COME BACK TO ME CHAPTER 30

 

Buffy was sitting by Dawn’s bed, her head in her hands, gulping huge sobs of pain and anguish.  She was feeling everything that Spike was feeling, wherever he was, and it was pure torment.  So much pain, guilt, regret; and now he’d settled on despair.  Frantically, she willed him to feel her love and belief in him, ached to be with him and fight for him.  Stuck here while Spike was going through another trial – well, it made her feel completely powerless.  For a Slayer, feeling pathetic and weak was probably the worst thing ever, and she needed to stop this crying jag and do something to vent her frustration. 

 

She went to clean up and stared balefully at the puffy red eyes and face smeared with tears and snot that looked back at her in the mirror. ‘This really isn’t helping Spike, is it?  Snap out of it!’  

 

What the hell were they doing to him?  Cordelia ought to know, big suck-up to the Powers that she was.  Flipping her cell phone open, Buffy called Fred, pacing as it took a few seconds for the scientist to answer.  “Fred?  Yeah, put Cordy on.  Fine, no change – no he’s not here right now…could you just get Cordy?  Thanks.”

 

Buffy listened as Fred passed the phone to the former school friend turned emissary, each second a second too much, but finally Cordy spoke.

 

“Hey, Buffy.  What’s up?”

 

“Spike’s gone.  I need to know what you’re doing to him. He’s hurting too much, I can feel it.”

 

Cordy walked away from Harmony and Andrew, who were busy debating the merits of pastels versus acid bright colours for next season, and spoke quietly into the phone.  “Buffy, you know I can’t tell you where he is.  I don’t even know.  The Powers just clue me in on what they need me to do, it’s not like I have any control over…”

 

“Well you’d better find some and fast.  This is beyond wrong and you know it.  Spike’s going through these stupid trials and all this pain…and for what?  So Angel can fill the big hero role your bosses seem to think he’s earned?   Dream on -- when all it takes to get him all grrr again is nothing but a few tainted meals.  He’ll never be what they want him to be, and the vampire who will, who has , is suffering because of it.  I want Spike back here, now.”

 

Cordy paced.  Buffy was shouting so loudly into the phone that heads were turning towards her and she rolled her eyes at her curious companions.  But what could she tell her?  She honestly didn’t know anything more.

 

“Buffy, I’m sorry – I truly am. And for what it’s worth, I like Spike.  I’ve seen the good he does, and believe me, I’ve no illusions about what Angel is capable of.  But I’m just as much at the Powers’ mercy as everybody else.  There’s nothing I can do.  I wish there was.”

 

Buffy’s shoulders slumped and she perched herself on the side of her sister’s bed.  It was frustrating, but she knew Cordy was telling the truth.  There was something else the envoy could do though.

 

Buffy took a deep breath and admitted defeat.  “I know.  I’m just…will you come and sit with Dawn for me?  I need to see Willow .”

 

Cordelia sat down on the edge of a lab bench, relieved as Buffy backed down.  “Yep, that I can do.  Be there right away.”  Cordy snapped Fred’s phone shut and handed it back to the oblivious woman, head again engrossed in books and paraphernalia.  It was clear that Fred was off in her own world, muttering to herself, lost in formulae and ingredients, so Cordy took her leave of Wes and told him to call for her if anything developed. 

 

Xander watched his former love leave the room.  He could almost taste the bitter malice that seared him as he compared the resurrected cheerleader with his lost Anya.  It fuelled his determination to get Anya back.  Cordelia Chase had done nothing to earn a free pass, and yet here she was, favoured minion of the Powers, strutting around like she deserved a second chance at life.  How could that ever be right?

 

He whispered in Willow ’s ear, eyes hooded.  “So full of it, isn’t she?  Still thinks she’s the Queen Bitch of Sunnydale High.  Too bad she came out of that coma.   Don’t you just hate her?”

 

Willow moved away, trying to hide the revulsion she felt.  This twisted creep at her side might be Xander-shaped but wasn’t Xander; he couldn’t be, or else she’d just have to go find a corner to cry in.  She wondered briefly if this was how her friends had felt when she’d been black-eyed end-the-world girl.  Horror washed over her, again, at that thought.  Sensing Xander’s wariness, and wanting to keep the charade going for him until they worked out what to do, she answered his question lightly.  “Cordy?  Oh, she’s just being Cordy, you know?  Nothing cuts through her suave.  She’s suaveful, actually.  She’s trying.”

