***

Wishes and Regrets
Part One: Wishes
Chapter One: London Flat

Through the chatter, Buffy could hear one constant voice. It rose to an excited treble, threading through the busy conversation of their weekly meeting like a strand of copper wire. It was the bright but often keening voice of her sister, Dawn. Buffy was quite sure that Dawn had remained affixed to her cell phone since the day they moved in to their house on Meteor Street. Not a house, though, she reminded herself. Giles called it a flat. It was three stories, not counting the basement, yet to the English, that was flat.

Across from her, Giles sat tapping ballpoint pen to steno pad. His terse expression told her that he was quite ready for the meeting to begin. The others obviously paid no heed to the uptight British man. Willow, Andrew and Kennedy were chattering lightly about Andrew’s newest lady friend, a school teacher named Nighna who came to London from Morocco. And Xander, bemused though he was, grumbled much over the idea that Andrew the comic-bookish geek boy could get more lovin’ than he.

"Oh my God, I know," Dawn squealed over her cell phone. "Oh my God.... I know! He so did not. Oh, bloody hell!"

Giles grimaced. He leaned forward, which indicated that he wanted to start the meeting. Still no one took notice, except for Buffy. She had a pad of her own, meant for taking notes. On it, she had drawn a big looping teardrop shape.

“Dawn,” Giles said, on the edge of losing his Britishness.

She rolled her eyes dramatically and flounced out of the room.

“Geez,” Xander said. “Were we ever that...”

“Energetic?” Willow cut in.

“I was going for annoying,” Xander said.

Giles leaned forward again. “If we’re ready to begin, I’d like to discuss the new Slayer the coven located. Willow?”

Willow sat up, studiously, folding her slim hands on the table in front of her. “The newbie’s in Scotland, in a romantic little fishing village called Plockton, near the Highlands.”

Simultaneously, Andrew and Xander said, “There can be only one?”

Andrew grinned. Xander looked abashed and lowered his gaze to an interesting spot he found on the back of his thumb.

“Do you have to say it every time?” Kennedy asked.

Buffy could feel Giles tensing from across the room. He said, “Willow. Please continue.”

Willow did continue. She talked about taking a train to this Plockton place, where there was a rustic two-bedroom cottage with a built-in jacuzzi and no one around for miles. Then Xander started saying something about the mission sounding more like a mini-break than Slayer collecting. Kennedy then mentioned giving him a mini-break in a painfully specific place.

But Buffy drifted. Their voices combined to weave a kind of net that let her swim off to the realm of elsewhere. She thought about the patrol route she was likely to take once this meeting adjourned, and about the Silver Edition 'Calvin & Hobbes' book she’d ordered from Amazon.com for Xander. And underneath all these surface-y thoughts, her inner voice was chatting away. And these days, surprisingly, her inner voice sounded just like Spike.

God, she thought, even as her subconscious mind, the guy would not shut up. Buffy scribbled on her note pad, making a crosshatch pattern on the top of the loop she’d drawn.

Buffy, he whispered. Buffy... You’re missing out, pet. Meal planning, mini-breaks... laundry detail. They need you to decide, Slayer. Will it be cutlets or chicken curry?

Shut up, she thought to herself. But she smiled. She looked down at her doodle on the page. She’d drawn a noose, which pretty much summed up her thoughts on weekly meetings. She covered it with her hand.

“What do you think, Buffy?” Willow asked.

“Hmm?” Buffy said. “What do I think about what?”

“Hello, Buffy,” Xander said. “London calling.”

Willow said, “Can you cover the school on Monday, in case Kennedy and I don’t get back in time? We have to cover the whole Slayer mission with her parents, and if she decides to, you know, join the gang, we may need more than just the weekend...”

“Sure,” Buffy said. “Um, no problem.”

“Great,” Kennedy said brightly. “We’re going up tomorrow. Our train leaves first thing.”

Dawn sauntered in, sliding her phone to the table with a clatter. “I wanna come,” she said. “I love riding the trains.”

Willow shot Kennedy a panicked look, then straightened. “Oh, it’ll be way boring. Just, you know, small town. Lots of sheep. And the cutest little fishing boats. But, we’re meeting the girl’s parents first thing. So, yea! Slayer mission.”

Dawn settled back for a good, long sulk, but her cell phone rang, rescuing them all from the wrath. She answered the phone with “hullo, mate!” then bounced from the room.

“Good. Good,” Giles said, making notes on his yellow pad. “And you, Buffy? How are you faring with the girls at the school?”

Buffy sat a little straighter. This was a point of pride for her. She ran the Summers School, which for Londoner passers-by specialized in martial arts and self-defense training. It also had the handy double as Slayer Training HQ, UK. Faith had her own school in New York; Robin Wood, son of Slayer and former Sunnydale principal helped out with that. Rona and Vi had another school in Cleveland. They saw a lot of action there, since Cleveland rested rather unpleasantly on another Hellmouth.

London was less demony. Vampires a-plenty, but nothing they couldn’t handle.

“The girls are good,” Buffy said, nodding to Kennedy. “We each have four now. Lots of girls, kicking ass. Handy with the stakes and holy water. I’m still doing solo patrols for now...”

“Not ready to share out with the vamp killing good times?” Xander put in.

“No,” Buffy said. “No, it’s not that. They’re not ready yet. I want to firm them with the footing, before they get knocked flat.”

Giles nodded his head once. “I think you’re right. Give them time to settle in. Rita’s been here the longest, and she arrived less than a month ago.”

“Plus, we haven’t worked out all the kinks with our training schedule yet,” Kennedy said.

Buffy chewed her lip. She said, “Getting up at 5 a.m. is the best way to go. That way they’re getting all worked out before the body grasps what they’re doing to it.”

“Yeah, but if they’re going to be patrolling at night, a 5 a.m. wake up call doesn’t leave time for sleep,” Kennedy said.

“Welcome to my world,” Buffy said.

Dawn re-entered the room, still chatting, her phone snugged between shoulder and ear. She dropped a stack of mail into the center of the table before breezing back out.

Giles reached for the bills straight away. Willow snatched a post card from the stack.

“Oh look, it’s from Robin and Faith,” she said. She turned it over, revealing a sparkling Jamaican beach on its front. She read aloud: “Dear Buffy & all. Hope this finds you well. Found one VS here in Ocho Rios... sending her to Rona and Vi in Cleveland. More soon, take care. Robin.. Huh, that’s nice.”

She held the card closer to her face. “There’s a scrawly bit, I can’t read it.”

Buffy took the card from Willow. “Wish you were here. Wait, no I don’t. Later, suckers. Love, Faith. Not surprised.”

Xander shifted in his seat. “Why does she get all the Baywatch Slayer assignments. I could so see me on a beach somewhere...”

“Add a striped shirt and a peg-leg and you’re a commercial for Captain Morgan’s,” Willow said.

“I hate the beach,” Andrew moaned. “All that sand. And sharks.” He shuddered.

“Yeah, but sun,” Xander said, gesturing expansively, “And sparkling water. And the br...”

Giles jumped in. “Andrew, you’re working on invocation lessons with Dawn?”

Xander slouched. Andrew perked up. Since moving to London, Andrew had gone into complete Giles Junior mode. The resemblance was somewhat off-putting, especially to Giles.

Tonight, he wore a brown flannel over-shirt and kept a cup of tea close at hand.

Andrew cleared his throat before beginning. “Thank you, Mr. Giles,” he said. “Um, Dawn is remarkably edacious. I’m happy to say she’s progressing in the demon invocation arts, and in demon vanquishing. Lately she’s been less attentive, but I’m thinking it’s a blip, due to this guy Lane she’s been talking to.”

“Lane?” Buffy and Xander said in accord.

“What happened to what’s his... with the orange hair and the piercing?” Buffy asked.

“What, Brody?” Andrew said, laughing. “Yeah, he’s like so yesterday.”

Buffy sat back. “Huhn,” she said.

“Speaking of boys,” Willow said. “How’s that thing, you know, with that Tom fellow?”

“Tim,” Xander corrected.

“Tim,” Willow said. She wiggled her eyebrows. “Right, so?”

The corner of Buffy’s mouth twinged almost imperceptibly, but Giles caught it and frowned.

“I dunno,” Buffy said. “Guys here are so hands-offy and gentlemanly. Not that that’s bad, but... they’re just so... British. No offense, Giles.”

Giles waved a hand. “Used to it,” he said.

Buffy continued. “Besides, we are way off topic now. Like Off Off Topic. We were discussing Dawn’s apprenticing with Andrew. God, does it sound weird to anyone else that I just said that?”

Everyone the table round shrugged, including Andrew.

Andrew cleared his throat again. “Well, I’m not sure how you all will feel about this, but... Dawn is like really young, and she knows so much already. She’s like Demon Vanquish Queen, which makes me a teeny bit jealous, but still I’m thinking this boy phase isn’t so bad a thing.”

“You’re right,” Buffy said.

“I am?” Andrew said. “Yes!”

“Dawnie’s finally getting to be a kid here. We don’t know long it will last, so let’s just let her enjoy it while it does,” Buffy said.

