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By Jackson
Xander's eyes met Buffy's, she looked back at him calmly, her face gave nothing away, all her attention was focused on dealing with his injuries. Greyness tinged his vision, and he bit his tongue, the sharp pain bringing the world back into focus. They didn't speak, her movements were swift and sure as she wiped the blood from his face and cut away his clothing, her hands cool and gentle.
~Willow's hands were pressed against his head, dry and hot, burning where they touched him, as the pressure built and built. She was chanting, words he couldn't understand. Her hands clamped painfully tight on him, then suddenly she wrenched them away. The heat where they had pressed remained grew hotter, almost unbearably so, it sank inside him and exploded. He screamed, a long roar as his body shuddered. The world splintered apart before his eyes as barriers burst open inside him, dense power released from it's pen flooded through him as though he'd been hit by bolt of lightening, channelling it somehow. Power that he could barely contain, he felt he could rock this building in it's very foundations with a touch of his finger and his power was still nothing compared to Willow's! Just enough to buy him a little time against Glory.
/God how can she stand it!/ his mind cried out in terror and exhilaration. The world flew back into shape. A world he normally only saw a pale shadow of. His senses were on overload, sight and sound exhilarating and alarming in their intensity, colours weirdly bright - Willow's hair was an amazing scarlet, her eyes a deep fathomless black and the heat was scorching him. ~
He shivered as Buffy eased his T-shirt away from his skin, the cool air in his apartment a delicious relief against his hurting overheated skin. Buffy's eyes widened slightly and the corners of her mouth turned down instinctively in a grimace. He would have turned his head to look but couldn't quite bring himself to do it.
"Your shoulder is dislocated. I'm going to have to snap it back into place."
He drew in a breath to steady his nerves. "Okay."
She swiftly fumbled with her belt, unfastening it and handing it to him. "Bite on this."
He nodded and she placed her hands on his swollen, misshapen shoulder. He flinched, biting on the belt and swallowing the urge to yell at her to take her hands away from there, it damn well *hurt*.
"Are you
~... ready?" Willow asked, each word a clear thunderclap in his head. He nodded, and they turned. The axe felt weightless in his hands, Willow was floating above the ground, and he felt as though his own feet were barely touching it. The building began to shudder around them, cracks appearing, slithering up the walls; the lights flickered as they passed, struggling to stay alight against the heavy, thick force emanating from them. With one look from Willow the door to Glory's place flew open.
"Kali, Hera, Kronos, Tonic..."
Willow was chanting as they advanced on her. He heard, yet he didn't. The colours and richness of the room rushed at him like a freight train, but he ignored the rush of scentcoloursound and it flew through and past him, as there, in the centre of it all stood Glory, a faint shadow of surprise on her face as she took in this new development.
He looked at her, and hated her so much he didn't know how he could bear it, he couldn't keep this inside him and stay sane, it burned in his veins like lava, and all he wanted in this moment - all they both wanted - was to make her pay, and pay and *pay*.
The minions fluttering around Glory took one hasty, terrified look at them and fled.
"Air like nectar, thick as onyx," Willow was still chanting. "Cassiel by your second star..."
"Oh it's the lovers!" Glory examined. "That's so cute." She looked amused. "Doesn't this town have any non gay people?"
"Hold mine victim as in tar ..."
Something he couldn't see, but could sense burst out from Willow. Thick and heavy, it charged towards Glory, and spread out, the air shimmered around her. She halted, pushed against it, unable to move forward. The amused look was wiped from her face, she looked at them in confusion. She'd had things her own way for so long this she couldn't quite grasp what she was up against. Time to find out.
His ears were humming a loud, harsh buzzing sound as his power surged up restlessly. He felt as though his slipping, weak fingers were trying to cling on to a wild horse. Part of him revelled in it, but part of him was terrified of it, of what was inside him, something he could barely understand and certainly couldn't control, that it was going to turn on him, burn him up from the inside out.
He joined hands with Willow and they spoke as one. "I ... owe ... you ... *PAIN*!"
Blue bolts shot out from them, bolts fired by anguishpowerpainmagicloss. His body juddered helplessly, he tried to hold on but couldn't control it, couldn't stand it. His mouth tasted metallic, his teeth vibrating in his gums, his eyes dry and his skin smoking and /ohfuckhelpsomethingsgonewrong/. He was being electrocuted from the inside, but then Willow's hand clasped even more tightly on his, she drew the bolts, helped him channel them away from himself, and they flew across the room attacking the trapped Glory who let out a scream of pure ~
"Arrrrrrrgggggghh!"
"Sorry!" Buffy hurriedly passed him the flask of brandy from the first aid box and he swallowed thankfully in a few long, hungry pulls until the blinding pain receded.
"Better?"
He rolled his shoulder, testing it gently, a dull ache spread out from it, but it was nothing like the agony it had been. He nodded gratefully. "I'm fine." He cast a concerned look at the bedroom door. "I hope I didn't wake Willow up."
"I doubt it," Buffy said. "I think today took a lot out of her."
He nodded. " Yeah."
There was a moment's silence as they both remembered Tara in the hospital all alone, confused and frightened.
He slumped back on the couch, relishing how easily he could move now his shoulder was back in place. He groaned, running his hands through his hair, weariness had settled deep into his bones, an aftermath from the spell he supposed.
"You know you guys were crazy," Buffy said frankly as she cleaned the deep gash on his forehead, tutting in sympathy as he flinched under the antiseptic sting.
"Yeah I know."
"You were also incredibly brave."
He shook his head. "It was all Willow - if it wasn't for her giving me some power ... " He trailed off, not liking the thought of where that sentence would take him, because even if she hadn't he doubted very much if it would have stopped him. "She was the one throwing the big stuff at Glory. I wouldn't have even slowed her down."
