SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA

Buffy was desperate. She was desperate enough to be seen in a place that really was unsavory. It was dirty and dingy, and a person could never be certain what had been on those stools before they had walked in the door. Buffy grimaced just thinking about it. In fact, she was sure she’d need a shower after being here. But, desperate times called for desperate measures. It had been weeks since he’d left. Weeks since she’d heard anything about him at all.

So she was here. At the only place she knew of in Sunnydale that might give her some idea of what happened to him.

She had to focus on what happened to him. Focusing on Spike was so much easier than thinking about what Willow did.

Being back here, in Willie’s Place, was far better than thinking about Xander…and Willow.

Xander lived in Sunnydale his entire life. He’d lived, survived and even, some might say, thrived in a town known for its soulless, bloodthirsty inhabitants and what was it that killed him? A girl. His best friend since they were both in kindergarten.

It really burned her up. It made her angry. So angry she didn’t know what to do. And, she’d only heard about it after the fact, from Giles, because it’s hard to see anything when you’re six feet under the ground fighting dirt monsters. The last thing she remembered, the last time she could remember seeing Xander alive was when she was yelling at him.

He was dead, and the last thing she’d done is yell at him. That hurt her more than she could admit.

She hadn’t even seen what happened, how Xander died, and it hurt. She couldn’t imagine how she would feel about it, and Willow, if she had seen it.

She knew some of it, but only because she had eavesdropped on the conversation that Giles and Willow had during Xander’s wake. She hadn’t really meant to, but Willow had been so distraught that it was nearly impossible not to hear what she had done.

“Don’t touch me, Giles!” as she looked on, trying to make herself invisible, Buffy could see the weight that Willow carried, could hear it in her voice, even as Giles tried to comfort her, “Don’t try to make this better! I killed him, Giles!” Willow sobbed hopelessly, “I killed my best friend, and Warren. Oh God…Tara. I’m so sorry,” Buffy watched as Willow’s fingers skirted tremulously over Xander’s cold skin as he lie in the casket, and for a brief moment all Buffy could think about was the urge to rush Willow, shove her in the coffin on top of Xander and slam down the lid. Buffy had to fight the overwhelming need to be physically ill as she heard Willow wailing, “I’m so sorry, Xander! I love you, too. I hope you know that, now.”

Giles nodded somberly, as he led her away from the casket, “I’m certain that is the one thing he has no doubt of, at least now, if he ever doubted it. Let’s come away now.”

Willow’s eyes were glistening when she looked at him, “How, Giles? How do I? Is it possible?”

As they both walked slowly past her, Buffy heard him murmur, “I don’t know, Willow. But, we’ll begin the journey together.”

Buffy wondered how Giles had been able to comfort her so easily when she herself was having a great deal of difficulty doing just that. How could he possibly forgive her for what she had done?

She asked Giles why he was being so benevolent with Willow. He’d only smiled sadly at her and said, “Buffy, you have no idea of the gravity of Willow’s situation or of her tenuous hold on her sanity. She’s crossed a line, done unspeakable things to those she loves, and who loved her. The kind if punishment you would call for would be of no help, no consequence. It does no good to punish her, if she cannot understand what is she has done, and why. Once that is accomplished, only then can she learn from it. Only then will punishment be effective. ”

Giles said that a gentle hand was what was needed if she wanted her friend to be returned to her.

Buffy could understand that. But the crux of the matter was, she didn’t know if she wanted Willow back.

Willow committed murder, and she should be punished for what she did. It wasn’t as though it was an accident. Xander hadn’t died in a fight. Willow hadn’t pushed him too hard, causing him to fall and hit his head. That’s not what killed him. That, she could forgive, given enough time.

That she could forgive. But this, what Willow had done? No.

No. She let something crawl inside of her and take her over because she couldn’t deal with the loss she felt. She didn’t want to hear that she was loved. Did not want to be loved. So, she killed him, just because she could.

As Buffy sat at the bar, she shook her head in disgust. Willow wasn’t a demon. She could have made a choice to stop. She wasn’t Spike. She could have stopped. But she didn’t.

She hadn’t stopped until it was too late. Spike, on the other hand…her mind flashed on that night. The last time she’d seen him. And she knew. The horror of what he’d done screamed in his gaze. In that moment he’d understood. Oh God. He would have stopped, even if I hadn’t pushed him away. He would have stopped. I saw it. He would have stopped.

Buffy tried to get the bartender’s attention. She would do anything not to hear the hammering of her heart.

