CHAPTER 25

A/N - huge thanks to Lou again for the marvellous beta. I'm getting going again on this story, and I'm grateful to you all for sticking with me. I'll try and make it worth your while.

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Spike grabbed Drusilla and tried desperately to pull her off his mother, cursing William’s lack of vamp power. Cordy's words rang in his ears… somebody he loved must die. Those bastards were messing with his head and still expected him to play their game? If they thought he’d merrily sacrifice somebody and head back to save their precious Angel’s rotten hide, they had anther thing coming. Not gonna happen. Never.




With a final surge of strength, he hauled Drusilla up and threw her across the room, sending her crashing into furniture. She sprawled on the carpet in a heap of tangled skirts and outraged venom before springing to her feet immediately and heading back.




“No! I won't let you do this. Dru – wait! Please!”




“Move over, Spike...I've a rumbly tum and your mum's all tasty and warm. See...look how she wants it. She's lookin' at me...”




Spike crouched at his mother’s side. She was unconscious, her nightgown stained with blood from her torn throat. He frantically checked her pulse and sighed with relief; she was still alive. Dru was fast but she’d not had time to drain her. Looked like he'd made one choice at least, one not to let his mum die. This time.




He looked at Dru with sad eyes; she was swaying, snakelike, to her own melody, still in vamp face, her mouth and fangs red with his mother's blood. Spike stood up and went to an overturned side table, stomped on it and ripped off a splintered leg. He hefted the makeshift stake in his hand and moved towards Drusilla.




“Dru, love. Can you listen to me?”




Drusilla giggled and pirouetted, twirling to a stop in front of Spike where she dropped into a curtsey.




“I'm listenin', sweet Willy. I can hear the pipers… shall we dance to the gates of dawn then sleep in each other's arms in the deep dark earth?”




“Tempting...but no. The past's the past, my princess. And you...have gotta...”




Spike took her hand and placed it on the stake, wrapping his own fingers over hers. In a blink, it was over...




Drusilla stood with the bloodied piece of wood in her hand, looking down at the body of her former lover as a pool of blood spread around him. As Faith had noted, a stake'll do it whenever. She sank to her knees, dipping her fingers in the blood and licking it from the crimson tips. It was no good though; it was dead, like him. She keened before breaking into hysterical laughter, rocking herself back and forth.




+ + + +



There was nothing and everything, silence and then a rush of noise that faded to buzzing in his ears. Spike screwed his eyes against the harsh, white light, seeing nothing and nobody. At least the pain of this death had been momentary, unlike in the Hellmouth when he was in the grip of the amulet and burning up from inside. He got to his feet, hands searching his chest in search for the wound left by his makeshift stake. Nothing. Hold up...no clothes?




“OY! Freezing my knackers off here!! I take it you're the much talked about Powers That Be? Well, give me back my duster and send me to hell because I'm done with playin’'.”




Silence.




“Hey! Come on now, shake a leg! I don’t want to keep the fiery eternity of torture waiting.”




Spike started to pace, one hand raking through his hair, the other waving about as he muttered and cursed out loud. After a few minutes he stood, waiting for the inevitable visitation. Figured that higher beings would have to make a big entrance, they'd keep him waiting until he was at fever pitch then saunter in and deliver a low blow. Well, let them. It was over.




Buffy.




He breathed in against the hurt, the unaccustomed action coupled with his desperation as his brain caught up with what he'd done drawing forth a howl of loss.




That was his trouble, never thought things through. What had he done? All he had to do was stake Dru and could have been back with his love. But no. Spike pisses off the Powers and ends up destined for hell and further away from Buffy than ever.


Nice job.




And bugger if he hadn't left his poor mum to Dru's tender mercies, the perfect snack before a night out in London making lots of little Drus. So what the hell was it all for?




He shook his head in disgust. Stupid, Spike. So stupid.




But...effulgent. To choose to sacrifice oneself rather than dance to some psychotic beings' tune – well, it was epic really.




And really bloody stupid.




“Hello! Getting right cranky here – just come out and show your ugly mugs, then you can send me on my merry way.”




Eventually, he slumped to the ground, not even having a wall to lean against, and tried to sleep. But he couldn't, his mind was rushing through every moment he'd shared with Buffy, and the Bit, making him even more anxious and bemoaning the impulse that had Drusilla skewer him.




Bugger this...




Spike jumped up and set off walking, not caring where he'd end up but having to do something. He'd gone maybe a mile, not reaching any limits, nothing but featureless white stretching as far as the eye could see. Suddenly, everything went dark and he halted immediately.




This was it; he was going to hell. He was ready, would pay the penalty for all his misdeeds. Keep a seat for Angelus who would no doubt be joining him, as soon as Buffy realised he wasn't coming back. That gave him a grain of comfort as he prepared to meet his maker.




