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On the Dial of Time by just_sue
 
6
 
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This beautiful darling was created by the multi-talented beanbeans. I bows and salutes you, friend.

Beta: The incredibly talented and mega multi-tasking Megan. Thank you kind lady.

A/N: Thank you to the lovely folk who are giving their time and enthusiasm to review. I can't tell you the last time I had so much fun - I am really enjoying responding to you all and getting to recognise familiar names. You are a real treasure and after this there is only one more chapter. It will be posted tomorrow. Thank you and I hope you enjoy this one (I kinda liked it myself!).


Chapter 6


Making himself comfortable against the pillows, Spike opened the older of the two journals and soon found himself lost in the thoughts and activities of a fifteen year old American girl. The year of the first entry, the year nineteen ninety-six, stunned the vampire. ‘Not what I expected.’ Equal amounts of unease and excitement filled him but he refused to let it distract from his reading. He wanted, needed to know more about her, the golden Slayer.

He’d wondered about her somewhat strange accent and was pleased to see that his guess that she originated from the ex-colony was correct. Buffy’s handwriting lacked the disciplined strokes of his own and some of the terms she used were beyond his comprehension; many mental notes were made to ask her for explanations on her return. ‘What the hell is a ‘boy band’? A group of young ruffians? Why would she be ‘drooling’ over such as them? And shaking her booty? Does she demand some of the ruffians ill-gotten gains?’ Shaking his head slightly in confusion, Spike skipped passed oblique passages dealing with school life, and paused to read more thoroughly when the first mention of being Chosen and the discovery that vampires were real occurred.

Mention of Merrick, her Watcher, and her earlier forays into slaying drew a fond smile to his lips. The vampire realised that a journal such as this would be worth its weight in gold to any demon intent on taking the Slayer down; the information contained within its covers detailed training and lore – much that he considered to be mistaken – as well as the fears of a young girl. The amount of duplicity she needed to indulge in to cover her calling from her family made his undead heart ache for Buffy. Why did it all have to be so hard for her?

Merrick’s death, the school fire and her parents parting far from amicably obviously wounded her deeply. Moving to a new town had torn her away from friends that now eyed her askance but left a hole in her life. Spike smiled as he read about the growing friendships with Xander and Willow – ‘Such strange names they have now. Perhaps ‘Spike’ will not be such an oddity’ – nodding approvingly when a new Watcher, a fellow countryman and librarian no less, made himself known to the Slayer.

Before long Spike felt the indulgent smile freeze before rapidly disappearing. ‘Angel. Angelus!’ There was no one to see his face change or hear the growl emitting from his throat. Amber eyes angrily read in growing disbelief as he skimmed over the cramped lines that had been hurriedly added by a tired Buffy, normally before sleep or after attending school, homework, slaying and some sort of meeting place oddly named ‘The Bronze’. Mention of hyenas and praying mantis barely registered as he looked for all mention of…there it was.

Buffy’s description fit Angelus, almost. Tall, dark and only seen at night fit well; the sad brown eyes did not fit with his own recollections, not a bit. But then Spike became caught up in the discovery that Angel was, in fact, a vampire. Having spent the night in her room. ‘What sort of mad world is this? This is not how it should be. It’s all wrong.’ With ever growing confusion and concern he read on.

Angel having a soul shocked him to his core. In his time it had been his somewhat Sire, Drusilla, that had been cursed by gypsies, sent over the edge of her frail stability and meeting the next sunrise. This read like an abhorrent fairytale, all twisted and distorted. ‘Is this what Buffy meant for me to learn? Or is there more that will confound me?’ As it turned out, even his poet’s imagination would have been unable to create the events that shaped and brought Buffy to where she was now, here in a dwelling that he had inhabited briefly as a child.

Spike was halfway through the second journal when Buffy returned. Try as he might, and he did try hard, he couldn’t put away his tears and battered emotions, though whether they were directed towards himself, his other self, or the grief-ridden Slayer, he really couldn’t tell. The pain of loss for something he had never experienced, a woman’s love, cut through the vampire. Judged against the Spike that had now gone from this world, he knew he would be found wanting on all fronts. A big part of him wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, some faceless interfering sod sending him to a place where his heart had chosen Buffy, when hers was already given to dust; even if that dust had once borne the same name and body.