“Hear here for the brat chat,” Xander called out.

Willow craned her head to check the grandfather clock in the entry hall behind them. “Hey, here’s a thought, Giles. I don’t mind the weekly meetings. In fact, I love them in the same way I love mini-highlighter pens, but do you think we could move them to Thursdays? Some of us might have plans for Friday nights.”

“Yeah, like Dawn and Lane,” Kennedy said.

“Or Tom and Buffy,” Andrew added.

“Tim,” Xander corrected.

“Nope. No plans. Just patrolling,” Buffy said. “But Thursdays work fine for me.”

Giles scribbled the note on his pad. “Thursdays noted. Is there anything else?”

Willow and Kennedy both jumped up, practically knocking over their chairs. But they weren’t fast enough to evade Andrew, who approached with dreaded meal plans.

“I wanted to discuss next week’s menu with you since we need groceries and you’ll be out of town for the weekend,” he said, chasing after them. His voice grew smaller as they headed upstairs, with him behind them, still talking away. “I’d like to make a nice leg of lamb and we need some tofu since Dawn’s eschewed all meat...”

“Meal plans,” Buffy muttered. “Ah, God.” She scratched over her noose sketch with long, loose strokes of the pen.

Giles pushed his notebook away and sat back. “Nothing else then?” he asked.

Xander got slowly from his seat, stretching. “Nope,” he said. “Think I’ll head down to the pub, you know. Have a pint. Ponder some pretzels. Then I figure I’ll crawl back home to lonely, lonely sleep. What do you say, British one? Up for some Guinness?”

“In a while,” Giles said.

Xander cleared out of the room, taking his pea coat from the stand in the hall and heading out into the misty night.

Once Xander was gone, Buffy got to her feet.

“That was some meeting,” Buffy said.

Giles looked at her. It was the look a professor gives to a student when he knows said student has been zoning out during class.

She braced herself.

“Buffy, may I have a word?”

“Sure,” she said, trying to sound aloof.

“Is everything all right? You seem...”

“Sullen? Broody? Melancholy?” she offered.

“A bit,” he said. He took of his glasses and fastidiously cleaned the lenses.

“It’ll pass,” she said, trying at once to be brisk and reassuring.

“I’m sure it will, but if you’d like to talk,” he said.

Buffy stepped away from her chair and pushed it in. “Would it help? I mean, really?”

“I think so, yes,” Giles said.

“No,” Buffy answered. “I’m going to patrol. Kicking. Screaming. General violence. That helps. Plus, I have other things to keep my mind occupied. Like the school, and finding our girls.”

“Buffy, I...” Giles began.

“I just miss...” She caught herself. “I miss things, from before. I need to get them out of my system, is all. Since they’ve gotten me out of theirs.”

An expression flashed across Giles’ forehead. It may as well have been a giant Times Square billboard of disappointment. “Spike, I presume,” he said.

“Not just him. Obviously,” Buffy said.

“You know it’s for the best,” Giles said.

“It’s ridiculous, Giles. I know it. But you said it yourself. We relied on each other. And I thought... or I think, some days, that I did everything wrong.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible, Buffy. You saved the world and sealed the Hellmouth,” Giles said.

Buffy went on as if she hadn’t heard Giles at all. “He’s become the voice in my head, Giles. I hear him, talking to me. I know how pointless it is. That whole not-knowing-what-you-have-till-it’s gone thing’s really sinking in about now. I could just call him. He’s in LA. I could pick up the phone.”

“Don’t,” Giles said, darkly.

“You’re right,” Buffy said, revving up to a nice rant. “He didn’t call me. Why should I call him? ‘Hey, Buffy! I’m alive and in Los Angeles, working with our old pal, Angel.’ Of all people. Grr. You know what, I’m passed it. I’m going out. Now.”

Buffy strode over to the coat rack and took her own jacket. As she tugged it on, Giles rounded the table and came to stand by her.

“Buffy,” he said, gently. “This is a place for starting over. We left all of it behind us. I’m not saying it will happen tonight or tomorrow, but eventually, you will put all of it out of your heart. You’ll be better for it, I promise.”

Buffy zipped her jacket and shoved her hands deep into her pockets. Her fist closed around the stake she kept in the right one. “Putting it behind me,” she said, nodding. “I’ll be back whenever.”

She turned smoothly on the toe of her boot and headed out the door.

“Buffy,” Giles called.

She turned, hesitantly, her hand on the doorknob. “What?”

“Be careful,” he said.

Buffy gave him a thin smile, then stepped out into the chilly London night.

Chapter Two: City of Angels

Once the rain cleared, and demon bodies sufficiently blocked the alley entrance, Angel took a moment to assess the situation.

It was grim.

Gunn was gone. Dead, most certainly, but Angel had lost him. His body was probably somewhere beneath the pile of demon bodies that blocked the alley. Opposite him, probably a hundred yards ahead, Spike was using said pile of carnage as a barricade. Illyria was further ahead. He couldn’t see her, but knew from the constant grinding sound of bone against bone that she was still fighting the fight. Angel was hurting, oozing blood from two dozen not-so-superficial wounds. He couldn’t tell how Spike fared. There was a ruddy gash on Spike’s temple, but any other scrapes he had were hidden under his long leather coat.

So, as far as he could see, there were two very important things they had to face. One was the Khurasch dragon, which Angel had fought already, but it had turned and wheeled out above them like a big, great scaly chicken. No telling when it would return, but no doubt that it would be back. The second, more imminent danger was the rapidly approaching sunrise. Illyria would be fine; but he and Spike would be nice and roasty if they couldn’t find shelter, and fast.

“Angel!” Spike called. “I think we’ve got them scared.”

Angel climbed over a hill of slaughtered imps and made his way toward Spike. His boots squished in ankle deep pools of coagulating demon blood.

“I wouldn’t count on that, Spike,” he said, in a cautioning tone. “They’re regrouping, and we’re running out of time.”

Spike scanned the sky. “We can hide under corpses. No heartbeat. They’ll figure us for dead.”

“That’s great, Spike, except for when the demonic clean-up crew comes to forage on this flesh buffet, leaving us completely exposed.”

“We’ve beat back Legions, Angel. You telling me we’re gonna let the sun finish us off?” Spike climbed up the makeshift barricade to have a look. As he did so, a Bulwacki demon fired a crossbow, narrowly missing his left eye. Spike slid back down, cursing.

“Not so clear as I thought,” he said.

“Ya think?” Angel said.

Illyria came toward them. They heard her purposeful strides over the din of demons just outside the mouth of the alley.

“I can sense your concerns,” she told them. “You fear the dawning sun.”

“Well, yeah, Blue,” Spike said. “Vampires.”

Illyria leapt to the top of the demon-body barricade. Another crossbow bolt sailed by. She caught it without turning and snapped it in her fist.

“There is a grated opening into the ground at the front of this ravine. I can pry it open, if you can fight your way to it,” she said.

“A sewer grate,” Angel said. “We can do that. Live to fight another day.”

“Bloody right, we can. Blue, you’re brilliant!” Spike said.

Illyria cocked her head, half-smiling down at Spike. A second later, the smile faded. “You must hurry, half-breed. They are coming.”

Spike didn’t waste any time. He climbed over the deadfall wall, with Angel beside him. They could hear the sixteenth (or was it seventeenth?) wave gathering force. It was a baleful, groaning sound, like that of a gargantuan metal beast slowly collapsing beneath its own weight. Under that sound, there was an unnerving clicking, insectile and alien. It set Angel’s fangs on edge.

As soon as they cleared their barrier, a volley of bolts sailed at them. Illyria took point, with Spike and Angel flanking. She stretched her arms and the bolts incinerated mid-air.

“Nice trick, luv,” Spike whispered.

“Are you ready to run?” she asked.

Angel dug in. The blurred faces of demons filled the end of the alley. All they needed was to charge through, get underground and get out.

“Ready,” Spike said.

“Let’s go,” Angel said.

They plunged into the fray, closing the distance between them and the demon horde. Illyria struck the first thirty or so, driving them back under a wall of heat. Angel and Spike shielded their eyes, skirting the bodies that crumpled beneath their feet. But as they ran, the next wave swept in with pure demonic force. Hundreds, maybe thousands waited for them. Illyria charged, but they drove her back. Angel leapt in, slashing at what seemed like a wall of living flesh. Above him, a swarm some breed of bug-like demon scaled the alley walls, mandibles clacking like mad castanets.

Dimly, he heard Spike scream as he dived in. After that, the demons’ collective war cries drowned all other sound. Angel fought for every inch, snapping necks, tearing flesh, scraping, hitting, hell - biting, but still they pushed him back.

“Illyria!” he yelled. “I’m losing ground!”

Four demons, each twelve-footers, closed a tight circle around him. They wielded long halberds with black, barbed hooks on one end.

Angel took one, used it to sweep the legs out from beneath another, and climbed over the shoulders of the third. He leapt forward, flying over the heads of demons. In their surprise, they missed him as he fell. He rolled, then bounded up again, using his handy new weapon as a demon skewer.