"So you had some extra power, it was still you in there. You used it, you fought a hellgod and lived to tell the tale. That's pretty incredible." She dabbed at the truly spectacular bruising that was coming up on his throat with something cool and soothing. "Is that ..."
~ " ... it, is that the best you can do?" Glory yelled, as in response to Willow's command, all the glass in the mirrors and windows shattered, flying towards her and tearing her dress to shreds, and yet she remained unharmed. For the first time he felt fear. They'd already hit with their best shot and she'd barely paused in her tracks. They really were like tiny flies to her that she could swat in a second.
"You think I care about all this, the apartment, the clothes?" She ripped off the tatters of her dress to prove her point, her black slip underneath unscathed. She backhanded Willow across her face and she flew back like a rag doll over a sofa, crashing on the floor.
"Willow!" he yelled, panicked.
"Now, sucking on your girlfriend's mind?" Glory taunted Willow. "*That* was something to treasure."
His heart was pounding way too fast, like an animal in a trap; the thudding was resounding in his ears, too much noise, too much sight. His eyes were recording images like a shutter speed camera, and she was moving towards Willow purposefully, close, too close. He hurled his axe in flight across the room, it was a perfect throw, cruel, hard and so fast he could barely track it with his eyes. Powered by magic, it was beyond anything he could have ever done on his own, and against anybody but a god it would have meant instant death. She turned a split second before it would have smashed into the back of her head, batting it aside with one hand, her eyes narrowing. Faster than he could blink she was on him, backing him helpless against the wall.
"Like cutting into your boyfriend," she remembered, her eyes alight with the joy of cruelty. "That was a fun day. He's not much with the silent suffering is he, lover? You should have heard the screams."
"No!"
He furiously, and foolishly, threw a punch at her and as he did so with a 'whump' sound he could *feel* he was back to normal, colours drained back to their usual pale hue, sounds faded, oddly shallow and lacking and Glory didn't even flinch as his fist hit her mouth. Like throwing a punch at a mountain, she was unmoved and unharmed as the skin on his knuckles broke, began to bleed. She grabbed his throat in a crushing grip and effortlessly lifted him up, his feet dangling above the ground; he choked, a harsh wheezing sound coming from his throat.
/That would be me gasping for air,/ a part of his mind recorded with a kind of detached terror. Black spots skidded wildly across his vision, and beyond them he could still see Glory, laughing, her fingers tightening, when a movement caught his eye. His eyes drifted past her, and she turned following his gaze to where Willow was standing, fury on her face, a small trickle of blood running from her mouth. She looked eerie and half-mad, her fragile body shuddering with power, rushing from her in a furious tide. The movement he'd seen was the black bag she had brought with her sliding across the room towards her. It opened itself.
"What's this?" Glory mocked releasing her grip on his throat; he stumbled back, wheezing as the air rushed through his throat. "Bag of tricks?"
Daggers flew up out of the bag, their cruel points gleaming as they hovered eagerly, pointing straight at Glory.
Willow's lip curled in disdain. "Bag of knives."
They charged, airborne towards Glory, who batted them all aside. One, thrown off course by her came close, too close to him, and caught him on his forehead as it flew past, tearing into his skin before burying itself in the wall. Blood began to trickle down his face, his head was humming insistently loudly and his panting, harsh and hoarse was still shaking him.
"Spirit of serpents now appear," Willow commanded.
Glory picked up a coffee-table and hurled it at Willow, she had no time to duck, it hit her hard and fast, she collapsed to the floor under its force, yet still managed to brace herself up on her hands and look back at Glory with pure hatred in her eyes, finishing the spell. "Hissing, writhing, striking near!"
A snake appeared out of the carpet Glory was standing on and wound itself around her leg.
Glory shook it off impatiently and the snake vanished, as she bore down on Willow. He launched himself at Glory, in a desperate attempt to slow her down and with an exasperated sound she whirled around.
"Now this is getting weak," Glory snapped, as with a casual swipe of her hand she sent him flying across the room. He crashed into the wall hitting it hard with his shoulder, it made a sick slick cracking sound, and pain exploded making him want to throw up, he had to move, but Glory was already on him.
"And so are you honey. Aren't ya?" She grabbed his arm, wrenching his injured shoulder and he screamed as it popped with a meaty slurp. Glory was back in step and she was right, he was powerless, weak and helpless.
But he was still Very. Pissed. Off.
She laughed down at him as she twisted his arm up his back, taking pleasure in his pain, the same pleasure she'd taken with Spike? If only thoughts could beat, hurt, *kill*. He burned, yet was immobile, thoughts flickering crazily, yet clearly through his mind.
He wanted Dawn safe.
He wanted Tara to be well.
He wanted Joyce to be alive.
He wanted to get Willow out of here.
He wanted to kill Glory.
He wanted Spike back.
"Ready to beg lover?" Glory taunted as she tightened her fingers on his arm.
He hocked from the back of his throat and spat, full in her face. ~
"Well," Buffy said as she packed away the reminder of the first aid supplies, "I guess that's all I can do, are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"
"No," he said with certainty. "I don't need to."
"Okay, but try and get some rest."
"I think I could sleep for a week."
She gave him a small smile. "Eight hours will do." She checked her watch. "I've got to go - I need to get back to Dawn. I'll be over tomorrow."
"Okay. Hey," he said as she reached the door.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for showing up when you did."
She fidgeted with her hair uncomfortably. "I wouldn't have, if it wasn't for Spike."
"What?" he asked blankly as his heart lurched painfully in his chest.
"He knew," Buffy said looking at him with a look on her face that he couldn't decipher. "He knew Willow was going to go after some payback, that she loved Tara so much she wouldn't care what it cost. He said he'd do it too. For the right person. Someone he loved."
She paused then continued carefully. "Of course ... as much as you care about Tara, I don't think it was her that made you go in there."