Where he had anticipated gladness at her return, Spike – ‘I don’t even want to be called that anymore. Nor William. I’ve lost myself to a ghost!’ – wanted nothing more than to flee her presence, give himself time to control his feelings and at least act like a man. Too soon she was there and he lifted his head to gaze at her. The smile on her lips and in her eyes faltered and died.

“I’m not him. I’m not the one you loved.” The heartbroken vampire took what comfort he could when his voice held firm.

***

What to say to that? ‘I wish I knew. So wish that for once I could have the words, say the right ones, take away your pain.’

Moving closer to the bed, Buffy reached out a hand and spoke, “Spike -”

“No!” The vampire pulled back from her approach, angry despair glaring at her from his tear drenched blue eyes. “I am not, nor ever will be, the Spike you describe so well in - ” his hands waved at the journals on the bed, “these pages. I’m not a master vampire, I haven’t saved the world and will not be going to gain a soul for you.” He held back on the fact that he still had his; he did not feel like sharing his secrets, even though she had bared everything to him. The pain and concern in her glance nearly undid him but he dismissed it as he threw his last inadequacy at her. “And I shall not be able to satisfy your carnal desires, either.”

Looking her squarely in the eyes Spike spat out, like a challenge, “I understand that this is normally the point where you beat me up.”

Regret for his words and their delivery hit him instantaneously. Buffy’s raised heartbeat and the sudden paleness to her sun-flushed face, the way she caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth and squared her shoulders as if expecting a blow had him more ashamed than he would have believed possible. “Buffy - ”

Buffy raised a hand to stop him from tearing her into any more pieces. “I’ll be right back, Sp… I have some clothes for you.” Running from the room she held onto her own tears until she reached the lower floor. ‘Will I never stop crying?’

Unbidden memories of the other Spike’s words, about crying a river of salt sprang into her mind. It hadn’t sunk in at the time, how much pain he was in. But she’d had long enough to contemplate it now, suffer her own pain over him. Buffy was amazed at how quickly this other Spike had engaged her feelings, put salve on the wound of her sorrow. More astonishing still was the absence of guilt, or betrayal. She was scared that if she paused too long to examine this then a list of reasons to keep distant would present themselves. They had before… and look how well that had turned out?

The vampire in the room above was right; he wasn’t the other Spike. But he had so many of the same attributes that it was difficult not to acknowledge them. Both lashed out verbally with cutting accuracy when they hurt inside. It would have to be up to her to pour oil on the troubled water, make the one here now understand that she would do her utmost to be whatever he needed. And whilst she’d sort of hoped that in time it would be more than friendship, well, if he didn’t want to satisfy her ‘carnal desires’, she could live with that – she hoped she could live with that.

Roughly brushing the pooling moisture from her eyes, Buffy grabbed the leather bag and slowly made her way back up the stairs. Moving into the spare bedroom she dropped the bag and pulled the curtains across; shutting out the afternoon light before tapping on her bedroom door, waiting for the vampire within to open it.

Spike had been pacing furiously, damning himself for his outrageously hurtful words to one who had shown him nothing but good, nothing but kindness. His jealously and misery seemed to have taken away every whit of good sense that he’d ever possessed. ‘How does anyone forgive words such as mine? Why would she even want to? Oh, Buffy, I am so sorry, love.’

His mortification was complete when the Slayer tapped on the door, waiting for his permission to enter her room. The feet that had been full of energy moments before seemed now to be made of lead as he moved to open the door. Buffy glanced briefly up at him as she waved a hand in the direction of a room on the other side of the landing.

“Clothes are in there. I…um…they should fit. I’ll go back tomorrow if I need to change anything.” Her voice ended in a whisper as the words became strangled in her throat.

Spike couldn’t keep his feelings in anymore, didn’t want to leave his distasteful outburst to stain the… something that was there already between them. His regretful habit of opening his mouth and showing his emotions too clearly could destroy it before he would be given an opportunity to court her, to make her see him. Really see him. And care for him because he was who he was, and not another. Taking his courage in both hands, Spike set out to mend anything he may have broken between them. To offer himself for her judgement.