 

“And how!” Xander forced a little laugh, wanting to kick himself.  He’d pushed it a bit too hard.  But no, Willow was smiling at him, holding his hand.  He’d gotten away with it.  Willow was so easy, with her huge green eyes and ready smile.  Time was he would have felt a flicker of guilt, taking advantage of her friendship.  Then he remembered how she’d always resented Anya’s presence and never bothered to hide the fact, how she’d meant to kill him on Blind Man’s Bluff, how she’d skinned Warren and laughed at his screams as he begged for his life.  She was no better than he was, no matter how much she played the penitent card.  She was a killer; and soon, he would be too.

 

+ + + +

 

Spike opened his eyes, screwing them up against the light.  His body ached, worse than when he’d been held captive in the caves by the First Evil and endured a daily kicking from the Turok Han.  He ached from within, his soul heavy with the guilt that had been gnawing away at him ever since the night he’d taken that fateful step up the stairs at Revello Drive and into the bathroom.  It burned worse now.  He burned.  He should burn…

 

He was curled up on the floor, arms hugging his knees as he rocked back and forth, keening.

 

Whistler gripped the rim of the hat he’d just removed in order to scratch his head.  He had no clue what to do next; Spike had just collapsed after the last vision and no amount of enquiries or even none too gentle kicks would bring him round.  The Powers were noticeable by their absence and improv was getting tired; Whistler swore that he’d be looking up new career opportunities once this was done.

 

Eventually, the vampire calmed a little and sat up, still hugging his knees.  He turned watery yet piercing blue eyes on his torturer, battling to control his emotions enough to speak.

 

“Okay, that’s it.  Enough!!  Zap me or stake me or something; you win.  I admit it; I’m bad.  I’m a black-hearted monster and I deserve nothing but hellfire and damnation.  Buffy and Dawn will be better off without me.  I see it!  I admit it!  Just get it over with fast, yeah?  And mind you give me some credit for the Hellmouth.”

 

Spike knelt up, arms outstretched, baring his chest and closing his eyes, longing for the killing blow.  It never came.  Warily, he opened one eye, angry now to see Whistler casually lounging in a doorway that he recognised as the entrance to the living room in Revello Drive .  Bastards wanted to make sure he got the message with a pointed reminder of the crime scene.

 

“Bloody well do it, I said!  Are you deaf all of a sudden?  Come on, now!  You owe me that at least.”  Spike snarled, spitting out the words.

 

Nothing.  No movement, no sound.  Pissed off and struggling to control the urge to kill, Spike leapt to his feet.  Whistler shifted nervously, slipping behind the doorjamb to put some distance between himself and the raging vampire.  Here he was on the home straight and loyalty to the Powers was being edged into second place by self-preservation. 

 

“Whistler!  I mean it – ‘m losing my mind here.  You saw what I did, what I am.  Buffy deserves better than me, and I want an end to it right now.”

 

Whistler blinked as he received instructions from the Powers.  He smiled, secretly.  Oh they were smooth operators, no doubt about it.  They’d planned this all along, forcing Spike to face his greatest fears and hardest memories.  It was only that way that they could get him to realise his worth.  Truth be told, they’d never encountered anybody like Spike and they’d struggled to find a way to test him.  This last battle was to believe in himself.  It would hopefully just take a little nudge now from Whistler to set him on his path.

 

“No can do, buddy.  Thing is – what you did, it was terrible and yeah, you should be punished, but you know, you’ve done worse.”

 

“Not to Buffy.  I was always saying I loved her, then I did that to her…I’m evil.”

 

“I’m not saying otherwise.  But she knew that when she first put the liplock on you.  Hell, you said it often enough – she needs a little monster in her man.  We’ve all got faults, Spike.  Buffy’s no saint, no matter how high the pedestal you put her on.  Did you even talk to her about what went down?

 

“No…I can’t.  We never…we just moved past it, okay?”

 

“Okay with me, but I can’t say the same about you.  Talk to the lady; get it out in the open.  I think she’ll surprise you.”  Whistler moved to sit on the couch, perched on the edge.  “You know how things are never black and white, Spike.  There’s no entirely good and no entirely bad anywhere.  Well…there’s the First Evil, but that’s another story.  We need shades of grey, vampire, to show up the black and white, and there’s nobody more grey than you.”

