AUTHOR'S NOTE: Professor Marvel was the name of the wizard in the "Wizard of Oz." Some dates have changed. The flow of the story makes more sense now. Sorry for the confusion.
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TENWEK HOSPITAL- KENYA, AFRICA

“Buffy, the best we can do at this point is help you get some rest,” Giles sighed at her scathing look and raked his hand over his face, not wanting to think about what his own exhaustion and fear had exposed the vampire to. Giles could only assume that his expression told her something of his pain, because when he looked at her again, her eyes had softened a bit toward him. Or, so he hoped, “Buffy, surely you know by now, or I hope you do, that I would not put William in danger wittingly. He’s become like,” Gile’s eyes dropped down, “family to me now,” he choked, just now realizing how true that statement was. It had been true ever since the two of them, separated by circumstance and centuries, had come together in terrible grief, “But I know that I cannot help either of you unless, and until, I know that at least one of you is safe. I can’t think. And, I certainly can’t help William until you are well,” he smiled a sad smile, “I’m quite sure William can take care of himself. And, I know that he would want his ‘ Shujaa’ at the top of her game before she went into the lion’s den, so to speak.”

Buffy had to smile a little at that because Giles was right. For all the vampire bravado Spike displayed, underneath the surface Buffy would get glimpses of the English gentleman he tried so desperately to hide; the part that had doted on her, and loved her beyond reason, when she couldn’t love herself. She could almost hear him now. She knew that, if Spike were here, he would probably appeal to the sense of competition that seemed to run through their relationship, if that is what you could call what it is they had. He would probably look at her with that special glint in his eye and purr at her, with a challenge in his voice, “ Really Slayer, are you going to let a little love tap of mine keep you down? I thought you were stronger than that. Don’t throw in the towel just yet. It’s just starting to be fun. ”

He had a way of saying the sweetest things. Things that, at the time he said them, sounded like a threat because of the way he said them, but when you really thought about what he said, those things were really sweet.

And, most of the time, what he said was so right it was eerie. As if he could see her in a way no one else could. It was as if he could see into her soul and pull out the pain for her. And she wanted him to.

She wanted him to do it, because no one else would. No one else cared enough to notice the pain she was in. But, he did, and she took advantage of him and his feelings because of it. And, what was worse was the fact that he knew this. He had to. Yet he still let her use him and abuse him.

And she did. Oh God, she did.

Like the time she’d all but fell at his feet, begging to be his third- begging to be sent back to Heaven. It was soon after she discovered she was different. Different enough that Spike could hit her without any pain, at least the physical kind.

At the time, she could only feel her own pain. Now, she could see his.

Buffy couldn’t understand. This is what he came to Sunnydale for, wasn’t it? And, he could do it now, without the blinding pain he always said he was in when he hit humans.

So why did he look so disgusted…and sad? Didn’t he understand that she didn’t belong here now? This wasn’t her world anymore, and the fact that he could hit her without screaming in pain afterward proved it, “But Spike,” she reasoned, “We both know it won’t even cause you a twinge now,” her voice cracked a little, “This is what I want, and you could do it. I want it to be you. Please?” she choked back the sob in her throat.

Spike felt his stomach churn and he had to turn away from her, and do it quickly before she saw what this insane request of hers had really done to him.

He couldn’t let her see his tears. Not now. Not when she needed him to be strong. He held on to the bier in front of him so that his knees wouldn’t buckle. He held on so tight that his fingers cramped and the muscles in his arms strained under the force of unreleased anger and grief.

The words felt raw in his throat as he said them, “That really what you want, Slayer- to die?”

The ache in her voice matched the one in his heart as he heard her say, with a sickening certainty, “Yes, Spike. It’s what I want.”

“Oh Buffy,” he whispered, too low for her to hear, “You have no idea how much it will hurt,” he fought the sob that clawed at his chest and throat, wanting release. He looked up at the slate roof of his crypt, fighting the tears and the anguish that was suddenly so much stronger than he was. He swallowed the tears back and his jaw set as he turned on her, and the sob became a bitter laugh as he said, “Slayer, I wouldn’t give you that satisfaction now,” the words had an edge to them as he tried to hide the hurt, “if you paid me. There’s nothing to you now. It’s not worth it.”

Buffy’s tone was hurt, “What?” she asked bitterly, “You’ve wanted to kill me ever since you first came to Sunnydale! You can do everything else with me. You can use me to…to * get off *! And now, suddenly I’m damaged goods? Now I’m not * worth* the effort? Gee…thanks.”

His voice nearly disappeared in the shock of what she had just dared to say to him, “Using you? Using * you? *” he whispered, “I’m not…” he fought the need to beg her not to make him do this thing. The thing he * did not* want, so desperately. The thing that he, sadly, * would * do if he knew that it was truly what she wanted. She had but to ask.

She had no idea what they’d been through while she was gone. She did have pain. That was true. This impossible request was further proof of how much her soul was buried under it.