Angel saw then how clearly out-matched they really were. The Circle of the Black Thorn had meant business. Beyond the alley lay the open gate to a dimension of hell that spilled out demons in droves. Tens of thousands of them, armed to their many, many rows of teeth.

Angel had known they couldn’t win. But they had lasted so long he had begun to think...

The Khurasch descended, this time for a face-to-face. The strafing maneuvers from their earlier scuffle had been a fly-by, just to test them out. Now, it was full of teeth and claws and mystical fire. Behind it, yet another Legion awaited. The Khurasch opened its dripping, gaping jaws to draw in breath.

Illyria stepped forward, palm stretched out to strike.

“No,” Angel yelled. “This one’s mine.”

“Get down,” she ordered.

Spike stumbled through the demons that now retreated from the Khurasch behind them. He dropped to his knees.

“The passageway is there,” Illyria said, pointing beyond Angel to the sewer grate. Her voice sounded thin and strained. Angel heard the clang of ripping metal. “Go. Now,” she said.

“Spike!” Angel called out. “Get inside!”

“What?” he answered. “And let you have all the glory?” Blood dripped in black pools from a wound in his shoulder.

The Khurasch dragon’s breath transformed from ragged moan to an ear-shredding keen.

“You must go. Now!” Illyria said. A shimmer of heat rippled the air before her.

Angel would later recall fragments and flashes. He would remember Spike standing to make a last charge. Angel would recall the hatchet that struck him down from behind. Fragments, like scales of glass. Blinding, searing whiteness, followed by dust. All around him, dust.

Somehow, by some means beyond him, Angel managed to crawl into the sewer grate. He was burned and broken, but alive. A day later, he emerged from a sewer tunnel and made his way to Connor.

But for days after that, all he could see when he closed his eyes, was dust.

Chapter Three: Wishes

The moon's a fingernail
and slowly sinking
Another day begins
and now I'm thinking

That this indifference
was my invention
When everything I did
sought your attention

You were my compass star
You were my measure
You were a pirate's map
A buried treasure

If this was all correct
The last thing I'd expect
The prosecution rests
It's time that I confess:

I must have loved you

Ghost Story, by Sting

Nights seemed darker in London. The cemeteries were older, and the night sky when it rained looked like worn black flannel. It was comforting, somehow. Buffy liked London. She liked the busy-ness of the city, with its topple-likely lorry buses and well-lit subway stations. She liked the scrubbed-ness of the buildings and the sidewalks and the shops. It was like in Mary Poppins, when she would say, ‘Spit spot’. That’s what London was for Buffy.

Even the vampires here seemed, well, polite. She sometimes hated to dust them. They were all, ‘Oh dear,’ and ‘Goodness, gracious me.’ She half-expected them to carry around their own dustpans, in order to clean up after themselves.

Buffy liked their apartment on Meteor Street. She and Dawn occupied one suite, a two-bedroom, on the second floor. Andrew had the other, much smaller bed and bath adjacent. Upstairs, Giles had a three-bedroom suite. Willow and Kennedy stayed in another two-bedroom there, even though Kennedy owned a house of her own in Westbury, near Devon. Xander had the one and only apartment downstairs, on the main floor. There, they also had a nice kitchen, a dining room, and a TV room. Oh, and there was a garden, which was really just a backyard, but in England, they were called gardens whether they had flowers or not. The basement served as a general spell-room. It was Willow’s design. She painted wards on the walls, stored all necessary items in locked chests of custom Xander design. They kept basement furnishings to the barest minimum, to cut down on damage done by spellage debris.

So they were all flat-mates. It was nifty. They all lived together, without living together.

And yet... Buffy preferred, or rather craved, her time alone. Xander had been partly right when he said that she didn’t want to share her vamp-killing time with the new Slayers. In a lot of ways, she still felt apart from them.

Buffy clutched the stake in her coat pocket. The path to the Wiltshire Cemetery was familiar enough to her feet that she could walk the path on cruise. She neared the gates, ready for just about anything. What she found did give her a bit of a surprise.

A pair of vampires, new ones by the looks of their clothes, wrestled over the carcass of a freshly slain rabbit. They were so intent in their bunny brawl they didn’t hear her approach.

Buffy casually walked up to them. “Hasenpfeffer, is it?”

They two vampires, both middle-aged men in tweed jackets, the professor-ly kind with suede patches on the elbows, looked up, wide-eyed and rightfully concerned. One had tufty white hairs poking out of his ears. The other would have been bald before Christmas, if he’d lived that long.

“’Cause I’m pretty sure it’s duck season,” Buffy said.

The vampires exchanged a look of confusion. Tufty Ears shrugged. Would Be Baldy just tilted his head.

“You know?” Buffy said, drawing her stake. “As in duck.”

She lunged for Baldy, and staked him before he could even drop his end of the rabbit. Tufty looked decidedly alarmed and, thankfully, gave chase. He leapt over a tombstone and bolted downhill, sliding on the dewy grass. She tackled, and they tumbled, until his head collided with a marble grave marker. He rolled over on his back, using the bunny as a shield.

“Oh, come on,” Buffy whined. “A rabbit?”

He tossed the rabbit aside and raised his hands in surrender.

“Sorry, guy” she said, feeling genuinely sad for him, “It’s my job.”

She staked him, then dusted her hands of his dust.

Needless to say, Buffy left the cemetery feeling less than satisfied. She thought about hitting one of the other cemeteries on her way home, the Carlyle, or the Wallace Home, perhaps. But it was late, and soon, cool drizzle began to fall. She opted, instead, on taking a new way home. There was a neighborhood park she’d always intended to visit during the day, but had not yet made the detour.

Buffy took the pathway into the park through stands of slender, graceful looking trees. The rain pattered pleasantly on the leaves, and her boots crunched the gravel under her feet. The path wound its way around a small lake fringed with reeds. As she neared the pool, the rain turned to mist. The clouds parted, revealing a sliver of moon that shone down in the smooth mirror of the water. A soft breeze whipped over the lake, stirring a flock of geese to flight. Buffy paused, feeling almost breathless at the scene. Chills coursed down her arms. She was suddenly, achingly aware of how quiet it was. Quiet, and still.

Buffy drew a deep breath to fill the void, then closed her eyes. Her thoughts were still, and below that, silence. She felt a momentary spell of lost-ness. It kinda made her dizzy. Buffy opened her eyes, and uttered an uneasy laugh.

“I really miss you, you idiot,” she said. “I wish you were here.”

Her voice was answered by more quiet, followed by more rain. A stronger wind blew across the lake, this time with more force. A storm was on its way, and Buffy could take a hint. She tugged her coat more tightly around her waist. As she mounted the path, she turned to glance over her shoulder at the pretty lake with his ring of silver-trunked trees.

“I must be finally losing it,” she said to herself, and struck off for home.

Chapter Four: Fruitless

Buffy awoke on Saturday morning with crusty eyes and tousled hair. The sun had fully risen, and everyone else in the house had as well. She shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, pajama clad, to find a note on the breakfast bar from Willow and Kennedy. It was a hastily scrawled ‘Gone to Scotland, see you later’ note. Buffy pushed past it to the box of Count Chocula. She poured herself and bowl and sullenly began to crunch.

A few minutes passed before Giles came downstairs, with Andrew in tow. They were in the middle of some discussion about official Watcher business, and when they paused in the entry hall, she could hear that Giles was nearing the end of his patience.

“Andrew,” he said, “I’ve been given the not-so-light task as rebuilding the entire Watcher Council. I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Please, Mr. Giles. Let me come. How will I ever become a Watcher if you don’t let me in?” Andrew whined.

“It’s not like the Masons or the Elk Lodge,” Giles said. “You don’t get in on personal recommendation. Watchers are Called.”

“I wanna be Called,” Andrew said.

“It isn’t up to just me, I’m afraid. Keep up with your training, and we’ll see,” Giles said.

There was a pause in the conversation as Giles slipped past Andrew and toward the kitchen.

But Andrew caught up to him again. “Is there a secret handshake?” Andrew asked.

“Yes,” Giles said, sounding embarrassed. “Yes, there is.”

“I knew it!” Andrew said triumphantly.

Buffy laughed softly to herself as Giles came into the kitchen, Andrew still on his heels.

“Buffy,” Giles said, sounding unbelievably relieved. “You’re awake, thank heavens. Did Willow and Kennedy get off this morning?”

“Uck, yes,” she said. “You heard them too?”

Giles shot her a look of confusion, then went for his tea cup in the cabinet.

“Oh, you mean... Scotland.” Buffy said. “Yes, they did. They left a note. A non-sexy note.” She slid it toward him.

Andrew leaned on the bar in his very boyish manner, resting his chin in his hand. “Buffy,” he said. “Willow left a grocery list. We need eggs, bread, tea and um, sugar.”

“Groceries,” Buffy said. “Don’t you usually get those?”

“Grocery shopping is one of my normal Watcher-In-Training duties, yes. But I’m taking Dawn to Harker Glade this morning to practice conjuring and dispelling of Mushka Changelings, and we only have a few hour’s window this afternoon between the time when Mercury sets and Dawn’s soccer practice.”