A warm wind caressed his naked body, scented with lily and jasmine. All designed to calm him no doubt. Well, it would take a whole lot more than that to soothe this savage beast.




“Very impressive. What's next, heavenly choir? Seventy-six trombones? Yeah, I'm payin' attention – come out, come out wherever you are.”




There was, in fact, a fanfare of trumpets and a shimmer of light to herald the arrival of the Fuckers That Be, but Spike ignored it, studying his fingernails.




“Poncey gits,” he muttered, deliberately turning his back on where misty figures started to coalesce.




He kept his back to them, ignoring a polite ‘ahem’, until he felt a spectral touch on his shoulder. He shivered, but he supposed he should face them now. Spike turned slowly, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, unashamed in his nakedness and shooting the trio of undefined figures a decidedly threatening glare.




“Oh, there you are. Nice of you to put in an appearance. Sorry I'm not dressed for an audience, seem to have lost me pants and stuff.”




Three ethereal heads bent together, echoing whispers nibbled at the edges of his hearing, but he couldn't discern the words. The middle being became more solid, drawing from the other two who faded somewhat. A sepulchral voice emanated from the chosen speaker.




“Spike, otherwise known as William the Bloody, you have been brought here to answer for your actions. You are a champion, and yet you refuse to accept the role that we have deigned to give you. Your blood is the only cure for our beloved Angel and you spill it knowing that you do so at his peril.”




“Bloody right I do.”




“Silence. You have failed the second trial.”




“Oh, please yourself. Look, I'm sick of all this – and exactly how did I fail anyway? The cheerleader said I had to kill somebody I loved – well I bloody well love myself, don't I? So – figure that one out. Just didn't want you lot to keep on yanking my chain. But I did NOT fail...”




Another whispered conference. Lots of head shaking.




“We...we will consider your response. In the meantime...”




Spike was gratified to find that he was now clothed in his habitual black and denim, complete with duster and docs. Patting himself down, he found his cigs and Zippo and lit up, taking a drag to settle his nerves.




He was nervous. Now he'd discovered that the Powers weren't in control of this farce, he'd allowed himself a glimmer of hope that he wasn't on a one-way ticket to hell and maybe, just maybe, he'd find himself back in good old LA and Buffy's arms before the night – or day – was over. So, one cigarette became two, then three, then...




“Spike, Champion of the Powers. We have considered your words and reviewed your actions. We can find no fault in your selfless act. When faced with a choice, knowing that somebody would die, and understanding that by sacrificing yourself you would lose that which you most desire, you still chose to give your existence. It is not that which we anticipated – but we are pleased. You will return to the mortal plane...to face the final test.”




A clap of thunder; a little overdone, Spike though, and suddenly the whiteness was gone and he found himself in the midst of the startled occupants of Fred's lab.




+ + + +




Faith leapt up as Spike swirled into existence in the middle of the room, Gunn slumping to the floor as his shoulder support was gone.




“Hey! Spike's back!” Faith crowed, redundantly. “Hi, Blondie – what's the story?”




Spike braced his hands on his knees as he bent over, the pain of materialisation still not pleasant.




“Give us a sec, pet. Kinda been near to hell,” he panted. “Hey! You – cheerleader – got a bone to pick with you.”




“Nice to see you too. Did you do for your mom or the nutcase vamp?”




“Neither.”




“Huh?”




“Yeah, long story. But later. Where's Buffy?”




Cordy closed her eyes, lids fluttering as she communed with Willow and sent out an APB for the Slayer. She smiled at the witch's strident response.




“On her way. Oh, Fred – you mind going to sit with Dawn?”




“No problem. I feel bad I’ve been too busy to spend time with her. Any change?”




“Willow didn't say, but she's not with Buffy now, she’s on her way here. We'll find out soon.”




Fred departed, Faith and Cordy clustering round Spike eagerly. Dru held no interest for either of them outside the current situation and they were dying to know what had happened. Watching Angel rant and rave and spout empty threats wasn’t even funny anymore and the diversion was welcome.




Spike straightened up and smoothed back his hair. He was beyond relieved that he'd escaped a fiery hell – at least for now – but all he wanted was to see Buffy.




“Look, ladies, nice as it is to be welcomed back with open arms, I've got places to be. The story telling will have to wait. Got a Slayer to hold.”




Nobody stood in Spike's way as he strode out of the lab, nobody dared. Keep the vampire and his Slayer apart – nothing on earth could do that. Spike was jogging along the corridor, speeding up to a sprint, when he almost knocked Willow down coming from the opposite direction.




“Spike! So, you made it back! Buffy knows – she's just waiting for Fred to come and sit with Dawn. Hurry! She'll be so happy to see you. Oh! And so am I...I mean...hi...glad you're back from...well...wherever you went. Where were you? No... not now...I mean...”




