KENYA, AFRICA- JANUARY 2, 2008-

Spike sighed. He was so tired. The smoke of the dying fire was more substantial than he felt. For more than five years now, he led a ghostly existence, not by choice, but to protect her.

All he did was make her life a living Hell.

Panya was sitting next to him. He could hear the shallow breathing and he knew Mouse was frightened. He had that look. It was the same look Buffy had in her eyes, all those years ago. That look was both a blessing and a curse. It was a testament to Rupert’s spellcasting skills.

Mouse looked as though he were having a fireside chat-with a ghost, “Simba?” his voice was strangled with disbelief.

“Yeah, Mouse,” Spike croaked. He really had grown to hate the look of fright in their eyes. After so long, even Rupert wore it, “It’s me,” he said.

Panya was dumbstruck. Simba looked so real. His head was bowed, as if in sorrow. And the way the starlight fell upon him, it veiled his face in shadow, much like it had when he’d first discovered him, in a grotto not far from here. And that made the hope rise in his heart again. Sometimes his mind would venture out. It would wander, especially when he would tell his tales. Sometimes he even spoke like him. Called him “Mouse.” But, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

But, others had seen him this time. They spoke to him.

Something was different this time. The winds had shifted, and this time he’d touched Simba. That had never happened before. He felt so real, like he remembered.

No. It wasn’t true. He often thought about Simba at times like this, when the Synod was close, and everything that Shujaa had fought for was in danger of collapsing.

No. It was just a boyhood dream. Yet…Could it be…?

Simba even asked for his help. That was something he had hoped for, all these years. He’d prayed for it. Because he didn’t want to believe that his friend was gone. He didn’t want to think that Simba would leave a part of himself, his mtina, alone and so full of sorrow.

But, he was…gone. He’d seen it happen. And, poor Shujaa… If only it were so…If only I could…

And now, he was here, asking for his help. Help he knew Shujaa needed. The Synod couldn’t do what they had threatened to. If they did…But then, that could be seen as a blessing. She was more beast now than human.

Sorrow and grief could do that to anyone. And that was something Panya knew Simba would understand.

But to watch it happen to her…to Shujaa…To watch her hope slowly die as the years went on…? It slowly killed his hope as well.

Perhaps that was why Simba had come. To give him hope?

Panya sighed, his lungs stinging from the smoke of the fire, and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want Simba to disappear.

He didn’t want the smoke and the stars to tell him he’d gone completely mad.

The wind seemed to laugh at him. It was a laugh that held no joy in it. It shattered the air, sharpening it to jagged points, “I’m so bloody tired of running, Mouse. If I thought that it would help her, bring her back…do her any good…I’d surrender to the Synod tonight. I’d let the garrison have me…”

Suddenly, Panya did not care that he might be mad. What Simba was suggesting was simply unthinkable, “No, Simba!” he gasped, “You can’t! You mustn’t! They are out for blood!”

“Yeah,” Spike hissed, “and it’s mine they want! They hold me responsible. And, they’re not wrong!”

Panya watched his friend shake with rage, saw his eyes glow with the power of flame, and felt his pain deeply. He understood the rage.

“Simba,” he soothed, “You brought down an evil in our midst,” his voice became wistful and soft, “Your memory galvanized first one, and then many, until the many became millions. And, for a time, there was peace.”

Spike trained his eyes on Panya, his voice wavering with both shock and memory, “Mouse, I’m no one’s martyr.”

“You were hers, and ours. And, for a time, she was strong. We made her so. You made her so.”

“Yeah,” Spike whispered, “I was bloody well proud of her.”

“She would not want you to surrender. The Synod may indeed have lost control,” Panya admitted, “But you cannot give it back to them, by giving up your own,” he felt his lips turn up in a smirk, “Shujaa would want you to fight. I’m sure, if she knew…” he sighed again, and looked at his friend with sad but hopeful eyes, whispering, “I still…” his voice trailed off, carried away into the desert night.

Spike nodded his understanding. Seeing was not necessarily believing. He grasped Panya by the arm in a firm grip. It was the only way he knew of that would convince them both that what had happened was real, “I’m here, Mouse,” he said, gruffly, “You’re not dreaming,” his mouth pulled up into a sad smirk, “And, you haven’t lost your mind. This is real.”

Panya’s could no longer deny his eyes, or his heart. As he pulled his lost friend into a grateful embrace, his voice shook as a weight was lifted off of his shoulders, “Oh, my friend!” he exclaimed, “It is so good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you too, Mouse,” Spike returned the embrace, grateful for the support, because he suddenly felt weak, “Where is she?”

“The Cells have kept her safe…”

“I know that. I trust you,” Spike’s voice shook with exhaustion, “But with what happened to Rupert…” he fell silent, his lips pursing into a grim line as his jaw twitched, working to keep the outrage and fatigue at bay, “I had to come out of hiding,” he said, after he had himself under more control; once his emotions were once again hidden he spoke with more strength, but his voice showed his true age, “ I couldn’t stay away. Where is she, Mouse?” he shook his head as his emotions, and his years without her, once again began to overwhelm him, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“I understand. I will take you to her. Perhaps you will be able to reach her.”

Spike sighed and stood up, moving away from the fire. He turned away from the concern that was clearly written on Panya’s upturned face. He doubted his presence would be of any help to her now, but, he needed to be with her.

He needed her.

“Maybe,” he said, “I just need to be with her.” He turned back toward his friend and asked, “Where is she?” he asked, “Which Cell is taking care of her?”

“None,” Panya said.

“What?!” he whispered, horrified.