Buffy looked distraught. “Oh... Giles?”

Giles was busy preparing a cup of tea. Over his shoulder he said, “I have Council business to attend to. I’m afraid I’ll be out all day.”

Andrew sat down on the barstool and pouted. “Some day, it will be my turn,” he grumbled.

“Yeah. Well, what about Xander?” she asked.

As if on cue, Xander breezed into the room, all spiffy in his charcoal gray suit and geometric-patterned necktie.

“What about Xander?” he asked “Did I miss something apocalyptic or interesting?”

“No,” Buffy said. “Just grocery shopping.”

“Hm. The dreaded produce aisle,” Xander said. He grabbed a croissant from the breadbox and headed for the door.

“You’re in a hurry...” Buffy said.

“Early day at the site,” Xander called as he left. “I’ll see you guys tonight. Good luck with the produce peril.”

Andrew scribbled away on the back of Willow’s note, sticking his tongue out over his lips as he wrote. Buffy watched him with a growing – almost stifling – sense of agitation. When he finished, he slid the note to her.

“Willow only likes the free range organic eggs and she can tell if you try to get the other kind, believe me. And Dawn doesn’t like regular white bread. Whole grain only. Oh yeah, and make sure the tuna fish is dolphin safe because those nets are really cruel to the gentlest creatures of the sea,” he said. He tapped the note twice with flourish, like an artist signing his masterpiece.

Buffy stared down at the list. “And where do I go for all of this stuff?”

Dawn burst into the room in a bright red vinyl raincoat, fidgeting with her cell phone.

“Hey guys,” she said, taking a banana from the fruit bowl. She began peeling it with her teeth while she checked her phone messages.

Andrew straightened. “Are you ready, Dawn?”

Dawn looked down at him as if awaking from a daydream. “Ready?”

“Conjuring and dispelling Mushka Changelings,” he said, sighing dramatically. “Mercury waits for no one, young lady.”

Dawn groaned. “I’m ready. Is it squishy outside? Cause I don’t want to ruin my boots.”

“Eighty-percent squishiness,” Buffy said, “but... isn’t it always?”

“The rain is part of the city’s charm,” Giles chimed in, in an almost obligatory tone.

“Yeah, well, the city’s charm spells doom for my footwear,” Dawn said. She ducked out of the kitchen, then bounded up to her room, taking the stairs by twos.

Giles glanced at his watch. “Better go now. Tonight?”

“Tonight,” Andrew said, saluting. He spun back to Buffy. “Dawn just ate the last banana. We now have a fruitless house. Better add that to your list.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “Doesn’t anyone eat breakfast around here?” she asked. She stared down at her soggy Count Chocula. “Besides me,” she added.

“No time,” Giles said. “See you later?”

Buffy nodded, a little frowny. Giles left the kitchen, and Andrew, of course, followed. Seconds later, Dawn shouted a shrill goodbye from the door.

Then they were all gone.

Buffy took the shopping list in both hands.

“Shudder with terror. It’s Buffy the Grocery Shopper,” she said. For a moment, she just stood there in the kitchen, half-tempted to go back upstairs and climb into the oblivion of snuggly blankets. Or, there was a whole world of television to watch. Books to read. Correspondence to address and send. She had a whole day to herself, and how long had it been since she’d been able to say that?

“Whatever,” Buffy said. And she headed upstairs to change.

So grocery shopping was a snooze-fest. Stores in London weren’t like the ones in California. They were cramped, crowded and lacked the bounteous variety of the stateside Wal-Mart or Piggly Wiggly. They also smelled like damp paper and newsprint. Buffy found everything on the list, with the help of a bitty old shopkeeper who was like, blah blah blah petrol, blah blah blah Tory party, blah blah blah biscuits.

Shopkeeper politics, so not her thing. Politics in general, for that matter.

When she left the grocer’s, a brisk rain fell, but the sun was out too, turning all to soupy haze. Buffy cinched her raincoat and made her way across the street, carting her groceries in plastic mesh bags.

It was miserable. She felt all wilty and the whole-wheat baguettes were getting soaked. She figured that if she kept her head down and walked at a steady pace, the sooner the whole grocery/rainstorm extravaganza would end.

In keeping with keeping her head down, Buffy paid little attention to the roads as she went. Before long, she had crossed the wrong street at the wrong corner. Several blocks later, she realized her mistake, but rather than turning back, she just hung a left, figuring she would follow this road until she reached Meteor Street and double back.

Soon the rain let up. It was still sludgy and steamy, but with less rain to abate the smothery humidity. Then, sidewalk construction blocked the way ahead, plus lots of traffic – horns blaring, clouds of exhaust, mass confusion. Buffy crossed at the corner to avoid all of the above. When she did, she noticed the entrance to the park she had walked through the night before. There was something about that place, something inviting and calm. It wasn’t exactly a short cut, but pleasant enough to merit a change in course.

Buffy slowed her heel-grinding pace. The moment she stepped into the park, the mood changed. The lake spread out beneath the trees like a flat pane of opaque glass. Geese nestled in the reeds at the water’s edge. Not a breath of wind stirred the air.

Buffy stopped to stare across the water, despite the armloads of sodden groceries. There’s something about this place, she thought, something unusual. She made note to mention it to Willow when she and Kennedy returned from Scotland. Perhaps this place was once consecrated earth, like an Indian burial ground... except there weren’t any of their kind of Indians in England. Celtic burial ground, maybe?

Or, much more likely, just a picturesque little lake and meadow chock full of nature-y goodness.

Buffy decided to let it go. With a sigh, she returned to the path.

At that moment, the space in front of her filled with crackling, blinding white light. Buffy stumbled back, ready to use her groceries as weapons. A bubble of fire and energy erupted from the ground, like lightning in reverse. A single thunderous crack like gunfire split the air. Beams of light burst out, knocking her back. Sacks of groceries - everywhere. Buffy clambered to her knees. The energy orb thing was gone. In its place a man crouched, naked and trembling.

She knew who it was, of course. She knew before he turned his wild eyes toward her. It was impossible. Completely impossible. But it was him.

“Spike?” she said. Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

He looked at her. Then placed his hands, palms down onto the gravel path. Spike stared at the ground, but didn’t move.

“Spike,” she said, more forcefully.

“The world was ending,” he said.

“Isn’t it always?” she said. She took an unsure step in his direction.

He looked up at her again. “Buffy?”

“That’s right,” she said. She stripped off her raincoat and drew it around his shoulders. “It’s me. It’s okay. You’re naked and-and damp and trembly. But it’s okay.”

“It is?”

Buffy swallowed hard. She touched the line of his jaw, and he didn’t pull away. “You’re okay. Okay?”

He nodded. His brows furrowed.

“Here,” she said. She helped his get slowly to his feet. “Let’s just take it slow. One foot, then the other. I’ll get you home.”

“Home,” he said. Yeah, dazed didn’t cover his state of shock. Her own pulse had gone all rabbity, and she was just the eyewitness to... well, whatever it was that just happened.

Buffy pulled his arm around her shoulder. His body felt heavy against hers, and unmistakably warm. It took a full five steps before the truth of it dawned on her. She placed her palm over his heart. She looked up to find him staring intensely at her.

“That’s your heart beating,” she breathed. “You’re human.”

Chapter Five: Coming Home

Buffy led Spike to the Flat. Since his feet were bare, she tried to stick to the sidewalks. She was sure people watched them as they passed – two soaking wet and wilted blondes trudging through rain, one of them naked under a raincoat three sizes two small. If they did, she didn’t notice. She focused instead on the sound of his breathing, which was a slow, hushed sound, perfectly natural for a normal man.

Except Spike was not a normal man. He was a vampire. Ergo, no breathing. No heartbeat. No steady pulse thrumming softly beneath supple skin. This Spike moved with the slow deliberation of a man recovering from near-fatal illness. With every cautious step, she imagined him feeling the weight of his limbs for the first time in over a century. He said nothing, and kept his eyes fixed on the ground. When he did venture a glance around, he looked out at the city-street in utter disbelief.

Once they entered the empty, quiet house, Buffy closed the door securely behind them. She guided him then toward the stairs. Spike suddenly flinched away, dragging her with him. He cringed in the corner, with his face turned to the wall.

“What?” Buffy said. “What is it?”

Spike lay there, panting. Buffy looked back, catching her reflection in the mirror that hung in the entry hall.

“The mirror,” she said. “You’re reflection. I should’ve remembered...”

“The world was ending,” Spike said again. He looked somewhat ridiculous and helpless, kneeling there in her obviously ladies-wear raincoat.

Buffy knelt beside him. “You said that. Do you remember... anything?” She brushed her hand over his forehead, trying to soothe him.

Spike shook his head. But he said, “Rain.”

“Lots of that going around. Here,” she said. She covered his eyes with her hands. “We’ll face the whole mirror thing another time. First task – finding clothes. I think Giles leaves his rooms unlocked. We can find something there.”