“Red. Thanks, love. I'd clue you in but...” Spike tilted his head, an almost shy smile on his lips.




Willow grinned. She remembered that feeling of absolute desperation to get to somebody she loved. Hadn't had had that in a while...she still missed Tara so much. Kennedy just wasn't...the one.




Spike leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Willow's cheek, startling the witch from her reverie, before laughing with sheer joy at being back and running towards Dawn's room.




Buffy was hugging Fred as he arrived, turning to face him as he pushed open the door.




“Spike!” With a squeal that could shatter glass she leapt on him, clinging to his neck and kissing his face all over, her legs wrapped around his waist. “You're back... I…oh god… you’re really here...” Buffy dissolved into tears, all of the worry and tension of the last few hours melting away as she held him. He was safe. She was safe.




“Hello, love. Missed me?”




“Oh, you've no idea how much. I thought...well, it doesn't matter now. What happened?”




Spike set her down and kissed her, gently stroking her hair back from her face. “Two down – one to go. But let's get back to the others before I do the show and tell. Don't wanna waste any time telling it twice. Got far better things to be doing.”




Spike grinned at her and gave her that special hot look that made her all tingly. Something to look forward to. And how. Buffy turned to Fred.




“Are you sure you'll be okay here? I don't like to just leave her, I don't trust anybody apart from...well, us.”




“Go, I'm good. We’re going to read trashy magazines and share some girly time. Just fill me in later.”




The Texan's smile was dazzling. Not for the first time, Spike thanked whoever needed to be thanked that he'd come into contact with the lady. A truly decent human being who imbued anybody who met her with warmth and sweetness merely by being in her presence.




“Thanks, Fred. It's appreciated. I'll be back later with a plate of something tasty for you, return the favour.”




They shared a grin, each remembering when Fred had appeared at Spike's side and fed him spicy wings, thus cementing their budding friendship. Buffy felt a pang of jealousy; she liked Fred very much, but she found it difficult to make new friends. Maybe it was a side effect of the Slayer legacy, the whole 'one girl in all the world' thing. Slayers were meant to be alone.




Well, not this Slayer. She hugged Fred again, dropping a soft kiss on Dawn's forehead, before gripping Spike's hand and following him out of the room. She’d barely gone five feet before she found herself pressed up against the wall, gasping for air, as Spike ravaged her mouth, kissing her like they’d been apart for months. Her hands were gripping his curls, reluctant to let go despite the burning in her lungs. She'd almost lost this, she just knew it, had felt it. She'd known he'd been in pain through the link they shared...and then...nothing. Nothing. That’s when her imagination had gone into overdrive – fearful thoughts of what could be happening versus the creeping terror that he wouldn’t be coming back.




But before she could truly contemplate that loss, Willow had rushed in to tell her that her lover was back and anxious to see her. Buffy had been torn between leaving Dawn alone and rushing to him, but Willow assured her that Fred was heading along and wouldn't be but a minute. She sent Willow on ahead then, knowing that the witch was heavily involved in preparations for the final ritual and not wanting this nightmare to go on any longer than it had to.




And so now, her vampire was back where he belonged. With her. And every bit as desperate to reacquaint himself with her body as she was with his, by the feel of things. But they had work to do. Reluctantly, Buffy pushed him away, still kissing him gently before leaning her forehead against his and holding eye contact.




“We have to go.”




Spike sighed. “I know. I was just... Buffy, I thought I'd lost you. I couldn't bear it.”




“Not gonna happen. Not while I breathe. Now come on, this is getting tired. It's time we got on with this stupid game and maybe then we get our lives back. I've got big plans for you, vampire.”




Spike chuckled. Buffy had big plans for him. He was one lucky, lucky fella.




+ + + +



Xander woke up, his body stiff, head pounding and a mouth like the Sahara. He was slumped on the bathroom floor, every inch of him aching and sore. Pulling himself to his feet, he leaned on the washbasin and took a look at himself in the mirror above. One bloodshot eye, and one sorry mess where an eye had once been – oh yeah, that was when he was dumb enough to think he could fight evil. What a joke. Evil always won in the end. Useless thinking otherwise. He ran the water, keeping it cool so that he could splash his face to clear his head. He felt lousy; but there was a remedy to that.




He’d check up on Angel and find out exactly where their plan for revenge was up to. It had to beat lying on the bed watching reruns, and he was out of booze anyway. And he’d waited plenty long enough. Angel knew what he was doing, he’d be ready to move now, and then Spike would be history. He could leave the rest of the dopes behind him, make a fresh start somewhere with a newly revived Anya. They’d be happy at last.




And if everybody else suffered in the process – tough. What did he care? Not at all.




TBC