But he had pain too. Pain she could not, or would not see. And right now, he couldn’t let her see, “Slayer,” he started again, his tone purposefully harsh. If she needed the “Big Bad” to get through to her, to make her live- then so be it, “just what would that do to my reputation? If the ‘Slayer of Slayers’ had one roll over and * beg * to have my fangs in her throat, without a fight? Not much for the image, yeah?” he was shaking with rage now. Rage and sorrow, “I don’t do charity work. You want to die?”

The lethal gaze that held her now was almost too painful for her to bear. So painful that it made her speechless as tears of agony rolled down her face. She nodded. Yes, she wanted to die. To go back to the place where she was loved and warm.

The roar of death reverberated in her bones and quick as lightning, he was holding her in a powerful grip, spinning her body so that he was behind her, in control of her movement now.

He had the power now.

His arm came down across the front of her body and his hand held her shoulder firmly. She felt the weight of his head as it sliced through the air. She held her breath, her body tensed in anticipation. The fangs tickled her skin. Then, they suddenly disappeared and his voice was in her ear, “You want to die?” he asked, “Want to go back to Heaven? Well, Slayer, if I sent you to your death,” his voice became gruff in her ear, rough and hard with anger. Something about it stirred something inside of her. The knife-edge of pain she heard warmed the cold numbness in the pit of her stomach.

Could he really care if she lived or died?

She was surprised at the rush of feeling that thought brought with it. She was truly surprised at how happy that made her. That he cared. That anyone cared.

She focused on his breath in her ear as he continued to speak to a place inside of her. A place she thought was dead, “…If I tasted you…now, I don’t think you’d make it back there. You see, Heaven’s not a right. It’s what everyone…” his voice hitched on this word, and Buffy almost whimpered, for him and for the pain that she was becoming aware that he too felt. Although she could not understand why, “everyone hopes to have, one day. But it’s not a given. It’s a privilege. You have to earn it. You were there, Buffy. You know it’s there for you. And, you can have it back, but not this way. This way…it’s a cheat. You have to earn it.”

Buffy felt herself shudder as his hold ceased to be punishing, and became comforting, “How?” she choked.

Buffy felt the light kiss against her neck, “Live, Buffy. That’s how. You live,” he whispered, pulling away, “Live, Slayer.”

“You know something, Giles?” she smiled at her Watcher as she finished putting her signature to the hospital’s discharge papers, “You’re right. Wouldn’t be as much fun if I just rolled over, would it. Okay,” she nodded, handing the clipboard to Giles, “You win. We head to Devon and regroup. Maybe get a better idea of where Spike might be, if the Council is holding him. Then, I go in and get him out.”

Giles sighed with relief and a grin spread across his face, “I’m so very glad we agree,” he said, leaving to file the papers with her treating physician.

Watching him leave, Buffy looked through the paper sack that contained all the belongings she was brought to the hospital with. There wasn’t much. Her clothes, her identification, and of course her coat. Or, to be more precise, his coat.

She took it out of the sack gently and was looking for a private place that would allow her to change from her hospital gown, when Panya spoke and disrupted her intentions, “That is Simba’s, yes?”

Buffy looked up absently. She was not focused on anything, really. She just wanted to get out of the hospital fast. The faster she did that, the faster she could find Spike, “What?” she saw the boy’s eyes trained intently on the coat on her lap and she passed her hand lovingly over the leather, pleased that she had this reminder to connect her to him, “Yes, this is his.”

The strong man Panya wanted to be melted a little when he heard her words. Buffy could see it, as tears welled in his dark eyes, “Find him…please?” Panya swallowed hard, “He is a man now. And no man should be caged.”

Buffy nodded, feeling pride in Spike surge within her heart, “You’re right. I will find him, don’t worry.”
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DEVON, ENGLAND-

Willow was nervous about seeing Buffy again. Giles had called a few days ago to make arrangements with the coven to let Buffy stay with them while she recuperated from an accident in Africa.

She hadn’t left Sunnydale on good terms with Buffy. Willow knew “sorry” would never be enough to put right what she had done. But, “sorry” was all she had.

When Giles had called early this morning to confirm that Buffy, and maybe Dawn, was coming, Willow had volunteered to prepare two of the upstairs rooms in the coven house for them. She had worried that everything wasn’t perfect, or that Buffy would find something wrong with the rooms and by inference, find something wrong with her.

Willow was so consumed with making sure that every detail of the rooms was perfect that she started at the sound of the doorbell. Could she be here already? Willow glanced at the tiny bedside clock. It was one o’clock in the afternoon. Buffy wasn’t due for another four hours.

The door chimed again, “Don’t bother Lois, I’ll get it!” she yelled down when she reached the staircase landing.

Willow skittered down the stairs and opened the door. Her stomach flip-flopped at the sight of her. Willow swallowed hard, hating that her mouth was suddenly dry. What can I say to her? She’s probably still mad, and she should be. What I did… “Hey, Dawnie,” Willow said, smiling nervously, “How have you been?”
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LONDON, ENGLAND- AUGUST 2, 2002- 1:00 P.M.