“Giles?” Spike said. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she detected a note of displeasure in his voice.

“It won’t be that bad,” she said. “Maybe we can pull off a grunge look. Not your speed, I know, but better than your present – might I add, rather revealing – selection.” Buffy helped him to his feet, then led him to the second floor.

As she suspected, Giles’ rooms were open. She brought Spike into the bedroom, stopping him in front of the closet door. It was strange, to see him so quiet, so watchful and still. She could just lead him around like a sleepy, complacent child. Obviously, there was confusion and disorientation. Rightfully so. Buffy knew that feeling. She understood how he felt. Her heart gave a small but painful lurch.

She turned from him to the closet, where she rifled aimlessly through Giles’ non-color-specific wardrobe of T-shirts and blue jeans. Finally, she tugged out at random a beige shirt and worn jeans from their hangers.

When she turned back, he had helpfully shrugged out of the wet coat. Problem was, there he stood, quite naked. But that was just it. He was unclad and unmoving. He looked way too lost for comfort.

Buffy stepped in. She drew the shirt over his head, pulled his arms through the sleeves, then smoothed it down, firmly, reassuringly over his chest.

“We’ve been here, you and me,” she told him. She helped him pull on the pants, one leg at a time. Again, with the general sleep-walkiness. He stared beyond her into empty space. “We were right here. Only, I was where you are. Remember?” she asked. She looked up into his uncomprehending eyes.

“Spike? Do you know where you are?”

Spike didn’t move for a long while. Then, he shook his head.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’ll come.”

When she touched his arm to lead him back downstairs, a wave of chill bumps coursed across his flesh. Spike shuddered, bodily, but she caught the trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

That was promising.

“Are you cold?” she asked. Spike nodded.

Buffy pulled a flannel shirt from the chair beside Giles bed. She slipped it on him, then stepped back.

“Yep,” she said. “Grunge look. We may have to party like it’s 1992.”

No almost smile this time, just basic vacant stare. So not encouraging.

“It’ll come,” she said again, mostly to herself this time. Buffy led Spike back downstairs front parlor room, where they sat together in silence, listening to the sound of the falling rain outside.

Hours passed thus. Maybe it was hours, anyway. The passage of time lost meaning. Buffy stared at him, expecting some movement, something. He was so still he was almost unresponsive. He seemed at one point to realize that he was breathing, because he took a series of deep breaths, inhaling slowly, then exhaling, then repeating process.

Buffy wanted to talk, wanted him to talk, but all she could do was sit and watch him draw breath.

It was too surreal, and for her, that was saying a great deal.

The shadows in the parlor lengthened, and soon, there was spastic teenage girl commotion at the front door. Spike shrank away from the noise. Buffy immediately went to the entry hall.

Dawn, drenched, dark hair flying, ran inside and started up the stairs.

“Soccer’s called on count of rain. Could you guess?” she yelled down at Buffy. “A whole morning of tromping through marsh...”

Buffy rounded the base of the stairs. “Dawn,” she called to her, softly.

Dawn whirled. She recognized the tone in her sister’s voice right away.

“What is it?” Dawn asked.

“Come see,” Buffy said.

Dawn came back down the stairs, much slower than she had gone up them.

“What is it?” she asked again.

Buffy stepped toward the parlor, indicating with a twitch of her head that Dawn should follow.

Spike had gotten up from the sofa and crossed to the center of the room. When Dawn came to the doorway, he merely stood there, looking out of sorts.

“But...” Dawn said. She dived in for a hug that nearly toppled them both. “When did you get here? It’s good to see you. After we didn’t see you in Rome, we...” Dawn paused, then stepped back, gripping his forearms.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. She looked to Buffy. “What’s wrong with him?”

Spike blinked.

“N-Nothing,” Buffy said. “Nothing’s wrong. But I think,” she scanned her brain for the right words. “He’s been through something. Some kind of trauma, and he doesn’t know.”

Spike gave a little nod to that.

“Oh,” Dawn said. Then she hugged him again.

“Wait, Dawn,” Buffy said. “Maybe he’s not ready for the hugfest. You know, trauma and all.”

Spike lowered his chin to the top of Dawn’s head. “I’m good with the hugging,” he said, quietly.

“Oh,” Buffy said. She stood fidgeting for a whole three seconds before nudging in to hug him as well.

Dawn suggested they all move to the kitchen. Lightning and thunder had joined the rainy day games, and all the flashing and noise made Spike flinchy. They gathered around the table, and although Dawn brought out some Jaffa Cakes, no one touched them

“We have to call him,” Dawn said.

“He said he’d be busy all day with Watcher stuff,” Buffy said.

“This is kinda important, Buffy.”

“I know,” Buffy said. “I know. I just want it to be us right now. Everyone else will find out soon enough.”

Dawn looked over at Spike. “You should maybe eat, you know. Or, maybe drink? We’ve got like a hundred kinds of tea.”

Spike just shook his head.

“When will Xander be home?” Dawn asked.

Buffy looked to the clock on the wall. “Soon,” she said. “What about Andrew?”

“No, he said not to wait up,” Dawn said. “He’s got a date with Nighna.”

Spike chuckled softly at that.

“Oh!” Dawn squealed. “He laughed at Andrew. I think he’s gonna be okay.”

Buffy looked hopeful for a moment, then shrugged. “Nah. We all laugh at Andrew.”

The front door opened, letting in the sounds of wailing wind and pounding rain, plus one swearing and soaking wet Xander.

“Great shaken vermouth, it’s a downpour,” he called out. “Buffy! You home?”

Buffy looked from Dawn to Spike. “In the kitchen,” she said, weakly.

Xander came into the hall, shaking himself in dog-like fashion. “Hey, guess what,” he began, then turned, slowly, on the ball of his foot. “Something must be wrong with my eye,” he said.

“Xander,” Buffy said.

“Spike,” Xander interrupted. “Why are you here? Why are you dressed like Giles? And more importantly, why are you here?”

“Xander,” Spike said, carefully feeling out the shape of the name.

“Uh, what’s up with him? Buffy, what’s happened?” Xander said.

Chapter 6: Unwelcome

Giles closed his door, then faced Xander and Buffy.

“I need to know everything that occurred, right down to the last detail,” he said.

Buffy took a seat on the edge of his bed. She felt a little fluttery, like a witness in a crime investigation. Dawn was downstairs with Spike, trying to coerce him into eating, but the offer of week-old tofu nuggets didn’t set well with any of the living kind.

“Well, okay,” Buffy began. “I went out for groceries this morning. There was traffic, and with the rain, I took a detour through a park, the same park in fact that I passed by on patrol last night. It’s a sweet place, feels kinda charged somehow. I was thinking Willow should check its energy. Anyway, there was this white flash and a ball of crackly energy. It looked like a... I don’t know... a light porcupine.”

“Porcupine?” Xander said.

She nodded, “Beams of like shot out of it, and then, there was Spike.”

Giles scrubbed his forehead. “Just like that?” he said.

“Yep,” Buffy said.

“Did you hear anything? Chanting, or a song? And were there any smells, perhaps. Incense, sulfur?”

“Smells, no. Songs, no,” she said. “Nothing like that. One minute I’m walking home in dreadful, hair-damaging humidity and the next, ex-lover, ex-vampire magically appears in a crackling ball of plasma. I did mention the ex-vampire part, right?”

Xander leaned forward. “This is like Category 5 on the strangeness scale, Buff. I mean, you didn’t happen to make a wish, did you? Cause he’s used a vengeance demon before...”

“Wish?” Buffy said, quickly. “No. It’s not like that. It’s different. He’s different. Didn’t you see? I don’t know what’s happened to him, but we’ll find out once he’s settled in...”

“Settled in?” Giles said, sounding alarmed. “We can’t just...”

Buffy scoffed. “Can’t just what, Giles? Where would he go? We can’t just turn him out on the streets.”

“I think we’re the street-turning-out sort where he’s concerned, Buffy,” Xander said. “Something doesn’t feel good here. I’m sensing definite wrongness.”

Buffy shook her head. “You’re wrong. This feels... right,” she said.

Xander sputtered toward ungainly speechlessness. Giles studied Buffy for a moment more, making her insides go all squirmy in the CSI way.

“I’m gonna go check on Spike and Dawn. I think he needs rest. We’ll learn more tomorrow,” she said. Buffy got up to leave the room. “Don’t go all grave-faced with concern. It’s gonna be okay.”

Once she closed the door, Xander wheeled on Giles. “It is not gonna be okay,” he said.

“It’s not him,” Giles said.

“Oh, he is much with the blameliness,” Xander said. He caught himself. “Wait. When you say not him, you mean as in not Spike?”

Giles reached for a book on the middle shelf near the door. “Buffy’s judgement is clouded. We should call Willow. We need her back here as soon as possible.”

“I’m on that,” Xander said. “But Giles, if it’s not him, what is it?”

Giles leafed through the book. “It’s up to us to find that out,” he said.

Buffy went straight down to her room. Dawn sat in their sitting area with her cell phone in her hand. The lamplight carved deep shadows under the curtain of her hair and in the hollows of her eyes. These days, Dawn departed from looking anything like a little girl. Tonight was one of those times.