She watched him, the silence stretched out, silence that he just couldn't begin to find the words to fill. Any denial would be pointless, every injury felt spotlighted, a silent, powerful testimony to the truth. He shrugged helplessly.
"Yeah, well." He said at last, oddly ashamed and embarrassed.
"Do you want to talk about this?"
He shook his head wearily.
"Okay," she said at last as she turned to go.
"Buffy?"
"Yeah?"
"Something important I need you to do for me."
She nodded seriously. "Anything."
"Spike never knows about this."
~ Her eyes widened in disbelief as she dropped him in disgust, then they darkened in fury. Fruitlessly he scrabbled back on his heels and his one good hand, the other dragging uselessly on the floor. Her hands raised, and whistled down towards him.
"Shield!"
Willow's voice rang out from over the other side of the room, and Glory's hands hit an invisible barrier barely two inches from his face. He froze as she pounded on it in frustration and he could feel it tremble, beneath her strength, yet somehow it held.
Glory snarled in frustration and her eyes turned to Willow.
"So I'm thinking you're the one with the power here sweetie. That's fine, I can deal with you first."
Stamping over to Willow she grabbed her arm and pulled her across the floor to where one of the daggers was lying. She scooped it up and continued dragging Willow.
"No!" Was it him or Willow that yelled that? Maybe it was both of them, he didn't know it didn't matter - he pushed frantically against the shield that was now his cage, sound draining from the room, he was moving in slow motion as Willow and Glory sped up - a film he was watching, incapable of participating in.
Glory pulled Willow up and shoved her against the wall, holding her by the throat.
Pushing, pushing, pushing, couldn't get out. Desperate sounds issued from his mouth.
"Know what they used to do to witches, lover?" Glory asked as she flashed the knife threateningly at Willow. "Crucify 'em."
"No! Willow!" He kicked desperately against the forcefield Willow had erected around him, feeling it shiver under his feet. Weakening as Willow's power weakened. Kicked harder, ignoring the pain, ignoring everything but feeling it give that tiny bit more.
"They used to bow down to gods." Buffy's voice said ironically. A sob of relief escaped his mouth as Buffy's hand stayed Glory's knife inches from Willow's face. Buffy kicked Glory in the stomach and Glory dropped Willow to the floor, just as the forcefield broke apart and he rushed forward.
Buffy punched Glory in the face. "Things change." ~
***
Later, after he had soaked his weary aching body in a warm bath and slung on a pair of old jeans he wandered into his bedroom to check on Willow. She was still sleeping soundly, her face blotched with the tears she'd shed before dropping off. He felt oddly like crying himself. Exhausted, drained, the smallest of movements requiring monumental energy. He yearned for another power boost, yet at the same time knew it was something he could never do again. That much power had been frightening, addictive. Too addictive, to actually be able to command that power to come to you whenever you wanted it ...
He looked down at Willow and felt a shiver of faint fear.
He pushed aside his nameless floating fear and aimlessly wandered back into the front room, restless and dissatisfied. His eyes landed on the flask of brandy Buffy had forgotten to pack away. He picked it up, weighing it thoughtfully in his hand, there was still plenty left. Taste still lingered in his mouth from before, the bitter warmth that could put him beyond everything ....
Then, coming to a swift decision, he put it back in the box, closing the lid firmly.
He turned away from the box feeling a little sick and shaky. For the first time he could almost understand his dad. But he wasn't his dad. He was stronger than him. Even now, bruised and battered and feeling weaker than he ever had in his life, he was stronger. Buffy had said so herself, he had faced a hellgod. He had things in his life he wanted to hold on to, friends who needed him. *Him*, not a pathetic drunken shell. He'd seen up close exactly where that led, and he didn't need another night getting up close and personal with a piece of glass. He had to deal with things the hard way, one day at a time.
But it was so very hard.
He needed to do something to distract himself from the drink he wasn't having. He began to make up the couch where he was going to sleep tonight, but half way through he dropped the pillow he was holding, drawn to the window, he looked out. Remembering what Glory had yelled as Buffy had pulled him and Willow out of there.
~"This isn't over, you hear me? It isn't over!"~
A shiver shot down his spine. He believed her.
He looked out at Sunnydale at night. Spike was somewhere out there, unknowing of what he'd done tonight, and yes part of him - most of him - wanted to go to him, but he couldn't. He couldn't let Spike know how much he'd risked, how much he still cared despite how hard he'd tried to stop, despite everything Spike had done. That only led to grinding terrible heartbreak. Far better to hide his vulnerability, bury it deep under a brittle facade of hate and resentment and keep himself safe.
He rested his head against the glass, his head spinning unhappily he looked at the room reflected in the glass. Empty and lonely, it waited there so hollowly.
A tiny part of him whispered that all he had to do was forgive him - tell him he could forget the past, and Spike could be here - soon, *now* but he couldn't - he didn't *feel* it. He wanted to - but he just *didn't*. Love yes, all twisted up with resentment and hate, but forgiveness, trust ... No. Never.
But he missed him. So much. He'd tried to block it out, to only think of the bad parts, but tonight all the good parts kept flashing through his mind. Opening the door to Spike as he picked him up for their first, and only date, and Spike looking so unusually endearingly nervous. Spike insisting awkwardly on buying him his beers. Spike's eyes almost black as they lay pressed against each other, Spike swearing brokenly that he loved him ...
He shook his head, physically flinching as he tried to switch off from the memories. It felt as though his arms were tied to opposite poles and were being pulled for all they were worth and the more he was pulled the more empty and frantic he felt, and all he could do was hold on, try to keep himself together, and stay away from Spike. There was no way to fix what had passed, no way he could get back to the guy that had smiled up at Spike trustingly and believed him when he said he wouldn't harm him again. Things had gone so damn wrong no matter what they did there was never going to be a way they could be right again.