 

Spike stood and stretched, paced a little, before sitting at the opposite end of the couch.  “So what?  Doesn’t change a thing, and I’m still none the wiser what I’m doing here.  Where’s the bloody trial?  Unless it’s how long I can put up with your yap.”

 

  “No, Spike.  It’s taking a good hard look at yourself and realising that you’re not a monster any longer.  You’re a crazy mixed up kid, but who isn’t?   All those conflicting facets; not perfect, not nearly good enough and not as bad as you think.  Thing is, one time you were a soulless killer, never happier than when dishing out pain, but you’ve not been that for a long time.  In fact you weren’t even a complete badass when you thought you were.”

 

“Is that so?”   

Whistler paused – that had struck home.  “Come on…  ‘I’m the Big Bad.’  ‘I’m the Big Bad.’  It was your mantra, like whistling in the dark – like you had to prove something.  You’ve always had that core of humanity making its presence felt and messing with your plans.  So now we’re gonna sit here until you realise that you’re no different to any other century-plus vamp that fought for and won his soul for love of the Slayer and perished in horrible agony to save the world.”  Whistler shot Spike a grin as he finished his speech.

 

Spike raised an eyebrow.  “Very funny, mate.  Ever thought of doing stand-up?  Seeing as how you’re so partial to the sound of your own voice.”

 

“You know what I’m saying.  Believe in yourself.  So far you’ve proved that you’re a stayer, you want to stick around, look after your girl, and you’ve proved that you’d rather sacrifice yourself than choose to hurt somebody else if that’s what it takes.  For my money, that spells good guy.  So…what d’you say?  Wanna prove to yourself and everyone else that you’re batting for the white hats and a card carrying member of the team to prove it?”

 

Spike frowned, but his fists unclenched and he relaxed back a little.  “You don’t half talk a load of bollocks, anybody ever tell you that?”

 

Whistler laughed and got to his feet.  “Yeah, once or twice.”  He thrust his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath.  “So, you coming?  Ready to be a hero?”

 

“That’s it?  That’s the whole trial?”

 

“Well, that’s the trial here.  The trial back there is whether or not you’re worthy.  Turns out that you’ve got to be in your right mind or the minute you grasp the dagger, you’re dust.  Probably should have told you that sooner…”

 

Spike laughed.  “Oh, that’s wonderful.  So, basically – I’ve got to believe in myself, and then I get to stab myself through the hand to save Peaches.  But if I stab myself through the hand to save Peaches and I don’t believe I’m worthy, I get dusted by some mystical hex?  And if I am worthy, I get nudged out of the picture and the great forehead himself gets his halo.  Catch-22 springs to mind.   And what happens to Laughing Boy if I do dust?”

 

Whistler shifted uncomfortably; “He only needs a few droplets of your blood, doesn’t need you to live.  One stab and he’s all brand new.”

 

“Bloody hell!”  Spike rolled his eyes, amused now at the cosmic joke that was his existence.  Seemed that no matter what, he was going to be used to tether Angel to the side of good.  Terrific.  He was about to throw up his hands and go and dance to the Powers’ tune when a thought assailed him.

 

“Hey, if all they need is my blood, what’s with all this trials crap?  Why don’t they just open a vein and fill up a cup or whatnot?  Naaa – that’d be too easy. Your bosses have to have their little dramatics, don’t they?”

 

“Yeah – that’d be the you actually touching him and being worthy part – remember?  It’s has to be the blood of a champion who’s proved himself worthy in whatever way the Powers deem fitting, as they say.  So…are you?”

 

Spike stood up and strode to the door, his duster snapping out behind him.  He stopped and turned, smirk back in place if a little brittle, his voice cocky as he spoke.  “Suppose we’d best find out.  You coming or what?  And don’t I get a hearty breakfast or something, last feast for the damned?  You look like you might be tender enough in the neck area…”

 

Whistler hunched his shoulders, hiding his prickling neck from Spike’s hungry eyes.  Only - the eyes of the vampire weren’t so much hungry as amused.  Some comedian.  Whistler wouldn’t be sorry to see an end to this particular intervention, and he’d be asking for a raise – or he would, if he ever actually got paid anything.