“What did they say?” Dawn asked when Buffy came in.

Buffy sighed. “That there’s something wrong.”

“But there isn’t. Is there?”

“Magic 8-ball says ‘try again later,’” Buffy said. She crossed the room to stand near her sister. “I’m not ready yet to ask those questions. I don’t think he could answer them, besides. And since we live nothing resembling normal lives, I’d say anything is possible.”

Dawn leaned forward in her chair. Her hair fell around her face, obscuring it completely. “I wanted to call my friends. Y’know, Lane or Mickey, or Tamryn. But how can I explain this? Hey, one of my old Sunnydale chums just popped in. Literally.”

“You could say that, Dawn. Abridged version suits most folks fine,” Buffy said. She ran her hand over Dawn’s super silky hair.

Dawn looked up at Buffy. “I think I’m gonna turn in, okay? Long day.” She slipped away from her chair and headed for the door. She paused, hand on the doorknob. “Is it okay, to be glad that he’s here?” Dawn asked.

“No,” Buffy said, surprised. “No, we’re glad. We should be glad. Brimming with gladness, see?” Buffy gave Dawn a toothy grin.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “That’s kinda scary. You, with all those teeth. You should never do that,” she said. She pointed to Buffy’s door. “He’s in your room. Sweet dreams.”

“You too,” Buffy said.

Buffy waited until Dawn’s door was securely closed before knocking on her own. There was no answer.

“Spike,” she whispered, pushing the door open. She found him sleeping, chin to his chest, in the chair beside her bed.

Buffy took his hands. “That can’t be comfortable,” she told him. “Come on, lie down.”

She moved him to the bed, pulled back the covers and helped him slip beneath.

“Resting,” he said.

“Yes you are,” she soothed. She tucked him in, feeling once again like the attendant to a weary child.

She waited for a long, silent moment, watching him. She realized after a time that she was watching the way his chest rose and fell with every intake of breath. When she was sure he had gone back to sleep, Buffy settled in to rest in the chair.

“Buffy,” he said, barely audible.

“Yes?”

“Why am I here?” he asked.

Buffy reached to take his hand.

Buffy dreamed.

In her dream, she walked along the shore of the lake where she found him. The scene glowed with a Thomas Kinkaide quality, the kind of glowiness that made Buffy immediately check the surroundings for lighthouses and quaint little fishing boats. She could hear a low humming noise, like the sound of machinery in the distance. Otherwise, all was quiet and still.

As she strolled along the bank, though, small caterpillars drifted down from the trees on silken webs. They were few at first. Followed by more. Followed by too many. And they gleamed faintly, like tiny pulsing stars.

Buffy dodged them. She didn’t want them to touch her skin, but soon there were so many she could not dart between them. The webs clogged the air. Soon what seemed beautiful suddenly seems repulsive and terrible. Buffy started to run. The caterpillars scraped her skin. The strands tangled in her hair. She could hear them – a continual clicking sound that made her eyes water and her stomach turn.

They were eating.

Suddenly, the air filled with water and webs turned to stinging rain. Lightning split the sky. Deafening thunder tore the earth from beneath her feet. As Buffy ran, the ground changed from spongy grass to rain-slicked cobblestone. She nearly tumbled, but a passer-by fleeing the storm caught her elbow.

“Hold steady, there,” he said. He tipped his soggy hat and disappeared behind curtains of blinding rain. Buffy reeled for a moment before hearing another separate thunderous sound behind her. It was hoof-beats on the cobbles, bearing down on her fast. Buffy leapt clear as a horse-drawn fire engine crashed by. She turned to see the sky ahead, low clouds tinged red with flames. People scattered, all of them reaching, shouting, searching. They climbed over her, pressing her backward. Buffy floundered among them, jostled along by frightened people in nightgowns and soaked overcoats.

But above all of this, Buffy heard the sound of someone crying.

No one else marked it. No one took note of one weeping child. Buffy elbowed her way through the crowd in search of the sound. She found her way to the mouth of a grimy alley, where a small boy cowered behind a filthy trash bin. The boy hugged his knees to his chest, rocking and weeping to himself. Beneath a wasted waistcoat, his pajamas were sodden. His one remaining slipper clung useless to his left foot.

“Hey,” she said. She came around to stand in front of him. He didn’t respond.

“Hey,” she said again, leaning closer.

The boy looked at her from his wide blue eyes, and she knew him.

Buffy awoke with a start. Spike still slept, still drew breath. All was well, creepy caterpillar dreams aside. But Buffy prickled with unease.

Something was coming. No, something was here. Downstairs, in fact, bumping around in the entry hall. Buffy crept across the bedroom. She took a stake from the dresser drawer. At the door, she tensed and listened. There was a jingling sound, followed by brisk, purposeful rustling.

Buffy slipped through the bedroom door and then the door to her suite. Footsteps. She heard definite footsteps on the hardwood. Since it was a something on the inside, Buffy ruled out a vampire threat. Demon, then. She traded the stake for a crystal candy dish from the table in the hall. Handy for head bashing, and also after-dinner mints.

She held it aloft and waited in the shadowy corner. The something came with slow and steady steps up the stairs. Buffy craned her neck to see it on the landing below. Lighting flashed, illuminating a halo of red hair.

“Willow!”

Willow shrieked. She danced a quick, silly little dance. “Buffy, don’t do that,” she said.

Buffy took one step toward Willow, candy dish still above her head. “What are you doing home?”

“Not getting dashed with a candy dish, I hope,” she said.

Buffy lowered the dish. “No, of course not. I was just...”

“Posing for a life drawing class?” Willow offered.

“Something was coming,” Buffy whispered.

“That would be me,” Willow said.

“Giles called you,” Buffy said. She crossed her arms. “He called you home from Slayer recruiting.”

“Actually,” Willow said, walking up the stairs to stand in front of Buffy. “Xander called. He said Spike’s here.”

“Spike is here,” Buffy said. “And you’re here. And Kennedy’s...”

“In Scotland. Enjoying our lovely weekend rental sans Willow. Buffy, Xander said there was something wrong,” Willow said.

Buffy took Willow by the elbow and moved them back downstairs, far from the possible hearing range of Dawn and Spike.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Buffy said. “He’s human, Wil. Heart beat. Pulse. The whole package. Walking on sunshine. Or, in sunshine. He’s a little shell-shocked.”

“Oh no. He wasn’t in the place of harps and lambs and happy white clouds, was he?” Willow asked.

Buffy shook her head. “No. Less happy, I think. It was either hell or LA.”

Willow shrugged, then nodded.

“And he sleeps a lot,” Buffy added.

“Of course he does. He’s been through hell,” Willow said.

“We think,” Buffy said. Then amended, “I think.”

“Right. Okay,” Willow said. “I kinda have to ask, Buffy, so don’t freak. We know the who, but about the how...”

“Short answer is, I don’t know,” Buffy said. “That’s pretty much the long answer, too. We just need some time to let him wake up. You know, move around. Adjust. It took me a while...”

“I remember,” Willow said, frowning. “Maybe you should try and sleep. We’ll all feel better in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said, distractedly. “In the morning.”

Willow stroked Buffy’s shoulder. They turned and went back upstairs.

Buffy paused outside her door. “I’m glad you’re here,” she told Willow. “And I’m sorry about your getaway plans.”

“Hey,” Willow said. “We live here, right? It’s all just a train-ride away.”

“You rock,” Buffy said. She stepped back into her rooms, and went in to sleep in her not-so-comfy comfy chair.

Willow continued to the third floor, but went past her own apartments. She went to Giles’ door and knocked softly.

“Giles?” she called. “It’s me.”

Chapter 7: Religious Experience, with Donuts

The next morning, things did feel better. The rain rolled back from the British Isles, leaving everything summery fresh and sparkly.

Dawn, Buffy, Willow and Spike converged in the kitchen. Buffy and Willow sat together at the table, with Willow pretending to skim the Daily Mirror. It had been Giles wish that she observe Spike, which she had done for all of about twenty seconds before getting wrapped up in Dawn’s endless chatter. Dawn was filling him in on all that he’d missed since his departure from Sunnydale. He listened intently from his place beside the fridge.

Willow leaned over. “He’s all non-talkie, huh?” she whispered. “It’s kinda sweet.”

“Yeah, I’m counting on wise-cracky Spike to surface at any moment,” Buffy said.

Spike cut his eyes to her, but still he said nothing. Buffy gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

Dawn broke off from her narrative. “You know,” she said. “You should talk more. I need help with my accent.”

“Giles has an accent,” Willow said.

Dawn sneered. “I want a cool one.”

The barest trace of a smile creased Spike’s lips.

The front door opened, and within moments, Andrew glided in, turned a quick pirouette and bowed. He presented a flat box of Krispy Kreme Donuts.

“Helloooo, ladies. Spike. I come bearing real American donuts, a gift from fair Nighna. I’m convinced the creator of Krispy Kreme sold his soul to get this recipe, so we have to enjoy them before we erase evil from... hold the sherbet! Spike?”