***
In the early - very early hours of the morning he woke to find Willow perched on the end of the couch, her unbrushed hair falling haphazardly over her face. She was wearing one of his old T-shirts that was way too big on her, hanging in loose folds to mid-thigh and was curled up hugging her knees in a gesture for reassurance that he recognised from their pre-school days.
"Hey," he said quietly.
"Hey. How do you feel?"
He stretched out. "Like I went a couple of rounds with a hellgod."
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"For what? With or without you I'd have still gone in there. You just kept me alive, if you think that's worth apologising for ... "
"I shouldn't have used magic on you ... if Giles knew ..."
"Hey, you just gave me a little power Wills," he interrupted, trying to stop her guilt.
"I didn't give you the power, I just ... unlocked it."
He frowned. "What?"
"Every person has power inside them, enough to light up the world if they wanted to. But there are barriers, stopping them from tapping it, I pushed down a few of your barriers. The power you used was already in you."
"Wow," he whispered, remembering the sensation of floodgates opening, power rushing through them - all that inside him? He wrenched his mind back to the moment where Willow was still huddled up unhappily. "But it was my power right?" he rationalised. "I mean ..."
"You couldn't handle it. Hardly anyone can. That's why the barriers are there, I pushed them down, it could have killed you."
"But it didn't. Don't beat yourself up over this Will."
"You, uh, you'll probably have some withdrawal symptoms today," she said guiltily, picking at a thread hanging from her T-shirt.
"What kind of symptoms?"
"Exhaustion. Some nausea."
"I can deal. Do you get that as well?"
"No - I used to though. Tara still does ... did." She gulped and looked at the clock.
"You don't have to go just yet," he said, reading her mind. "Have something to eat, get ready ... just ... prepare yourself, okay?"
She didn't respond.
"Willow? Will you be able to deal with this? Because there are other options. You could maybe find her someplace to stay or call her family or ..." He trailed off as he imagined Tara wailing in an asylum or being yelled at by her so-called family.
"No," he realised. "Of course we won't do that. We'll take care of her. It'll be fine."
Willow tried to smile gratefully, then her face crumpled and she began to cry, racking, heaving sobs and he gathered her to him, rocking her in his arms.
***
After Willow had left to pick up Tara, refusing his offer to come with her he dosed himself up on painkillers and fell back onto the couch. Willow was right, the exhaustion weighed on his limbs, in his very bones, he slept until the late afternoon, and he dreamt.
He dreamt he was running, running though rain drenched streets, the reflections of the weird orange streetlights bouncing off the wet pavement in front of him. He was tearing into his parents house, almost tripping as he ran down the stairs, back in the basement. It looked as though he'd never left, all his belongings scattered around the room, and he was turning helplessly, searching for something, as he turned to face ... whatever it was.
A curtain was fluttering against the wall, it hadn't been there before. It wasn't really there he knew that, the curtain belonged back in Spike's crypt, but in his dream it waited for him here.
"No, no, I don't want to see."
In his dream the words came out loudly, unknowing to him, he whispered them where he lay on the couch, in his apartment, his brow furrowed, tears trapped beneath the lids of his eyes.
Back in his dream in the basement his hand reached out and drew back the curtain.
"No," he moaned. "Oh no."
Buffy, Buffy, so many Buffy's, he circled helplessly, pinned down by her eyes.
"Is he someone worth fighting for Sweetie?"
And Glory was in there with him, pinning him to the floor, his hands grabbed at her, trying uselessly to fend her off as the knife in her hand stabbed down again and again, a scream welling up in his chest yet it wouldn't come out ....
On the couch he croaked helplessly, struggling to wake up, to break through the layers of exhaustion and come back to reality but couldn't, they pressed down so heavily, trapping him, he fell back into his dream and ...
He was in the graveyard, thudding through the mud and he saw, he saw ...
He saw himself and Spike, wrapped around each other frantically, their mouths melded together, their bodies joined, unaware, uncaring of the pouring rain, the mud and cold. He saw them clinging on, Spike's back arching, mouths breaking apart to gasp ...
But there was no gasp, no words, the thunder was rumbling ominously regularly, in a rhythmic thudding noise.
"You have to listen."
He jerked around to see Spike next to him, his duster dark with rain, his hair drenched.
"Listen to what?" He yelled over the thunder that was roaring louder and louder, raindrops falling into his mouth.
"*Listen*," Spike repeated.
But all he could hear was the thunder, over and over ...
His eyes were ripped open and he was on his feet before he even registered that he was awake, staring wildly around his apartment in confusion. His chest heaving as he tried to snap back into reality the loud insistent thunder was still resounding through the room and his bewildered mind finally realised that it was someone pounding on his door. Before he could even begin to cross the room Buffy, Dawn, Willow and Tara all burst in. Tara was wailing in distress, as Willow tried fruitlessly to calm her. Buffy was holding onto Dawn's hand so tightly Dawn's face was pale with pain.
He felt his own face drain of all colour.
"What -what's ..."
"Glory." Buffy answered, and he felt himself taking a swift step back at the look of sheer panic in her eyes. "She knows it's Dawn."
***
It still felt unreal. He was here - the sick worry in his stomach and the warmth of the day told him that, but he still felt as bewildered as when he'd first woken up. Too much to take in all at once and his brain was just refusing to process this latest development. He could hardly blame it, the shocks had been coming in thick and fast the past month or so. But still nothing had quite prepared him for this. This was insane - hellgods and keys notwithstanding they couldn't really be doing this! Yet somehow when Buffy had harshly asked for an alternative it had been impossible to think of anything.
Xander glanced around him. Willow was sitting on a bench with her arm around Tara, Giles was next to him silent and grim. Xander glanced down the street again as they waited for Buffy.