“I’m in this world on your grace and favour, Buffy.” His eyes tried to impress his sincerity and candour into her being, let her know the truth of his words, understand so that there could be no doubt of his honesty – if only she would look at him. “By all rights you should have ended me last night. Now I understand why you didn’t. It’s because of him. Because you loved him, and he loved you. Because you grieve his passing. If not for him I believe I would not be here now. I wish I had been him, Buffy. I wish I could pretend I am him. I am afraid you will be disappointed if you think I am and…I could not deceive you so. So, if that is the only thing that has been responsible for your restraint and hospitality so far, that my face bears a similarity to his, that a small part of our history seems to have been shared, do not let that stay your hand. ”

Green tear-filled eyes locked onto his, unblinking until her lashes dropped and swept a soft fall of tears down her cheeks. Buffy could not deny what the vampire said, but it was not the whole truth. Glancing back up into his earnest blue gaze, Buffy supplied him with some truth of her own.

“I dreamt about you. Not…Spike who died here. You.” Encouraged by the look of confused interest appearing on his face Buffy pushed on. “Every night, every single night - since I’ve come to this place to remember him and, you’re right, to grieve and to think…of my mistakes - every single night I’ve dreamt of you. I’ve been here for over three weeks and it was you I saw every night. Nearly everything that happened last night was exactly as I’ve seen it in all my slayer dreams.” Suddenly, everything seemed clear to her. She saw, with the utmost clarity exactly what she had been gifted; undoubtedly, he was a gift. And, as with all gifts, it was up to Buffy to choose what to do with it. Not only her. This Spike had been given a gift too, of further life when he’d been sent here instead of meeting a certain end to his existence.

Buffy wanted to spill out her revelations to the nervous vampire before her; she wanted to babble them out in a style more befitting Willow at her most enthusiastic. Wanting to gain a few minutes to put her newly found convictions into words that would be comprehensible to both of them, she gestured again to the other bedroom, starting to smile and keeping her eyes on his.

“I think I may understand, I think I know what this is all about,” Buffy was almost stuttering as she fought to contain the rising excitement. “But you need to get dressed first, and I need something to drink.”

Spike followed her numbly, but with a growing optimism. Something had sparked to life in Buffy’s eyes and for some reason it gave him hope, hope that she saw him. Him. Not the one he was in some way replacing on this plane. He’d believed that by being frank with her all chance to stay near his slayer had vanished. He’d fully expected to be staked or, if she wished to be cruel, to be sent away to fend for himself. To be alone, to be a stranger in – ‘well, not precisely a strange land’ – a strange world.

Buffy, his goddess, had now pulled him back from the depths he’d allowed himself to sink into as he’d raced through her journals. Spike had not been able to contain the feeling, almost betrayal that overcame him as he realised that the dream he’d entertained that maybe, just maybe, he might someday mean something to her was beyond his aspiration. It had evaporated when he’d learnt of those who’d gone before. What could he ever come to mean to her when he had to compete with those she had given herself to, body and heart, during this life of hers in which he played no part until now? Now he desperately wanted to believe that she had given him something, a crumb, anything.

Tugging open the bag she’d dumped earlier, Buffy pulled out a pair of dark blue jeans, a white tee shirt, socks and boxers, and suede boots before laying them out on the bed. “I’m hoping they’re gonna fit. We can always get some more tomorrow.”

That was all it took for Spike to release the breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding. Tomorrow. He’d never known it to sound so glorious before. Linked to the other wonderful word - we. Added together, we plus tomorrow gave Spike more than enough for now.

Unable to stop herself, Buffy grabbed his hand as she rummaged a carrier full of toiletries out of the leather bag before gently tugging the vampire into the bathroom.

“Okay, here’s a clean towel, and this knob turns on the water.” Buffy put actions to words as she leaned into the shower cubicle and turned the water on. “And the other way for off. This one controls the temperature. See, turn towards the red for hotter and blue for colder.”

Several bottles were lined up on a rounded shelf and Buffy pointed to each in turn. “To wash your body with, shampoo for your hair, and conditioner to put in after you’ve rinsed the first time. Don’t forget to rinse it out after a little while.” A comb and a brush were placed by the sinks.

