. They shone. Spike moved just a millimetre closer. Ghost Buffy whispered, almost seductively, "You are a monster Spike. You are a man. We need both to bring her back. Embrace what you are William."

God he wanted to kiss her. He knew it wasn't real but . . .

Then he saw her.

Buffy.

The Real Buffy.

She stood in the clothes she'd fought Glory in, staring sightlessly into nothingness.

"Anything. I'll do anything. Just tell me what to do."

Ghost Buffy's lips grazed Spike's cheek, just above his ear, causing him to shudder. "You have to die."

Spike drew another drag from his cigarette and shrugged. "No problem." He threw the cigarette to the floor and ground it out beneath his heel.

***

"I won't do it."

"But Spike, don't you want to fix your mistake? Now is your chance." Ghost Buffy was getting very impatient with her unkempt vampiric charge.

"OK. That's fine. I die. But I don't want Buffy drinking my blood. I don't want her coming back . . ."

"Like you?" Ghost Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Would it be that bad Spike?"

"Bloody hell woman! Yes! It would be that bad. A Slayer running around all bloodlusty and soulless? Who came up with this stupid idea anyway?"

"Insulting the Powers that Be won't help you Spike."

"Right then." He considered Ghost Buffy carefully, then turned to Real Buffy. "She's just a shell, isn't she?"

Ghost Buffy nodded. "She needs to be filled."

"Not with me she doesn't."

Ghost Buffy laughed. "Yeah right Spike."

Spike realised the implications of what he'd said. He must be losing it. Wasn't like him to miss a bit of sexual innuendo. He sighed a useless, ineffectual sigh.

"Right then. Can you promise me that she won't be all vampy? That she'll just be Buffy?"

"No promises Spike. No guarantees."

"Can't do it then." He lit another cigarette and defiantly blew smoke at Ghost Buffy.

"Really? Maybe this will change your mind."

Ghost Buffy waived her hand in front of his face and a scene appeared. He saw himself, running up the staircase of Buffy's old house. "Dawn! Dawn!"

Spike felt fear.

Wild-eyed, he reached the top of the stairs. "Dawn?" He banged on her old bedroom door. "Little Bit. Open up, it's me."

No answer.

"Niblet. This isn't funny now."

No answer.

Spike's black-booted foot easily broke down the door.

Dawn lay on the bed, eyes rolled back in her head, her blood dripping onto the floor from her slit wrists. Was she?

Dead.

He'd killed both of them.

Spike grabbed her body from the bed, not caring. He ran downstairs, sobbing, into the sunlight, burning the pain from his flesh.

It was over.

"OK. You win."

***

Spike slit his wrist with the ceremonial knife. Dawn's blood, his blood, Buffy's blood? It welled up along the edge of the cut.

Sleepily Buffy's eyes focused on the blood.

"I'm so sorry pet." Spike gently brought her head to his wrist, encouraging her to drink.

At first she was tentative, then she sucked greedily.

Spike felt his life draining away. Had his victims felt like this? The final gasp? The look of peace? Everything was fading.

Buffy felt the life coursing through her veins. So powerful. Then the memories.

Resentment. Power. Death. The Key. Drawing pictures. Laughing. Stealing. Grief. Tears. Jealousy. She is real. Dawn.

Buffy paused. Spike's hand on the back of her neck weakly encouraged her to continue drinking.

Hate. Desire. Love. Spike. Watching her. Wanting her. Never having her. Rage absolute. Inadequate. Unloved. William.

Buffy knew everything.

"See you later little girl." Doc laughed.

***

Spike and Buffy were violently thrust out of the pool.

"Guys!"

In spite of her blood loss Dawn was right there with hope-filled eyes. "Buffy. Oh God, Buffy!"

Buffy's eyes fluttered open. "Dawnie?"

All the Scoobies gathered around, not quite believing what they were seeing. Buffy. She came back.

Tears flowed.

Then they noticed.

Spike.

His face was ashen. His cheeks were sunken in.

Dawn shook his bony shoulder. "Spike! Spike! Wake up."

No answer.

"No! No!" Dawn hugged the skeletal form of the vampire, rocking back and forth.

Giles gently put a hand on her shoulder. "It's torpor Dawn. He just needs blood."

Xander considered him. "He sure looks dead Giles."

Giles smiled wanly. "He is dead Xander. He has been since we've known him."

End of Part Four



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