"Anybody else feel that?" he asked suddenly, needing to hear something, something other than the confused, clamouring thoughts in his head. Thoughts that screamed, what the hell was he doing? There were things, things that he needed to do here, he didn't know what, exactly, but there was unfinished business here in Sunnydale.
"What?" Willow asked.
"Cold draft of paralysing fear."
"We just need to stay calm," Giles interjected.
"Calm, right," Willow said sceptically.
"No he's right," Xander agreed, trying to feel some kind of resolve, something other than sick dread. "We gotta be like Sergeant Rock. Cool and collected in the face of overwhelming odds."
"Yes," Giles added reassuringly. "Everything will be all right, we just need to stay here calmly. As soon as Buffy arrives ... "
A large Winnebago motor home drove up and screeched to a halt in front of them. The windows were all covered with aluminium foil. For some reason that he couldn't quite put his finger on Xander felt a crawl of dread slither over him at the sight of that. The door swung open.
"We'll feel oddly worse." Giles finished.
Xander agreed wholeheartedly. He *really* didn't want to get in there, leaving behind his home, his job, everything he'd worked so hard for. Without them, he felt as though he'd be diminished in a way the others, who carried their Slayer strength or witchy powers with them just couldn't understand. But his friends, his real family were on the line here, and without them nothing meant much anyway. He picked up his stuff and followed them in, but not before a last glance down the street, not knowing, or not wanting to know, what he was looking for, what he was saying goodbye to - but knowing whatever it was the loss of it was making him die inside.
He entered the van, glancing first to the table where Willow was trying to settle Tara next to Buffy who was studying maps with a frown of fierce concentration. His chest clenched, but he ignored it - hey at least now things couldn't get any worse ...
Yet of course they could because he turned to look at the drivers seat, and there, looking straight at him, his face utterly unreadable, was Spike.
Xander felt his face drain of all colour, his eyes widening as they tried to assimilate the evidence in front of them. His body was frozen with disbelief while inside he was reeling, rocked to his core, as a tidal wave of overpowering emotions threatened to drown him. Spike couldn't be here - he *couldn't*, his mind must have finally snapped under the pressure and served up in a bizarre twist the person that he held responsible. But he was here, he was right *there* ...
Spike's eyes were hidden behind huge black shades - but more than his eyes were concealed, it was as though he was sheltering behind a massive barrier that was hiding ... everything. No emotion, no response, this wasn't the battered wreck Glory had left in her wake, or the pale devastated vampire that had begged him for another chance. He looked taut, tough, collected. His mouth was set in a grim line.
"What's he doing here?"
Someone voiced his thoughts but it wasn't him, it was Giles, sounding cold, angry and slightly frightening.
"Just out for a jaunt," Spike replied ironically. Xander felt Spike's concealed eyes fix on him as he spoke, and oh that voice, that cigarette and whisky and honey *voice*, it was just the way he remembered. His skin broke out in gooseflesh, Spike's voice sounding the same as it always had somehow convinced him in a way nothing else could that this wasn't some illusion his overstrained mind had served up. "Thought I'd swing by and say howdy."
"Out." Giles ordered softly and menacingly.
"He's here because we need him." Buffy said finally looking up.
Xander turned to face Buffy - it was so much easier to look at her than Spike, and as he tore his eyes away his power of speech finally returned.
"The hell we do," he said quietly. She couldn't, she *wouldn't* do this to him. Would she?
Buffy's eyes flickered slightly yet her face remained set in determination and a cold realisation swept over him. She would. She didn't care that Spike had used and wrecked him, how he'd drank and wept, how the sight of Spike brought back all his worst memories making him feel sick, filthy and degraded. Dawn's life was hanging in the balance, and nothing, not even a friendship that had endured as much as theirs had meant anything compared to that as far as Buffy was concerned.
Maybe Buffy read the anguish on his face because he could swear he saw a flash of guilt pass over her face, but her voice was resolved. "If Glory finds us, he's the only one besides me that has any chance of protecting Dawn."
"Buffy, come on ..." he begged helplessly, hopelessly.
Buffy leapt angrily to her feet as though unable to bear the pressure of his misery a second longer. "Look, this isn't a discussion! He stays." Her eyes met his fleetingly and then she pulled them away. "Get over it," she finished with a faint trace of self-disgust in her voice. She grabbed one of the maps, and stormed into the back room, slamming the door behind her.
There was a moment of awful silence. Xander could feel everyone's eyes fixed on him, even Tara's. Almost against his will his head turned back to Spike who was smiling slightly bitterly.
"Buckle up, kids, Daddy's puttin' the hammer down!"
Spike slammed into gear and the RV screeched off accelerating violently. Xander lurched helplessly, almost falling to the floor, and it wasn't just because of Spike's driving.
***
Buffy leant against the door, closing her eyes briefly. Part of her wanted to cry, but mostly she didn't have the energy. She hated herself for what she was doing to Xander, wanted to go out and hug him, say sorry, but she couldn't, she'd made up her mind and being tough was the best way to handle it, the only way she could handle anything without breaking down, she couldn't stop and she couldn't soften - not for a second, but poor Xander ...
/'Come on B!'/ Faith's voice spoke up coolly in her head. /'Don't wimp out now. Slayer's gotta do and all that'./
/Oh I do miss you Faith!/ She cried out silently, not to the unstable, cruel Faith, who'd scared them so much but to the other Faith. The wickedly funny, tough talking, vulnerable Slayer who'd burst into her life, who understood that slaying was a tough gig and you couldn't always be the kind, sensitive, good friend you wanted to be, sometimes you had to bruise people to keep them alive. /I miss you. Especially on days like this when everything is so hard and scary and everyone is looking to me for answers and I don't know what to do ... /
If Faith had been here than maybe they would have had a shot against Glory, maybe they could have stood and fought rather than running away.