 

“Time to go, William the Bloody.  Be good.” 

 

+ + + + +

 

Xander stifled a snarl as Buffy marched into the lab, her face set hard.  She barely acknowledged him, totally ignored everyone else, apart from Willow .  She didn’t bother with pleasantries.

 

“I need you to get him back for me, now.  Call up the black mojo, sacrifice a goat – I don’t care, just get him back.”

 

Willow stuttered her reply; unnerved by the way Buffy was glaring at her.  Despite her powers, there were still times when she felt like the class geek, and she’d had stronger people pushing her around for most of her life.  “I…I don’t know how, Buffy.  I’m sorry, I really don’t…but hey, he’s come back from beyond the grave as many times as you have so don’t give up just yet.  She shot Buffy a wide grin, but it wasn’t returned. 

 

“And that’s all you’ve got?”  Scary Buffy was still scowling at her, demanding action.

 

Xander didn’t need Willow going postal and wrecking his plans, so he went and sat on a stool between her and where Buffy stood, hands on hips.  Where did the Slayer get off thinking it was okay to make demands that way?  Where was the respect?  Anya’d had it dead right when she said Buffy thought she was better than everyone. 

 

“What part of ‘I don’t know’ do you need explaining?  I guess it slipped your mind how Willow is on the black mojo.”

 

Every snub, every tease, every time he’d risked his life for her and her calling, every sacrifice he’d ever made since the day they met had been festering away.  Now it was a boiling resentment that threatened to spill over and make him forget the deal he’d made with Travers and Angel.  He just had to hang on a little while, not long now – Anya’d be back and they’d leave.   Everybody else could live or die dancing to the cosmic tune for all he cared. 

 

He was unprepared for Buffy’s attack, recoiling as her furious eyes lighted on him.  “You, then.  You do it – you must have learned plenty now you’re Angel’s newest bestest bud, with your secret meetings and sicko plots.  Did you think we didn’t know?”

 

“I see things that need fixing,” he ground out.  “You and your never-ending Spike fixation, dishing out orders like you’re still special!”

 

“Spike’s the only reason you can see anything, Xander, remember?”  Buffy snapped back.  “We’ve fought monsters for years, and you know I really thought you’d gotten over the hyena phase, the kick-his-ass lies, the demon summoning – but choosing to be one?  Unbelievable.  But hey, at least I know I won’t break a sweat taking care of you.  So…what’s it to be?”

 

The air was thick with menace, enraged Buffy seeming taller than her height, Xander’s hands curled at his side, Willow looking between her two friends with shock and dread.  Xander got off the stool, his one eye a pinpoint of hatred on his twisted face.  It was deathly silent in the lab, nobody even daring to breathe lest it escalated the face-off occurring among them.

 

“How’s this for believable?”

Willow gasped in horror, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide as she saw Xander step close and then punch Buffy in the stomach. 

 

“NO!!!  XANDER, DON’T!!!” she screamed.

 

Too late, Willow saw the glint of metal in his fist, the blade now streaked crimson with Buffy’s blood, her grunt of pain swallowed by her husky whisper of his name.

 

“Xander…?” 

 

Buffy staggered back, her legs faltering, and crumpled to the floor, a spreading stain dark on her white t-shirt.  Willow came to herself and ran to kneel at Buffy’s side, lifting her head and pressing her other hand against the wound.  Wesley came stumbling to a halt in front of them, shock at the events making him clumsy, closely followed by Harmony and Andrew, Fred bringing up the rear.  They crowded round; no one could grasp the enormity of what had just happened.

 

Fred took one look and rushed off to find some towels, a blanket… anything.

 

“Buffy!  Buffy – speak to me…Buffy…please.  Oh god!”

 

Willow turned panicked eyes on Wesley, her hand was covered with blood; the flow wasn’t stopping.  Buffy was so still and pale, catapulting Willow back to another time, another floor, somebody she loved lying bleeding in her arms.  Unbidden, her eyes merged to black and she turned her head, ready to strike out at the assassin.

 

But Xander was gone, off to seek out Quentin Travers.  Plans would have to change as his hand was well and truly shown, and Xander would need protection if Travers still wanted his help in dealing with Angel.

 

TBC