Andrew faced Spike. Then he grabbed him in a clumsy but not wholly unwelcome hug. “Good to see you again. It’s been like months since you stopped in to visit us in Italy. What brings you to London town?”

Andrew slid the donut box onto the counter. He looked at Buffy and Willow, who seemed lost for words.

“I know,” Andrew said. “I was out all night. My date with Nighna went well. We watched old movies on her VCR, then went to this so-called authentic barbecue place where they served meat on sheets of butcher paper. But in Britain barbecue sauce is no more than glorified ketchup...”

Meanwhile, Spike moved on to the box of donuts. With Dawn’s encouragement, he chose a chocolate glazed from the box and took a bite.

It was like a sugar explosion in his mouth.

“Oh God,” he exclaimed, gripping the counter’s edge with his free hand. His jaw locked and his tongue spasmed.

“Oh!” Dawn squeaked. She rushed to the fridge for milk.

Buffy and Willow jumped from the table.

“What is it?” Willow said. “Are you hurt?”

Dawn slid a glass of milk to him. Spike chewed, swallowed, sipped. “God,” he said. “Donuts.”

“Okay, Homer,” Buffy said. She came over to the bar. “Diabolical, huh?”

Spike blinked, then drew in a deep breath.

“Almost worth an eternity in hell,” Andrew said.

“Just wait till you try double mind fudge cookie dough ice cream,” she said.

“I’ve tried that,” Spike said, catching his breath.

“Not as a human, you haven’t. Everything’s changed,” she said.

“Oh,” Willow said. “Caramel mocha frappucino. With chocolate sprinkles.”

Buffy said, “Cantaloupe bubble tea with milk.”

“Cranberry orange scones with clotted cream,” Andrew added. Then, “Wait. Spike eats.” He pointed at Spike. “You eat. I’ve seen it.”

Willow patted Andrew’s head. “Spike’s now in the Land of Those Who Need Food for Sustenance.”

“William,” Spike said.

“Suh?” Buffy said.

He titled his head to the side. “I should like to be called William. My proper name.”

After a protracted silence, Andrew whispered, “Son of Jorel...”

Dawn picked up another donut and passed it to Spike. “Here you go, William. Clog those human arteries.”

William took the donut, but stared down at it as though it had bugs crawling on it. Buffy covered his hand with hers. “You don’t have to eat it,” she said.

“We should have a party,” Andrew said.

“A dinner party,” Willow added. “How festive!”

“We can use the good china, and make one of those Indian recipes Kennedy’s mom sent...” Andrew said, already getting carried away.

The when’s and wherefore’s of the dinner party absorbed the collective attentions of Dawn, Willow and Andrew. Buffy leaned over to William.

“You okay?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Undone by donuts. Not a bad start to a day.”

“You’re adjusting,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

“Promise?” he said. He looked up at her through his eyelashes, and for the briefest moment, she saw the old Spike in there, playing the way he always did before, edging up for a sympathy vote.

But then his eyes did roll back slightly, and he bumped against the edge of the bar. Buffy caught his elbow.

“Hey now,” she said. “Maybe too much sugar all at once. We should’ve started you off on a Twinkie or something.”

Willow looked over. “Are you...?”

“In tears,” William said. “Very nearly so. Are you sure we aren’t in heaven?”

“Certain,” Buffy said, too quickly.

“Want more?”

“Hmm. Yes,” he said.

Giles came around the corner, arms loaded with scrolls and books, to walk in on this scene of his girls (plus Andrew) feeding donuts to Spike.

“Oh, good God,” he said.

Willow looked up, guilt-laden. “Oh, Giles. Hi! William’s just had a religious experience with a Krispy Kreme.”

“Ah,” Giles said, flatly. “William.”

“What’s with the beau coup scrollage?” Buffy cut in. “Monsters afoot?”

Giles looked directly to Spike. “Something like that. Yes,” he said. But William did not lower his gaze.

Willow stepped in, taking some of the books from Giles. “Should I take these downstairs, or are they part of the Rupert Giles’ On-Loan to the Watcher Council Collection?”

“Downstairs, please, Willow. I’ve received word of an attack in California,” he said.

Buffy perked up, alarmed. “California?”

Giles directed his gaze now at Willow. “Yes. We know very little. Probably just random vampire activity. We’ll know more soon.”

“Random vampires,” Willow said. “Nothing Dana and our West Coast Slayers can’t handle, right?”

“Giles, should we call someone? Get a heads up?” Buffy asked.

Giles paused. “I don’t think so,” he said. “The network is in place. Now is a good time to test it.”

“Hey, and maybe Kennedy will have some good news with the new Scottish Slayer recruit. We’ll have two reasons to celebrate,” Willow said.

“Celebrate?” Giles said, confounded.

“We’re having a dinner party,” Andrew chimed in. “For William.”

Dawns said, “Our first in London.” She looked uncontainably excited.

“It’s set then,” Buffy said. “Tomorrow night, after Kennedy gets home. Dinner. Sounds... good.”

“Good,” William said, though he didn’t sound completely convinced. He scanned past Buffy to Giles, who watched the scene with a look of concern and disgust on his face.

Chapter Eight: Thoughts on Dinner and Death

Now, it was Sunday night. Kennedy had come home early, since she had no such success with convincing a middle-aged couple of Scottish school teachers that their daughter was in fact part of a grand mission to save the world from sundry creatures of darkness.

Despite this, the mood in the Flat was decidedly festive. Willow, Dawn and Andrew transformed the dining area/library into a regular party-style dining area with festoons of orange flowers, dark purply candles and crystal dishes full of sugared almonds, olives (black and green) and various spicy sauces from lands East.

Buffy and Dawn flanked William, to act as extra buffering against Giles and Xander. Neither men felt this party idea was a kosher plan, and made no attempts to hide their collective apprehension. Perhaps to leaven that bit of excess mood, Dawn brought her exceptionally perky friend Mickey to dinner. Mickey wore her dyed black hair tied up in random tousled pigtails. Mickey had Cordelia-esque metabolism, so she munch always on carrot sticks and soybeans. When she spoke, her voice sometimes hit notes so high only bats could understand her. Xander like to say she was so Goth it was precious. To which Dawn would roll her eyes and flounce out of the room. Dawn held a master’s degree in the whole eye rolling then flouncing thing.

Giles sat at the head of the table, as he always did, with Xander to his right, next to Mickey. Kennedy was to Giles’ left. She spoke incessantly about the failed Slayer mission, all the while stabbing black olives with a toothpick.

Andrew and Willow fussed companionably in the kitchen, finishing the last of their dinner preparations. Buffy caught only wisps of their conversation, which she found less irritating than Kennedy’s almost military-style depiction of the Slayer pitch she provided to the poor Scottish family in Plockton.

For instance: “It is not too much cilantro,” Andrew whispered harshly. “It is supposed to have kick.”

Willow said, “Not the kind to kick us off the British Isle, Andrew. It has to be subtle.”

“It has to be subtle,” Andrew mocked.

Buffy laughed. She noticed that William was smiling too. He seemed less spacey today. Progressing toward non-zombie with every hour that passed. He still did things you might expect from someone who’s been comatose for an age. Like, earlier, he lay down in the bath and let the water fill the tub so that only his nose and forehead poked out. When she asked him what he was doing, he’d said, distractedly, “Oh. Listening.”

And now, he dragged the tips of his fingers over the fringes of flower petals while Kennedy talked. He caressed each waxy leaf as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever felt.

“So this girl,” Kennedy said. “This Veronica girl had been in dance her whole life. Excelled in like, tap and Celtic dancing. I told her parents, ‘hey, dancing’s like fighting. It’s natural to her, because it’s her destiny.’ I gave them our whole Slayer school pitch, but they were so fixated on blood, blood, blood. And you know what they finally said? They said she was too young.”

Dawn leaned in. “Can we ix-nay on the odd-blay, Kennedy? Muggles present.”

Kennedy cast a quick glance to Mickey. “Metaphorical blood. Dance competitions. Brutal.”

Mickey took a handful of almonds and began to crunch between her front teeth in a cute but chipmunky sort of way.

“Well,” Buffy said. “How old was she? This Veronica?”

“Sixteen,” Kennedy said, sitting back like she’d just cast the cincher argument in a courtroom battle.

Buffy and Dawn scoffed simultaneously.

“Still,” Kennedy went on,” I’m sure we could have closed the deal if Giles hadn’t called Willow home. She way better on the persuasion end.”

Willow entered the room bearing a tray full of saffron rice. “Way better on what end?” she asked.

“Persuasion,” Xander said. “Kennedy thinks you shouldn’t have come home early.”

Willow looked from Xander to Giles, and then to William and Buffy.

Giles pursed his lips. “Yes, well,” he said, taking the tray from Willow. “We’ll keep an open file on Veronica James. Willow, Andrew, this looks extraordinary.”

Andrew came along behind Willow, wearing oven mitts the size of boxing gloves. He carried a massive and elaborate serving dish to the center of the table with calculated flourish.

“Bon appetite,” he said, grinning.