Panya stood carefully, pulling Simba slowly away from anyone who might hear, and tried to keep his voice calm, not wanting to wake the others in the camp. He swallowed notably, gathering his thoughts before he spoke, “In order to maintain secrecy, the Cells have been dissolved.”

“The Synod…?”

Panya nodded, “The Cells were discovered. She is safe. Lydia has seen to it,” Panya placed a gentle guiding hand on Simba’s shoulder, “And I can bring you to her, but we must do so quickly,” he whispered, “Word has it that the garrisons are storming this place soon…”

“A raid?”

“Yes,” Panya stopped walking, turned and tilted his head, regarding his friend quizzically, “How are you? Are you fearful of closed places?”

Spike winced as the memory of his time as Quentin Travers’s captive came back to him, “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly, “But if it will take me to her- let me help her- I’ll do anything I have to do.”

Panya nodded as he led his friend away from the camp and into the night, “You are very lucky to have found us. By morning, there will be no trace of a Cell here. We would have gone. Miss Chalmers has arranged the transport…”

Spike stopped, a wave of vertigo suddenly engulfing him.

Not that thing…That box…it’s…

Panya noticed his faltering steps, and asked, genuine concern coloring his tone. His friend suddenly looked paler than he had just a moment before, “Are you all right, Simba?”

He sighed, trying to shake off his nausea and disgust at the idea of spending even one more moment in a cold, dark, casket, “I’ll be all right,” he shuddered, “If it’ll take me where I need to be, I’ll do it.”
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Panya had offered to sedate him for the flight, but he wouldn’t have it. He wanted to be clear-headed once he met her. It had been years, and the last time he saw her was horrible. It wasn’t a memory he wanted.

But it was all he had.

2 SEPTEMBER 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND-

He can see her mouth, open in a silent scream as he’s falling into empty space. Blackness creeps in…and he wants to move. Wants to…hold her as she’s falling.

The colors are so bright here.

And he’s falling…into nothing. Breaking down. Crumbling to dust in her hands.

Then everything went blank. Screaming white noise. His name. Her tears.

It worked. Oh, God…

It worked.

Her eyes wide, her face twisted in fury, Buffy rushed Althenea, forcing her to the floor. Her fists and words flew in wild succession, “You murdering bitch! I’ll kill you!”

“Buffy, no!” Giles shouted, trying to throw her off of the woman, “Buffy,” he pleaded with her, “think! You’re the Slayer…Please think about what you’re doing!”

Spike saw it all. The beautiful, deadly glint in her eye, and he knew what she was going to do.

He tried to scream, but the magic and the grief was too thick, and well placed. He couldn’t break through it.

Yes, Buffy…

He could remember the strength in those tiny, perfect fists, the power they had…It was blinding, consuming…

…Please think…

Please tell me that I didn’t make you a killer…

Those were the memories that he’d slept with all these years, the ones that kept him warm. They were nothing but cold comfort. He had seen that rage. He knew it.

He knew. He’d made her a killer.
**************************************************************


7 JANUARY 2008- SOMEWHERE IN CHINA-

It was dark in here. It was always that way now, had been that way for years. The lights were on, but it was dark. No one home…ever again. No one home…No one home, now.

She could hear the screams and the whispers in her head. All of them making promises he couldn’t keep.

Didn’t matter though. It didn’t hurt.

Because, he was a liar.

It made her laugh. The darkness was gone…and now there was no more light. It was funny.

Sometimes she heard his voice in her head. But not now. He was gone.
**********************************************************

The place reminded him too much of the dungeon that Travers kept him in. It was dark and cold. The place was a labyrinth. Even a Slayer at the peak of her form would have a bit of trouble navigating all the twists and turns.

He growled a little as he went deeper into the darkness. This is taking care of her? When I get my hands on Lydia…I’ve treated my food better than this! This isn’t the bloody Synod. You’d better pray Rupert pulls through, because he’s the only thing keeping your head on your shoulders, you stupid chit!

A tiny sound floated out to him from the depths of the darkness. A sound that broke his murderous thoughts, and spoke to him of a hope he thought he’d lost.

It sounded broken, devoid of the hope it held for him. A sob smothered itself in his chest.

Laughter. Her laughter. But, something was wrong, it sounded like brass, hollow and grating. It jittered his nerves, that sound.

Too many years with Drusilla not to know.

She was mad.

He raced toward the sound…
*********************************

He found her, deep in the cavern, the fire from the torches along the stone and sand wall, threw her face into shadow. But, he knew her. He would know her years from now. She was in his blood. She screamed at him all the years he was gone.

And before he left her in this darkness, he had made sure that he was in hers. But would she hear it? Would she recognize him?

She was standing with her back to him, her head bowed, her gaze fixed on a spot in the dirt, as though it would tell her its secrets.

It hurt, seeing her like this, seeing what he’d made of her. A small shudder broke loose from him, and she stiffened and turned slowly to him.

Her face went slack with shock and her eyes widened, as a ghost from long ago materialized from out of the dark and the mist. It had a name. She remembered that.

If only she could still speak it, “Spike…?”

The broken hope of his name, spoken as a whisper by that sweet voice, washed over him like a bittersweet benediction.

And suddenly, it didn’t matter that she might not believe, might not understand what was happening. It didn’t matter that he might not be real to her.

She was real to him. And, he needed her.

She jumped into his arms, gripping him tightly, proving to herself that this was no ghost. This time, it was real.

She peppered him with kisses, and ran her fingers through his hair, “Spike,” she whispered, her voice nearly a sob, “Don’t leave me. Please don’t ever leave me…”

“Never leave you again, Love,” he murmured, “Never…” he drank in her kisses and her touch like a man dying of thirst, “I’m here now…”