Willow hadn’t stopped, yet she is back in England, on the road to forgiveness. Spike had stopped. And he would have stopped. I know he would have. But where is he? I know something inside him died that night. I heard the death rattle. I saw it, and I did nothing.

Where is he? Did he really do what the rumors said? Did he?

And, if he did, what does that say about him, and Willow?

What does that say about me?

Buffy drew in a steadying breath, letting the stale air and the pungent sting of blood and cigarettes mixed with sawdust comfort her.

She coughed slightly and the bartender turned. His eyes widened in surprise, “Slayer, I have to say, unlike most of the clientele of this establishment, I’m very pleased to see you. Word was you’d been gunned down,” he leered at her, “My information was obviously erroneous. Leather is a good look for you. Is it new?”

Buffy blinked. She had almost forgotten about it. She’d taken to wearing the duster he’d left behind when she heard he’d left town. She wore it to have him near, and in the hope that he would be back.

“Willie, your information was right. I was shot,” she shrugged, “But as you can see, I’m much better now.”

Willie nodded, “I can see that,” he shook his head, “There must be a glitch in the network because, Slayer, your being alive? Sadly, that’s not what I heard.”

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat, “Really?” she leaned closer to him and asked in a hushed voice, “What have you heard?”

Willie leaned over the bar and his voice lowered to match hers, “About?”

“Spike,” Buffy said.

Willie shook his head and sighed, “That, Slayer, is a sad tale indeed.”
*************************************************

KENYA, AFRICA

The rapid hush of unneeded breath, breath drawn in terror rather than necessity, reverberated through the grotto. It seemed to be the only sound Lydia could hear. All she could see was the smooth and delicate details of the pistol barrel as she stared into it. She was quite surprised at how small the deadly instrument was, “I have no interest in…harming William,” she said, her voice sounding more frightened than she had intended.

Giles’s eye narrowed suspiciously, his arm never lowering the weapon, “Somehow, your assertions don’t ring true. I wonder what you would say if I didn’t have this weapon trained on you?”

Lydia’s eyes darted quickly to the vampire, that was crouched in a near fetal position in the far corner of her vision, “What are you going to do?” her question was addressed to Giles, but her eyes never left the sad spectacle made by the once proud creature. A creature she had silently admired since her early days with the Council.

Giles’s tone was slow and measured, “I don’t see how what I do is any of the Council’s concern.”

“But the Council…” Lydia stammered.

“Is not in control here,” to punctuate his point, Giles pulled the hammer of his pistol to firing position and smirked in satisfaction when he saw her flinch, “I am. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Lydia nodded mutely.

“Good. Now, as far as the Council is concerned, William is lost. Understand? Should anyone wish to question me, I will tell them no more than that.”

Lydia glanced to the native boy who was Rupert Giles’s companion, “ What about this boy? He could discredit your claims. I could…”

Giles nodded, gripping the weapon tighter as he aimed it at her skull, “You could. But, I don’t believe that would be wise,” he looked over at his companion, who nodded and smiled, “As for the boy, well you see…”

Panya smiled broadly, and said, in very broken English, “My English…not good.”

Giles shook his head in sympathy, “That does pose quite a problem, doesn’t it Miss Chalmers?”

“Yes,” Lydia said, and although she did not move her voice was oddly cold and confident in light of her circumstances. Giles detected a quality in her words that could only be classified as disdain, “I understand. But do you?” her eyes returned to the vampire, “Do you not remember what that is? Or, has your time in the colony made you forgetful?”

Spike knew that they were speaking of what had happened in Sunnydale. And, he did not want to hear. He covered his head with his hands in an effort to block the words. He knew what he had done. And he knew why the Watcher had found him and why he was holding the Council’s woman at bay. He wasn’t a fool.

Spike knew why he was being spared the Council’s wrath. It was so that the Watcher could exact his own brand of vengeance on him.

He’d harmed the Slayer. And now that the Slayer was gone, he had to pay for what he’d done. He understood that, now and he would accept his punishment.

“…I have found that there are monsters that exist in this world that are far more dangerous, and lethal, than he,” Giles was saying, his pistol still aimed at the woman.

Even as he tried to drown the voices out, tried to focus, he found that he could not. They all kept telling him what he’d done.

He tried to drown them out. He didn’t want to know. Monster. Yes, I know that. I’ll be whipped. I know that. It’s what I deserve for hurting them. For hurting her.

The voices outside were fading, “…You will go back to the Council and you will tell them that William is lost. You will tell them that he was indeed in Africa, but he is no longer. His whereabouts, his very existence is to remain unaccounted for. Understand?” Giles motioned Lydia into the bed of the lorry with his pistol, and Lydia stepped inside. Panya spoke to the driver, whose face poked out of the driver’s side window, “Rudisha yake. Pofuka,” the man nodded in agreement and the lorry sped off, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

As Giles and Panya walked back to the cave entrance, Giles asked, “What did you tell that man?”

