Chapter 27—A Dream Unthreatened

A dream unthreatened by the morning light—Pink Floyd, “Learning To Fly”

They needed answers to too many questions, but they were all ready to drop from exhaustion. Dawn had already fell asleep at the table sitting straight up in the chair, her mouth slightly open and head lolling crazily on her neck. Buffy looked at her with tired eyes, and said, “Guys, I think we’ve all had enough excitement for the night. Let’s go to bed, and start fresh in the morning.”

“I concur. The words are starting to merge together, even for me.” Giles removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t believe we are going to find any answers tonight.”

Tara stretched her arms above her head with cat-like grace. Buffy noticed the move, and saw that Spike was staring at Tara like a cat looking at a bird out of the window. Her slap on his arm nearly knocked him off the chair. He looked at her, abashed, and planted a kiss on her cheek, whispering, “Talk—later.”

She nodded, and said aloud, “Spike, baby, could you carry Dawnie upstairs for me?”

He moved to Dawn's side, ready to pick her up, and Tara moved a little faster, blocking his way. He looked up at her, a frown marring his features. “Glinda, there’s no need to be all protective. I’m one of the good guys.”

Tara looked almost ashamed. “I’m sorry, Spike. Reflex reaction. They’re getting harder to ignore.”

He lifted his Bit into his strong arms, and looked over her sleeping form to the lesbian/witch/guardian. “I understand, sweets. Don’t think a thing of it. I’m glad that Dawn has someone watching her back.”

“Me too.” Buffy slipped up to stand next to Spike, stroking her sister’s head. “I know that she’ll be safe with you around.”

Tara ducked her head, blushing as she followed them up the stairs to Dawn's room. The three young adults looked down at her slumbering form where it barely dented the mattress, and Buffy and Spike sighed in unison. “It all changed so quickly, didn’t it? Dawn, Tara, you, me. Willow. Xander and Anya. Eden and Travers. I haven’t even been back a month, and it’s already so different around here.” Buffy laid her head on Spike's shoulder, and looked at her sister. “Dawn, and the whole steward thing…kinda knocked my socks off.”

Spike rubbed his thumb over her hand where she had threaded it through his. “I saw it coming, pet, just didn’t know what it was. Didn’t expect this, though—did you, Glinda?”

“No—not this…but I knew that something was different.” She bent at the waist to brush a lock of hair out of Dawn's eyes. “We’ve been working on some control issues, and ways to harness the power. You can really tell, can’t you? She’s made such great strides in the last two days.”

“Two days? That’s all the time you’ve been working with her, just two days?” Buffy turned incredulous eyes on her friend.

“Yeah. She’s a quick learner. It all comes naturally to her, being the key and all.” Tara backed away from the bed, and turned to the couple. “Well, I’m off to bed. Good night.”

“Wait a minute.” Tara paused at the tone of Spike's voice, before he continued. “Glinda, why the chip? Why now, after all this time?”

She turned her enigmatic blue eyes on him, and he watched the milky blue shutter her irises, giving her that otherworldly look again. Her voice was that eerily calm tone again when she spoke. “The Steward needed her hand to do what she cannot. Both hands. You couldn’t with the chip, so it was necessary to remove it.”

“You know more than you’re telling us, don’t you, Tara?” Buffy stepped forward, searching her face, and Tara smiled gently.

“We can explore the whys tomorrow, Slayer. The body tires and requires rest before we can continue our discourse. Good night,” she said with a parting bow.

Buffy stared at the open door Tara left through. “This is getting stranger and stranger, Spike.”

“Kinda poetic, pet. Don’t you think?”

She led him to their room, and whispered the magic word, making their voices impervious to the rest of the house. Turning and leaning her back against the door, she crossed her arms and stared at the vampire next to the bed undressing, oblivious to her stance. He finally looked up expectantly and found her fully clothed. It was only then that he realized that she was waiting for his explanation.

“Pet, I wasn’t staring at Tara like that. You know that, right?” He looked up at her, his eyes sultry beneath his raised brows. “Did you notice—Tara and the Bit both seem….” His voice trailed off, and she picked up the thread.

“Yeah. Dawn's graceful. Like she all of a sudden knew…everything. What happened…what was going to happen…what did happen…when it was happening. Did that make sense?” She walked over, and sat next to him on the bed.