She opened her eyes and with a weary sigh sat down with her map. The Faith that had been was gone, swallowed up by her shadow side. Mom was dead. Riley and Angel had left. The responsibility lay squarely on her shoulders alone, and though it was such a burden, though it felt like it was crushing her she wouldn't put it down. Whatever it took, any sacrifice she had to make. Xander would deal. They all had to deal.
***
Spike tightened his trembling hands on the steering wheel as the R.V wandered dangerously over the road. His facade of calmness was paper thin and coming apart at the seams. His voice was steady, his demeanour calm and he deserved a fucking Emmy for this but the truth was his hands clenched so tight on the steering wheel that his knuckles glowed white, his mouth dry with nerves and his already shredded nerves screaming like violins. His ears were on full alert for what was happening behind him. Apart from a whispered question from Willow to Xander as to whether he was alright - a question that Xander hadn't answered - nothing more about his being here had been said and the pressure was mounting steadily as everyone worked hard to pretend that this situation wasn't about a million miles south from being normal.
He took a corner way too fast and the tyres screeched protestingly. He must be insane. He should have told Slayer to piss off the minute, the *second* she'd appeared in his crypt - yet somehow he'd found himself agreeing quietly to this crazy scheme of hers without even asking what was in it for him.
Oh who was he kidding? He knew what was in it for him. Even though the thought of facing Glory again was terrifying, even though seeing Xander was pulverising him with guilt, even though it hurt more than he could bear to be so close to what he'd lost, he wasn't going to walk away from this. There were exactly two people in the world that he cared about, both of them were sitting behind him and he was damned if he was going to let them face the final battle without him fighting with full fists and fangs in their corner. He could die, he knew that. He just didn't care much, he had a chance here to make amends and he was damn well taking it. He thought of Xander who was sitting hunched up at the table, his back pointedly turned to him. Whether Xander liked it or not.
He was just lucky his healing powers had finally begun to kick in, his bruises had vanished, his scars fading, even though he wasn't at full strength yet. He wouldn't have even gotten this far if it hadn't been for Dawn. Against his will he remembered the cavern - the scrape as she'd caught her hand on the sharp edge of the rock, the scent of blood, rich and warm in the air and her uncertain question. "Will it help you heal?"
With an unfamiliar feeling of guilt he pulled his mind away from the memory with distaste. He'd only had a few drops, he justified angrily and he hadn't taken anything that hadn't been freely offered. It wasn't like he'd sliced the Bit, it was an accident. Like Xander finding that bloody Buffy closet that he hadn't had the brains to burn long ago.
He slammed his foot to the floor, and the engine roared in protest at his rough handling as they shot forward again and the road fell away behind them. He only wished he could leave the past behind as easily.
"Spike." Giles was standing next to him. Talk about the iron hand in a velvet glove. Before Giles Spike would never have believed a middle-aged English ex-librarian could have made his insides turn to water with fear. "For the love of God pull over and let me drive."
"I can handle this."
"The tyre marks you burnt into the road back there beg to differ. Pull the hell *over*." Giles voice was tempered with steel and with resignation Spike sharply pulled over and slid out from the driver's seat to let Giles take the wheel.
As they pulled away again, somewhat slower and a good deal more steadily he turned to where Xander was sitting with the two witches and Dawn. He hesitated. Although there was a seat spare there was no place for him at that table. Dawn looked up at him anxiously but before she could speak Xander rose to his feet and came towards him.
"I want to talk to you."
Xander's face was pale but his mouth was set in a tough line, and he didn't need to hear what Xander was going to say to know it wasn't going to be a tender speech suggesting they be friends and make the best of this. Xander's fingers bit into his arm as he pulled him so they were facing away from the girls. They were all studiously keeping their eyes averted, pretending they didn't notice anything going on. Xander released his arm and Spike slowly took off his sunglasses. He felt as though he was taking off a suit of armour, baring his heart. Naked and vulnerable, and oh so ashamed, however much he tried to be calm, to be on his best behaviour he knew his mere presence here was ripping them both apart, but never mind him, he didn't matter, it was Xander's pain that was killing him.
"What are you doing here?" Xander asked in such a low voice that it was barely audible even to his keen vampire hearing. "More games?"
"I'm here for the Little Bit," Spike tried to speak calmly. "I want to help."
"Do you expect me to believe that you are actually being noble? Come on Spike - why don't you tell me what the real reason is? Planning to hand Dawn over to Glory so you can get a hellhole with a view when she takes over?"
Spike tensed, his determination not to snap back shattered under the brutal attack. Yeah, he knew anything Xander had to say against him he deserved, but he had no right to use Dawn to get back at him, no right to suggest that he'd ever do *anything* to hurt that girl. Before he could stop himself he found himself hitting back.
"Harris I know you don't think much but try and get what passes for your brain around this; Slayer asked. I agreed. I'm gonna protect the Bit until I'm dust in the wind, and if you don't like it see how far you get taking me and Slayer on, 'cos the way I see it out of the two of us, you're the expendable one here."
No sooner had the words dropped into the space between them then he wished with all his heart that he could take them back. What a great way to make amends, lashing out at him, trying to hurt him as much as he could, but the pressure, the *pain* of Xander's loathing was unbearable, his defences splitting under it, and patience wasn't his thing. When he had his back against the wall attack was the best form of defence.
Xander's eyes looked very dark. His extreme stillness spoke of his struggle to batten down on a tide of violent emotions and Spike felt himself tense. It was only when Xander spoke again that he realised he'd been waiting for the blow.
"Fine." Xander said at last. "But one foot out of line and I'll see exactly how far a vampire can bounce along the ground after being thrown from a moving vehicle before bursting into flames. Buffy or no Buffy."
"God you've got cruel," Spike observed as his body trembled helplessly.