“I told him to take the woman back and to forget what he’d just seen,” Panya nodded toward the path the vehicle had taken, “He has not seen us, and he will tell others so.”

“How do you know that he will do as you ask?”

Panya smiled at the old man, “He must. He is my sister’s husband.”

Panya could not help himself. He laughed heartily at the old man’s dumbfounded expression.
*****************************************************

Inside the cave that sheltered him from the light, Spike waited for his punishment. He could hear the Watcher approaching. He tried but failed to raise his eyes from the sand that covered the cave floor. His vision would not come clear. The constant veil of tears the fire deep within him caused his vision to blur. But he could still see clearly. He knew what he had done to her.

The Watcher’s dusty boots filled his view. Strong boots. Sturdy. Good for kicking. Give a kick, then.

The voice was soft. It didn’t fit, “Spike, look at me. It’s me, Rupert. Look at me.”

The kindness in that voce broke him. Spike knew he didn’t deserve that mercy, “I know why you’re here,” he choked as the sadness cascaded over him, he looked up into the man’s eyes, “Rupert. I know what happened, what I did, to the Slayer. It burns, Rupert,” he whispered, “Oh God how it burns. What I did. Help me. Rupert please, help me stop the burning.”

In all his days as a Watcher, Rupert Giles had never seen this before. The eyes that stared back at him weren’t those of a vampire. There was a light in them that had never been seen in a vampire before, not even in Angelus.

He gasped at what he saw. It was true. “William the Bloody” wad dead. What stared at him now, Rupert knew, was an entirely new creature.

The shock of this discovery had caused him to lose hold of what Spike was saying, “…Slayer’s dead. I felt it. I felt the pain. Oh God, it burned. I know. That’s why you’re here now. Help me end it.”

Giles’s eyes narrowed as he tried to pick up the thread of thought. As he did, his heart ached for the confusion that had so greatly consumed the vampire.

Rupert decided to do what he could to ease it. “Spike, listen to me carefully,” the authority in his voice made Spike want to look at him. The voice was solid and sure. And he needed that. He clung to it, desperate for something, anything familiar, “Buffy isn’t dead.”

There was the hope, the hope he needed, “No?”

“No,” Giles said slowly as he looked into the vampire’s pained eyes.
*************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND

Quentin Travers looked at the communiqué from Lydia Chalmers again. Apparently he had misjudged her abilities. She hadn’t even been in the field three weeks.

Quentin sighed involuntarily. A great load had just been let off of his shoulders. With this report from Kenya, he knew the institution he ran and his world, would still survive.

He held the telegram in his hand and read it again:

To: Quentin R. Travers, Council Headquarters, London, England

From: Lydia S. Chalmers, Tsavo, Kenya, Africa.

As of today’s date, 16 July 2002, existence of “William the Bloody” cannot be confirmed. Assumed demise. Returning to England. Full details to follow.
*****************************************

SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA

The walk back to her house on Revello Drive had never seemed so long, or so cold. She wrapped the leather duster tighter around her, trying to use its warmth. She could still smell him. His scent clung to the fibers. It smelled so comforting, so much like him. It should, it was his second skin for over thirty years.

Now it was all she had left of him.

Spike was gone.

Buffy couldn’t see the door lock because of the tears that were suddenly filling her eyes. She struggled with her keys as they jingled on the chain. She knew the house would be empty; Dawn had a sleepover or something. It was just as well. She wanted to be alone.

She didn’t know if she should believe what Willie had said. She didn’t want to.

Buffy leaned heavily on the door as she swung it open. The house was dark, except for the light on her phone machine. It blinked red in the dark. Buffy sighed as she flipped the toggle switch for the overhead light. The red glow reminded Buffy of the many nights she would look out of her bedroom window and see the light of Spike’s cigarette glowing from the dark under the tree in the front yard.

Buffy absently pushed the button and Giles’s voice came out to fill the emptiness of the house, “Buffy, please be certain your passport is updated and see your physician about malaria precautions. There is a ticket waiting for you at Sunnydale International Airport. Buffy, join me in Africa as soon as possible.”

Buffy’s heart leaped as she bounded up the stairs. Passport? Do I even have I passport? It doesn’t matter. I’ll get one. Gotta go to the hospital and get my shots. Giles sounded so upbeat. Maybe he knows what happened to Spike.