He put his arm around her, and kissed her forehead. “In Buffyspeak, it made perfect sense, pet. I think the better word would be—omniscient.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the events of the day crashing down on her suddenly. “And we’re her—what, helpers?”

“Guess so, pet. Got the power. Felt it. Hell, still do. Hand of retribution. Bloody hell, Slayer.”

She could hear the awe in his voice. “Me too, baby. It’s like a humming, in my bones.” She looked up at him, and said, “The chip?”

Giles had handed it to him after close inspection, without saying a word. Xander started to speak, and stopped cold, shooting Anya a silencing look as well. Buffy saw an intimate glance pass between her sister and her friend, and glancing at Spike, she saw he had seen it too. They ignored it during the subsequent research, concentrating instead on the ceremony they had just witnessed.

He ran his fingers over his leg, and found it there in his pocket, pressed between the fabric of his pants instead of between the lobes of his brain. He searched himself, seeking violence, and finding none. Although awake, the demon was content. It curled in the corner of his mind, satiated on evil and blood, watching and waiting, for what he didn’t know.

“End of an era, pet. Don’t think I need it anymore.” He looked down in his hand at his electrical leash, his internal prison that had ruled his unlife for what seemed an eternity. “My unlife is exactly how I want it. I’m sharing it with a woman that I love. People I love and want to protect. Not just talking about Dawnie. Talking about Glinda and Demon Girl, and Rupert. Xander. Red.”

He took her hand and dropped the chip into her upturned palm, and closing her fingers around it. “You hold my heart, Buffy. I don’t need the chip to stop me from doing anything. I don’t want to do it anymore. That’s not my unlife.”

She threw her arms around his neck, the piece of plastic secure in her hand. “I love you, Spike. And you’re right. You don’t need this now. You have yourself.”

He sagged with relief against her, only then realizing how tense he’d been. “I didn’t want to, you know. Bite them.”

She frowned. “You didn’t? Even after what they did to Willow?”

He leaned back to look at her. “You expected me to drain them, didn’t you?” He stood and raked his fingers through his hair, his curls in wild disarray. Stalking around their room, he paced as he thought out loud. “Bloody hell, Slayer, their blood was bitter…I had to force myself to swallow it. The murky ball was worse. Like inhaling acid, even though I don’t use my lungs. It may have been human, but they were rotten inside, in their hearts, and I could taste it for a long time after.” He stopped in front of her, his hands on his hips. “Didn’t you see me slip off after the research started? Had to brush my bloody teeth.”

She giggled and reached for him. She drew him down on the bed, and patted his back. “Spike. I tasted it too. God, the hate in their souls…for everyone that they believed slighted them in the least…it tasted sour to me. Like…spoiled milk. Kind of.”

“Yeah. Bad blood. Couldn’t get the aftertaste out of my mouth. Was making me sick.”

“I know the feeling.” She stood, and began disrobing. “God, I feel drained.”

He stretched and watched her lithe body revealed. She had quickly adapted to sleeping naked with him, her warmth pressed into his coolness, and they both slept better for it. “Let’s sleep, pet. Don’t think that I could do anything tonight anyway, what with their poison inside me.”

She looked at him with shocked eyes. “How long will that last?”

He shrugged as he skimmed out of his jeans. “It should be out of my system by the morning. At the latest. Why?”

She slid into bed, then held the blankets up for him, allowing him to slide in behind her. “I just don’t want it to hurt you, that’s all.”

He snuggled up to her, pressing his face to the smooth skin of her back. “S’ok, love. I’ve dealt with worse. Hell, I’ve been worse.”

She sighed and allowed herself to relax and drift off, comforted by his presence and his love.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Giles was already gone by the time they rose the next afternoon. Tara was in the kitchen, cooking what looked to be an early dinner, and Dawn was still at school.

Buffy sat down on the stool at the island, grateful for the mug of coffee that Tara handed her. “Where’s Giles?” she asked between sips.

“Off doing some business,” was Tara's cryptic reply.

“Oh.” Buffy stared into the mug for a moment, unsure of how to broach the next subject. “Tara—you—you and Dawn seem to, uh, know stuff. Care to enlighten me?”

“And me.” Spike stood in the doorway, having slipped in on light feet, dressed in his jeans. He gave Buffy a cryptic look as well, and sipped at the blood Tara handed him direct from the microwave.