"Oh didn't you hear?" Xander shot back with fake surprise that failed to mask the biting anger in his voice. "A heartless bastard used, abused and lied to me. It kind of changed me. Great plan by the way. Really worked well."
Words. Who was it that said words couldn't hurt? What bullshit. Words were the most vicious, heartbreaking weapon in the world, especially from someone you loved with your whole heart, would *die* for if it would only make them think of you kindly. Words could kill you over and over, make you wake in the night and weep time and time again under the sting that never faded.
The pause that dropped between them after Xander's speech was pain streaked, harsh, and terrible to listen to. Much like Xander's voice had been. Unable to bear looking at the devastation he had wrought anymore Spike dropped his eyes from Xander's. Xander turned away in a swift jerky movement, sitting next to Willow and Tara.
"It wasn't worth it." Spike said quietly to himself.
***
As Giles drove Xander tried to fight back the nausea welling up relentlessly inside him while keeping his eyes averted from Spike who was sitting on the floor beside Dawn's seat. He *hated* that, seeing those two so friendly, he itched to drag her away from him but he had no real reason to. After their confrontation Spike had been quiet, and yeah, maybe he shouldn't have said what he'd said to Spike. If nothing else then Spike had proved he'd do a lot for Dawn but everything was still so hard and hurt so much. Sad and furious, sick and filled with hate, for himself, Spike and Buffy, he felt like someone was taking a huge wooden spoon to his emotions and giving them a vicious stir. He wanted to scream, yell, smash everything in sight and burst into helpless tears, but he couldn't. All he could do was sit still and endure as the R.V roared on down the highway, feeling that if Spike so much as brushed past him he thought he'd scream from sheer nervous tension.
"Spike?" Dawn asked tentatively as the silence became unbearably tense, "did you bring some cards? We could play a game."
"I wouldn't play with him Dawn," Xander was unable to stop himself from remarking bitterly. "One way or another he'll bleed you dry."
Dawn bit her lip nervously as Spike flinched slightly yet said nothing.
"Xander," Willow remonstrated gently.
"What? All I'm saying is Spike here is a master at bluffing, gets you to lay all your cards on the table then hits you with his best shot. Right Spike? Isn't that how you play?"
His voice was shaking, he felt sick but driven, appalled at what he saying, and yet revelling in it. The contrast between Spike's apparent acceptance of the situation and his own neurotic terrors was just too much to bear. If he couldn't imitate Spike's cool manner - which he couldn't - then he wanted to wreck it any way he could.
Spike still didn't reply but his jaw was clenching, as his body vibrated minutely with the pressure.
"Oh c'mon Spike!" he pressed. "Admit it, you're the best at your games, we all have such fun playing your games. Just a problem though, nobody but you knows the rules!" He was almost snarling as he spoke, Dawn was looking close to tears.
Spike snapped, his blue eyes were almost black. "Look, I ..."
"I don't even want to play anymore," Dawn interrupted quickly.
"Yeah that's what I said at first," Xander said without even looking at her.
"Don't recall you making that bluff very convincing though," Spike said angrily, finally abandoning his silence and under his initial flinch of pain Xander felt bitterly triumphant. He could cope with Spike snapping, it was Spike being heroic that was so impossible.
"Do we know where we're going yet?" Dawn called to Giles desperately as he opened his mouth for a stinging response.
"We'd already be somewhere if Captain Slowpoke would give up the wheel." Spike muttered, leaping on the change of subject with relief. "Hey Gramps! Bloody step on it!"
"Step on what?" Giles snapped back. "I've driven tricycles with more power!"
The vehicle lurched and Xander groaned, the nausea wasn't going, it was getting worse. He felt seriously ill, in fact he'd never felt worse in his life, he flashed hot and cold uncomfortably, his head was pounding and his mouth kept rushing frighteningly with saliva which was strange since he never usually got travel sick. Why did he have to start now - in front of Spike?
"Is anybody else queasy?" he asked in confusion. Willow looked at him with an expression of guilt and warning that confused him. He frowned, then remembered. She had warned him about this, exhaustion and nausea, the aftermath from the spell they had done so he could face Glory. Oh yeah *that* spell, the spell Spike must *never* know about, because then Spike would know that some part of him still cared and he had to shut that out, keep it away, it was the only way to survive.
For a moment he glimpsed another reality, one co-existing alongside all his anger, a reality where he couldn't hide behind a safe wall of hate. He rubbed his eyes frantically. He must be going mad. The feeling he'd had last night that his arms were tied to opposite poles and were being pulled was getting stronger and stronger, he could swear he could almost feel himself being ripped in two.
"He doesn't travel well. He's like fine shrimp." Willow hurried to cover for him.
"I shoulda nicked that Porsche I had my eye on," he heard Spike's voice say to Dawn, but he *knew* that Spike was trying to lash out at him. "There's just enough room for me, you, and big sis."
The other reality vanished, the wall flew back up and Xander dropped his hand form his eyes to fix Spike with a look of utter loathing.
"What?" Spike retaliated, feigning ignorance.
"Would you give it a rest, or..."
"Or what, you're gonna toss your cookies on my shoes?" Spike raised an eyebrow, but although his voice was coolly unimpressed Xander knew he was trying to remind him of their confrontation and his earlier slam about how useless he was. Two could play at that game.
"Or you can be undead man walking," he glared, reminding Spike of *his* earlier threat. "See how fast you can hitch a ride with a flaming ..." Xander balked but somehow managed to finish the sentence, " ...thumb."
"Fine." Spike said quietly. "Shrimp."
Xander stood up suddenly, as to his horror he unexpectedly felt a humiliating need to cry. He had to get away from Spike before he betrayed a hint of weakness. He stumbled away, and fell with relief into the passenger seat beside Giles.