The ironmonger’s clerk tried to keep the woman on the pavement conscious until help arrived. The driver of the lorry had left to find a call box, so the ambulance and the Bobbies would be arriving soon, he knew. If he could just keep the woman alert until then, he was sure things would be fine.

He knelt next to her, talking to her in a tone he hoped was calming, touching her face lightly trying to make her eyes focus on him, “It’s all right. Just, stay with me, all right? Help’s coming,” Cedric was trying not to panic. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He didn’t know what to do.

He looked her over quickly. It looked bad. Her legs were bent at an unnatural angle, and there was a dark red stain on the pavement near her head.

Oh, this looked bad.

He was just a shop clerk. What did he know about first aid?

He took of his worker’s apron and placed it under the woman’s head. As he did, he could hear her mumbling something. It made no sense to him, but at least she was talking. If he could just get her to keep doing it, “What was that, Miss?” he asked.

“Didn’t see…” Lydia gasped through dry lips, “Would have… I didn’t see. But they will,” her eyes blinked in the afternoon light, “They will…” her voice was getting weaker, “soon.”

The woman’s consciousness was fading, and it frightened Cedric, “Hello,” he said urgently, trying to listen for the sirens, “no time for a kip. Stay with me.”

The woman fell unconscious. But it didn’t matter because Cedric could hear the emergency sirens coming closer.
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“How are the headaches, William?”

Spike looked menacingly at the old man, “You didn’t answer my question. What did you make me do?”

Quentin chuckled, “I think you may have things a bit turned around, William. I do not think you are in a position to be asking questions here,” he reached into his black bag, the one Spike knew carried the drugs that he was being injected with, and pulled out a medieval looking devise.

The metal of the thing shone in the dark as he held it in his hands. For an instant, Spike was frightened at what might be in the Watcher’s mind. Just what does he intend to do…? And he subconsciously held his breath in anticipation of the pain that was about to be inflicted on him.

But, as he saw the light of the metal glinting in the dark, coming closer to him, calmness descended upon him and the demon took control once more.

So, the Watcher wants to get his hands dirty does he? That’s the blessing of modern technology. The dirty work gets done from a distance. But for this- for this you need to get up close, see into the eyes. And, believe me. You will see me.

Come closer, boy. I’m waiting. I dare you.

Spike couldn’t help but enjoy the irony, “Maybe,” he conceded, careful not to reveal too much, “Maybe not.”
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TWELVE HOURS EARLER- LYDIA CHALMERS’S FLAT

Lydia addressed the video camera, “I wasn’t able to get much. But as you can see- William is safe- for the moment. The code is relatively simple to break. That is, if Travers hasn’t changed it by now. But he is a hopeless creature of habit, so perhaps that will work in your favor. If Miss Rosenberg’s computer skills have not atrophied, it should be simple for her to accomplish,” her chin went down and she sighed. Looking up into the camera’s eye again, she said, “Again, Miss Summers, I am sorry for my part in this deception and I hope this will help to change the Council as an institution. If it is unwilling to see the light of change,” she smiled wryly, “Then it is my hope that you, and William of course, can bring it down.”

That was all that was left to say. Lydia reached over to switch the recording function off. Ejecting the disc, she placed it in the padded envelope with the translation of the Unhesine prophecy and the map to William’s exact location, and sealed it.

Now all that was left to do was to send this, via urgent parcel post, to the Devon coven house and send the telegram to Rupert Giles in Tsavo.
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DEVON, ENGLAND-

Willow was upstairs settling Dawn into her room when the door chimed again, “Oh boy it’s busy around here today. That could be Buffy,” Willow started out the door, “I’ll get it, Lois!” she shouted down the hall. Looking back at Dawn, she shrugged apologetically, “Sorry. Be right back. I’ve got a bunch of nervous energy to burn. And, at least it’s better than talking your ear off,” she smiled as she left Dawn in the upstairs room.

Willow bounded down the stairs and opened the door. A United Parcel Service employee, in her brown uniform and clipboard, met her, “Hi!” she said warmly.

“Hello,” the woman said, reaching into the pouch that was slung on her hip. Pulling out a small parcel envelope, she said, “I have a delivery for Rupert Giles.”

“Oh, he’s not here. But I can sign for it?” Willow suggested.

“That’s fine,” the woman said, handing her clipboard to her.

Willow signed for the parcel and exchanged the parcel for the electronic clipboard, “Have a good day,” the postwoman smiled.

“You too!” Willow smiled back as she took the envelope inside and shut the door.

“Hmm,” Willow said absently, turning the envelope in her hands, “I guess Giles has mail,” and placed it on the table in the foyer with the other pieces of mail.

She walked upstairs to talk with Dawn. They had a lot of catching up to do. And she had a lot of explaining to do.

Well, she sighed as she climbed, I have to start somewhere. Might as well be her.