Tara wouldn’t meet their eyes, and as she reached to grab Buffy's cup for a refill, a strong hand gripped her wrist. “Tara. Spill it. What’s going on?”

Sighing deeply, Tara settled down, her bird-like hands fluttering to her sides. “You know that Dawn and I have been working together. We were…trying to strengthen her control, trying to tap into her energies to focus them. Exploring her power.”

She looked at the blond pair watching her, and shrugged. “I really don’t know what we did…how we accessed—well, there was just this…knowing. What we do, what your roles in it were, how everything fit. How we fit. It was a real eye-opener.”

Buffy looked at Spike, her face shuttered, and Spike turned back to Tara. “And?” he prompted, watching the blond witch’s cheeks flush.

“And…what? You were there last night. You saw what we did. The four of us. Passing judgement, weighing their hearts and souls. That’s our mission. It’s what we do.”

Buffy leaned forward, tapping her finger on the rim of her cup. “And how did we change them? What exactly did we do?”

Tara frowned. “If it is the way our memories tell us, then we judged their intentions by the weight of their hearts. We judged their balance, good and bad, with their souls. Dawn can’t do anything about their imbalances. That’s where you come in.”

“With the mist-sucking and the blood,” Spike said, frowning down into his cup.

“For you, yes. You eat their ‘hearts’—the evil machinations and such—and remove the desire to do evil. For Buffy, she separated the bad character flaws and designs, and gave them back their good qualities.” Tara frowned again, then added, “We should follow their cases. See what our work wrought. If it worked the way that Dawn and I believe that it did, then, well, they should be productive members of society.”

Buffy looked askance, then had another thought, voicing it before she could second-guess herself. “You and Dawn—you’re more than just guardian and steward, aren’t you?”

Tara blushed, her face beet red. “There are…feelings there…they aren’t sexual or anything, but…Buffy, I would never do that kind of thing, not with Dawnie!” she implied emphatically.

Buffy patted Tara on the arm, flashing her a small smile. “I know. Neither one of you are very good at hiding your feelings, though.”

Tara's eyes transmitted her extreme sense of guilt. “When we were…when I was teaching her some techniques on control, she, um, was flirting with me. I…uh…don’t want to influence her into doing something…contrary to her nature….”

“If she was flirting with you, Tara, then I don’t think that it’s contrary to her nature,” Buffy said coolly. “I would ask that you wait until she’s a little older before you take it any further, please.” She shook her head. “I have to keep reminding myself that she’s not a little girl, but a umpteen-thousand year old Key and a body-jumping steward with heaven knows how much experience.”

“Kind of boggles the mind, doesn’t it, Slayer?” Spike grinned, then reached into his coat pocket where it hung by the back door. “I’m going to the basement to smoke. All right, Buffy?”

“Sure.” He shot her a surprised look, expecting her to rail at him for smoking in the house, and she looked back at him fondly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.. “I can’t expect you to go outside in broad daylight, now can I? Plus, I know already that you’ve been smoking in the basement for some time now. Go, smoke. Tara and I will be right here.”

She waited until the door closed behind him, then turned back to Tara. She took a deep breath, and said, “Okay, Tara—about the chip….”

Tara arched her eyebrow. “The chip needed to come out for some time. That isn’t what worries you, though. That isn’t what you were going to ask me about.” Her eyes shimmered with hidden knowledge beneath their surface.

Buffy pouted. “So if you know so darn much, why don’t you just tell me?” She looked expectantly at Tara, then finally gave up. “Okay, so you aren’t reading my mind. How is this gonna change us…me and Spike? Is being the hand of Retribution going to make him bloodthirsty again, or being the hand of Mercy make me soft? And what else did it do to change us?”

Tara's voice surrounded her, soothing and calm against her exposed nerves. Like a hand reaching inside her, it caressed her fears and quieted them; like a balm, they smoothed over the hackles that had rose on the back of her neck. “Becoming the Hands of the Steward is no mean feat, but you will adapt in your tenure. It has not changed your essence, only your spiritual selves. In short, you have only magnified what you have always been. As the Slayer, you bring mercy to those you slay, the vampires whose souls you release and the denizens of the demon world that you return to their rightful places in the continuum. As the hand of Mercy, you also bring peace of a different kind, peace of soul to those whose souls would otherwise be too heavy to bear the burden of their wrongdoings.”