"That guy is bloodsuckin' the last nerve right outta me," he said, barely knowing what he was saying just knowing he had to speak, to somehow regain his composure and reduce this nightmare to manageable proportions.
"Well, Buffy has a point," Giles said reluctantly. "In a confrontation, Spike may prove ..." he paused as Xander visibly winced. " ... useful."
"I don't know if Buffy's thinkin' too clear on that one, or anything else right now. I've never seen her so ..."
"She's ... been through more than her fair share of late," Giles reminded him gently, his loyalty to Buffy indestructible. "She just needs a chance to catch her breath, regroup. She'll be all right."
"Yeah. She'll ... Yeah." Xander ran out of words, ran out of breath, struck dumb by *his* need to catch his breath and regroup, something he wasn't going to get while Spike was within spitting distance.
"How are *you* coping?" Giles asked, keeping his eyes studiously ahead.
Xander felt a hysterical laugh well up, but managed to swallow it down, and say almost calmly; "Been better, Giles. Been better."
"I know it's hard," Giles said, genuinely sympathetic but mercifully unemotional. His calmness helped Xander to recover a little. He remained in the seat beside Giles, staring blindly at the road stretching ahead.
***
They left the city and roared down the highway. Willow still studied her book. Dawn peered curiously over her shoulder. Spike sat opposite Dawn, sad it may be that a master vampire needed to be close to a fourteen-year-old girl but he needed to know that someone was on his side and Dawn's light brushes and soft inquires as to if he was okay were balm on his stinging and raw emotions. He wasn't proud of the way he'd snapped back at Xander earlier, even though Xander had obviously wanted it, gone out of his way to provoke it. What else could he have done? /Yeah/ he thought with disgust, /I'm a real prince./ Shit. What a bloody awful mess this all was. A mess *he* had made.
"Any luck?" Dawn asked Willow and with relief he turned away from torturing himself to listen to them.
"Uh, if you define luck as the absence of success, plenty," Willow replied glumly. "There's a couple barrier spells, but they only work on a fixed locus. Haven't found anything that'll work while we're still moving."
Tara reached out her hands across Willow, towards Dawn. "So pretty, can I have one?"
Willow gently pushed her arm back. "Come on," she reproved gently. "Anyone hungry?" Dawn asked swiftly. Spike grimaced at the fake brightness in her voice; the poor kid was still eating herself up with guilt over Tara.
"Snacks are the secret to any successful migration." Dawn continued reaching into her backpack. He was watching her with concern when suddenly unexpected pain flared up, heat searing his hand - thanks to Tara, who had lifted the blind to look curiously outside.
"Hey! Aah!"
He bolted in a panic into the shadows as a horrified Willow realised what had happened. "Tara, no! What did I tell you?"
The sunlight vanished as Willow pulled Tara back from the window, shoving the blind back down. Tara wailed loudly at the harshness in Willow's voice. The stench of burnt skin hung acridly in the air.
"Shh." Willow crooned repentantly pulling the weeping Tara's head to her chest to comfort her. She glanced up at Spike, misery in her eyes.
"I'm sorry. She, she didn't mean to." Willow apologised tearfully. "She doesn't know what she's doing."
His sharp expletive died on his lips as the sight of them brought back an onslaught of memories. How often had he soothed Dru, just like that as he tried to protect her from all the bad things in her mind? Instead he nodded, trying to signal to Willow that he understood.
"We know." Dawn said softly.
"No biggie," he said to Willow, then awkwardly to Tara, who was still crying; "Look, the skin's already stopped smoking. You go ahead and play peek-a-boo with Mister Sunshine all you like. It keeps the ride from getting boring."
Willow gave him a grateful look, then turned back to soothing Tara who was wailing about the lack of light. He winced with pain as he tried to flex his injured hand, then glanced up to see Xander on his feet, staring at the angry red that had slashed across his pale skin. Spike's heart leapt into his mouth with a wild surge of hope. The look on Xander's face ...
Xander met Spike's eyes and for a moment Spike could read all kinds of conflicting emotions on his face, compulsively he took a small useless step forward then stopped. Xander's eyes were unreadable again, his face stony. He turned away pointedly, sinking back in his seat next to Giles. Spike's heart plummeted back down so quickly he felt sick.
Dawn caught his eye. "Okay?" she mouthed concerned. Was he? He didn't know - but he knew his hand wasn't what was hurting him. He gave her a quick nod and Dawn gave Tara a last unhappy look before slipping away into the back bedroom where Buffy was still ensconced, closing the door behind her.
"I'm sorry," Red said again, she was looking close to tears herself as Tara whimpered into her breast.
"'S'alright." He stared blindly at his hand, had to - it was easier than looking at Xander. "Compared to some stuff, this is nothing." He turned to Willow. "Don't beat yourself up over it Red. I remember it's no picnic havin' a girl who's out of her mind."
Willow stroked Tara's hair in a gesture of wordless tenderness as her lip trembled. "How did you bear it?"
A deep pang of empathy so strong it hurt resounded throughout him as she looked at him, struggling under a burden he remembered only too well. "Had to. No choice. I loved her. Maybe it was easier for me though. I never knew her any other way."
Willow nodded silently and for a moment their eyes met in a wordless understanding.
There had been a faint thundering sound faintly gaining on them for a minute or so, but with all the hand scorching he hadn't really noticed it - however now it was getting very loud. Just as he began to wonder in irritation what the hell the noise was, the bedroom door opened.
"Giles!" Buffy shouted warningly.
"I see them." Giles replied grimly.
"See who?" Spike asked, confused, as the thundering sound became easily distinguishable as horse's hoofs. He leapt back in shock as an arrow flew into the wall next to him, then the next moment dozens of them began to shoot into the R.V as the yells outside - war cries of dozens of men - streamed in.
Oh right, the crusade. Didn't look like he'd need Tara to keep the ride from getting boring after all.
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