“Shout out if you have problems, okay?” She looked up to see him studying her in that way so reminiscent, so like the other. Buffy almost expected him to drop down on his knees and profess his love for her. The smile hadn’t left her face since it had hit her, the answer, and now it only deepened into a grin as an answering smile slowly spread across the face of the bewildered vampire. “See you downstairs in a little while. This time we really will talk.”

He watched until the door closed softly behind Buffy, listening as her feet trod down the stairs and almost faded away. Slipping the robe off and hanging it behind the door, Spike crossed to the mirror and once again studied his reflection. As he stripped the ribbon from his hair, releasing curls to float about his head, there was not a thing to stop the grin gaining ground on his lips. Moving to the shower, the vampire followed all given instructions as he adjusted the temperature of the spray and washed his old world from his skin and hair, and prepared to embrace the new world he was determined to become a part of.

***

The slayer dreams, how could she have forgotten so quickly how they all ended differently? In every one there was an element of chance and of choice, so much so that when last night happened and she felt it all come together, she’d already chosen. She’d already determined to prevent whoever it was from being thrown into that tree, that very wooden tree with the branches and the nasty splinters. When she saved him and found he was a vampire, curiosity and resemblance gained him a reprieve. But it was his absence of attack, his acceptance of everything that she did that had softened her reactions to him, made her want to save him as much as the familiarity of his face.

This vampire was young in his unlife and not weighed down by the memories and actions of over a century. He hadn’t been the consort of Drusilla, hadn’t killed a slayer, and didn’t feed on human blood. And she had a chance to get to know him, be his friend, show him her world and maybe, just maybe, treasure to the fullest the gift she had been given. The lessons of one Spike would not be squandered, Buffy knew she had learnt and was eager to put her newfound certainty to the test.

Filling up the kettle with water and setting it to boil, Buffy wandered into the formal drawing room. She’d left a new journal, an unused and recently purchased journal on the writing table there, thinking she would soon be needing fresh pages for her thoughts. Truly, she doubted that she needed to do this, but the Slayer in her demanded that she made some sort of record, just in case. Just in case it all went horribly wrong. ‘I won’t let it. This is one gift I’m gonna cherish above all others.’

Sorting the words in her head, Buffy put pen to paper and started to leave the information that would help to point Giles in the right direction, just in case. ‘Giles is never gonna see this. This time it’s going to be the right time. I just feel it. Goodbye, Spike. I’ll never ever forget you. Never stop praying to the – whatever – that you’re in a good place. Never stop being thankful for having known you, for having loved you. I am so, so sorry that it was too late. Silly, I sorta want to ask for your blessing. Which is all sorts of weird! I don’t love him, not yet. But there’s something there. The same sorta feeling I used to have about you, that I used to stomp on… deny. Does it make sense that if I hadn’t known you, hadn’t loved you, he would be dust now? Probably about as much sense as knowing that you were the one to teach me about love, what it really means. Without you I would never have been capable of loving again. Be happy, wherever you are. You so deserve that, to be happy, to be loved.’ Sniffling, Buffy wrote on.


21 June 2003

Dear Giles…


***

Willow decided half way through Taunton Station that she had packed too much. The temptation to use her powers to lighten the load tempted her, until she thought of what Tara would have said to that! Smiling reflectively, the young redhead tried to work on her ‘Hi, Buffy. Surprise!’ speech. It was only now she’d arrived that she was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of appearing unannounced like this. She wasn’t so sure now that Buffy would welcome her with open arms and fall into a girly catch up session filled with laughter and junk food.

Settling back in the rear of the taxi Giles had arranged to meet her, Willow lost herself at the vision made by the green countryside shining in an extraordinary golden light; everything was in sharp relief as the sun gave a last blast of sunny goodness before taking its leave until the next day.

Giles instructions to her played in her mind. With a hopeful shrug, Willow resigned herself to fate and continued to look at the view.

It was a most unfortunate thing that the cell phone coverage in many parts of Somerset was somewhat …sketchy. Willow would not have been anywhere near as relaxed if she had been able to pick up her messages – not that she’d remembered to try yet.

If she had known then what Giles knew – well, things may have gone a little differently.


A/N: I think you already know how much I adore it. The last chapter goes up tomorrow and I do hope I've entertained you.
 
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