She turned to look at Spike, unnoticed by the basement door. He watched with interested eyes, until he was touched by the voice of the Guardian as well, then he was drawn to stand at Buffy's side as her magical voice regenerated his belief in himself, as well as Buffy's faith in him. “You too have changed, vampire, but only for the good of all. As the physical incarnation of Ammit, you ingest their evil in the broadest of senses, eating away their darker emotions and painful feelings until all that is left is the purity of intent they were born with. They experience a spiritual rebirth into a new life, one that you provide them with. You will not crave blood, for you must take in the blood of the sinner to seal the pact they make with the Powers That Be. Your demon is satisfied, and you are using him for the purpose he was created for—the purification of the human race.”

Buffy struggled to remain upset, but found herself smiling instead. “You mention Ammit. Didn’t D’Hoffryn say that he was the father of all vampires?”

Tara frowned slightly before her face smoothed out again. “There is jealousy among the gods as well, Buffy, let us not forget. Set informed Ammit that there were unjudged slipping through the cracks, so to speak, and tricked him into creating helpers to eat the hearts of the judged. Ammit, however, did not grant them access to their humanity, and when they rose from the dead, they killed indiscriminately of those waiting to pass. Osiris, the king and ruler of the dead, and his brother Horus, ruler of the day and the sun, punished Ammit by making his creatures enemies of the eye of hours, the sun. It was Ammit who created the moon by digging out one of Horus’ eyes, allowing his children passage in the night.”

“What about this Bes bird?” Spike said, interrupting her. "Who is she, and what has she to do with Buffy?” Spike leaned his chin on his fist, and listened to the creamy tones as they washed over him. His eyes closed of their own accord as Tara continued.

“Bes was the protector of the home and household, and her mark protected evil from befalling the dwellers. She thus continued in her protector state, only expanding her safeguarded to include those who would be victims of the children of Ammit. It was from her spiritual essence that the first Slayer was created.”

“And now it all comes full circle. Ammit and his wife, Bes; the Guardian and the Steward. I think I finally have made some sense from all of this.”

They all turned, the spell of Tara's voice broken, to see Giles standing in the center of the doorway, a thin volume in his hand. “I have yet one question left to be answered, which is moot at this point. Are you the incarnations of the deities, or the deities themselves?”

Tara looked at him with knowing, amused eyes. “If you know the answer, then why ask the question? Dawn and I are the deities themselves, housed in human forms. Buffy and Spike are merely their incarnations on this plane.”

“As I thought.” Giles closed the book he held, and turned to address Buffy and Spike. “If I may speak with the two of you at your earliest convenience?” Without waiting for their reply, he turned and left the room.

Buffy glanced at Spike, then Tara, and went in to find Giles seated on the couch, an envelope lying on the table in front of him. She perched on the edge of the couch, her whole body tensed as she looked at her mentor and father figure for so many years.

“What’s up, Giles? You look all serious-like.”

“I have acquired the papers that you requested, Buffy, with the name specified. I find myself concerned, however, about the course of action you are pondering. Although retired, you will always remain on the Council’s radar. In their mind, you will always be their Slayer.”

“Yeah? I’m not afraid of them, Giles. I’ve not been afraid of them for a long time.” Spike sat on the arm of the couch and faced the Watcher as well. He noticed their strength together; they seemed to lean toward each other, filling each other with their presence. He shook his head at the fanciful thought, and glared at the vampire in question.

“You have funds, I expect? To care for her and her sister, until such time as her sister decides to maintain a house of her own?” he asked formally. Buffy frowned at him, then turned to look at Spike, who had grown uncharacteristically solemn. The look on his face was completely foreign, as was the tone of his voice when he answered.

“I would care for her as I would anything dear and precious; with all of my being and all my funds and the forfeiture of my life should I fail. For such is the way of my family, and those who have come before me, as it will be for those who come after. Our hearts, once given, will not be denied their bounty. Our love, once imparted, will never be withdrawn. Such is the pledge.” Spike's hand had drifted up to cover his heart, and the accent, so much like Giles', unnerved her.

She placed her hand over his where it rested on his chest, and whispered, “What was that?”

When Spike remained silent, Giles spoke softly. “It was an ancestral family pledge of marriage, Buffy. The Giles' family pledge, to be exact.”

He was polishing his glasses in an agitated manner when Buffy turned back to face him. “It seems that Spike is, er, related to me. An uncle of some such.”