As Willow and Andrew took their places at the table, the others all leapt unceremoniously into the food and conversation, passing platters and sauces and serving spoons.

Out of nowhere, William said, “Witches make the best chefs.”

In the lull that followed, Xander breathed, “Uggles-may, Spike.”

“Thanks,” Willow said. She gave him her shy Willow nod.

“It’s true, you know,” he went on. “Cooking is a lot like magic. When someone does it right – just the exact right and perfect combination of ingredients – it becomes greater than the sum of its parts.” He picked up a forkful of rice. “Just like this,” he said. “Like magic.”

“Aw,” Willow said, actually blushing now. “I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

Willow looked from Buffy to Xander. The latter was doggedly unimpressed.

Andrew said, “Spike’s a big fan of culinary television...” And the conversation of around the table resumed as reasonably normal as ever.

Buffy squeezed William’s knee under the table. “How’s it going?” she asked him, quietly.

He nodded. “You’re a teacher now?” he asked.

Giles sent a worried look to Xander, but Buffy paid no notice. She proceeded to tell William about Summers School.

“It was kinda my idea, actually,” Buffy said. “But Giles set everything up. We started the first in Cleveland, you know, over one of the other, more perky Hellmouths. Once it was on its feet, we branched. Robin and Faith run the one in New York. It’s officially the biggest. New York – full of the big bad...”

“I recall,” William said.

Buffy went on, “Now we have schools in Chicago, Houston, Mexico City, Tokyo, here. And, we recruit. We’re like the army, but without pensions or tuition reimbursement. The best part is that there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of Slayers in the world. Actual, real Slayers. Our goal now is to build...”

Xander leaned in. “So, um, Spike,” he said, spitting out the words. “When did you start dressing the part of lumberjack? Cause I gotta say, the plaid flannel...”

“Xander!” Willow hissed.

“Actually,” Dawn chimed in, “it’s your jacket, Xander. We didn’t think you’d mind. William was cold earlier, and you haven’t worn it in...”

Xander sat back in his chair. It was clear he would gain no ground with the Summers women. “It looks huge on you,” he finished, lamely.

Andrew offered a bowl to Xander. He said, “Dear, would you like some chutney to go with the foot in your mouth?”

William managed a weak smile. Buffy continued talking, but he and Xander had entered a kind of macho staring match which drained all of his limited ability to focus.

“Besides,” Dawn said. “You can have it back tomorrow. We’re going shopping to buy William new clothes of his own.”

“What?” Xander and Giles said, in accord.

“Oh yeah, Kennedy” Buffy said, “I need you to open the school tomorrow so I can take care of that. Plus, William and I are going skating.”

“Skating?” Giles said.

“Y’huh,” Buffy said.

At the other end of the table, Dawn and Andrew had launched into a separate conversation with Mickey regarding a prior mishap in the kitchen. For a moment, they were all drawn in by the bubbliness of Dawn’s narrative.

“So Andrew stored the pie in the freezer, so it would be slightly chilled for dinner,” she said.

Kennedy picked up the thread seamlessly, “Oh, but Willow had all these reagents in baggies up there, too...”

“Reagents?” Mickey said, shaking her head with uncertainty.

“They were all slippy,” Willow added.

Dawn was laughing now. “Right, slippy. So then Willow comes in for some newt’s eye popsicles and... and the whole pie just slides right out.”

“No,” William said, mildly amused.

“Newt’s eye what?” Mickey said, still unsure that maybe they were all pulling a sneaky one on her.

“Yep,” Willow said. “Pie slid out, onto my foot. Pie-d a terre.”

Andrew was sneering. Willow, Kennedy and Dawn shuddered, giggling.

“Stop it, stop it,” Andrew cried. “We are not discussing the banoffee pie incident.”

Maybe it was because he seemed as lost in the current conversation, Mickey sat forward looking at William.

“So, William. You’re new, right? How d’you fit in?” she asked.

“Well, no,” William began, slowly. “Actually...”

“Actually,” Xander said. “Spike’s been around for ages. Isn’t that right?”

“Xander,” Giles said, in a cautionary tone.

“No. We’re all here. I’m thinking now’s a good time. Enlighten us, please. How do you fit in?"

“Xander, what is wrong with you?” Buffy said.

“It’s an easy thing to see,” Xander said. “Even one-eyed jack like me can see it.”

“See what?” Buffy said.

Everyone fell quiet around the table.

Xander stood up. “Buffy, I can’t do this.”

William got to his feet as well. “No. I’ll go. Need some air.” Before rounding the table, he squeezed Buffy’s shoulder and then went out back to the garden.

“What’s with you tonight?” Buffy said, glaring at Xander.

“Xander does have a point, Buffy,” Giles said.

“Point? What point? He’s made lumberjack quips about his own coat...”

“It’s not him, Buffy,” Giles blurted.

“What?” she said.

Xander shook his head slowly. “It’s not Spike. Or William. Or whoever you want it to be.”

Buffy stood up. “What do you know about what I want?” she said, slowly.

Giles got quickly to his feet. He said, “Maybe now is not the time, Xander. Buffy.”

“Right,” Willow said, trying to keep things all smoothie. “We have dessert!”

William stepped outside into the unwelcoming arms of muggy London night. Still, it was more pleasant than curry chicken with pissed off Scoobies. He sat down on the uneven flagstone patio step and looked up at the cloud-strewn, moonless night sky. He drew a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of Xander’s lumberjacket, then toyed with outer plastic wrapper.

Minutes passed thus, before someone rattled the back door and came outside. William looked over his shoulder, and was slightly disappointed to find Andrew standing there.

William returned his gaze skyward. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

Andrew fidgeted, stuffed hands in his pockets, then came to stand beside William. “Came to get you for dessert,” he said.

“Yeah? Banoffee pie?”

Andrew snitted. “Mangolassi cheesecake. Really tasty, with fresh mango puree and sweetened condensed cream. But the cardamom is the secret... you know, those will kill you,” Andrew said. He sat down next to William.

William turned the cigarette pack in his fingers. “So I’ve heard.”

“Where’d you get them?” Andrew asked.

William shrugged. “Nicked them from the bureau drawer. Think they belonged to Rupert.” William shook the pack.

“They cause cancer,” Andrew said.

They heard muffled shouting inside. Andrew looked over his shoulder and sighed.

“Do people still die from tuberculosis?” William asked.

“Yeah,” Andrew said. “But only in third-world countries. And in inner cities where there are high levels of poor people, indigents and migrant workers.”

“Bloody awful,” William said.

“Yeah, but there are tons of worse ways to die. In non-third world countries, too,” Andrew said.

William looked at Andrew, faintly disgusted. “You don’t say?”

“Cancer. Car crashes. The ebola virus...”

Back inside, Willow, Dawn and Kennedy tried to diffuse the situation with cheesecake, to no effect. Mickey looked fairly lost and sorry for having started the whole mess.

“Buffy,” Giles said. “What Xander is trying to say is...”

“I know what he’s trying to say, Giles,” Buffy interrupted. She wheeled on Xander. “Can’t take it that he might be worth a second chance?”

Xander revved. “Second chance? Buffy, Spike was well-known for collasally squandering chances. He may have redeemed himself in Sunnydale. Fine. But we can’t forget that Spike would do anything...”

“It’s not Spike,” Buffy said.

“My point exactly,” Xander shouted, gesturing like a scarecrow, if they could in fact gesture.

“You’re not making any sense,” Willow said, evenly.

Giles tried valiantly to keep his head. “What Xander is rather incoherently trying to say is that if Spike is out there, we need to think about how it is that he actually came to be here, given his propensity for...”

“It was me,” Buffy said, quietly.

“You?” Xander said. He looked confused. “Please clarify.”

She shook her head. “It’s not important. What is, is that he’s back. He’s human. Xander, you’ll have to deal.”

“Have to deal?” Xander said. His face reddened. “Oh, Buffy. Grow up.”

Outside, Andrew continued to gruesomely recount the many causes of human death.

“There’s ecoli, too. Nasty bug. And anthrax, which used to belong only to cows but the government manufactured it and mailed it to itself,” Andrew said. “And then you have all your basic STDs. AIDS. Syphilis. Gonorrhea. Chlamydia.

William grimaced. “Not that you’ll have to worry for those, right mate?”

Andrew shrugged. They overheard the shouting within. Andrew looked uncomfortable.

“Do you think they think we can’t hear them?” he asked.

William said, “I think they’re beyond caring.”

Buffy smiled at Xander.

“No,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Not this time, Xander. This time, I’m going to enjoy what I have. I’m gonna risk the pain. I’m gonna skate in the park, sing in the rain, eat ice cream, splash around in a fountain like...”

“Oh, like Sylvia and ‘La Dolce Vita,’” Kennedy pitched in.

“Not helping, Ken,” Xander said, pointing at her.

“Guys,” Buffy said. “I want this. I don’t want to hold back. He’s not a vampire. I’m not the Slayer. See? The stumbling blocks from before are gone and we have a chance for something normal and real. I don’t expect you to understand. But... but would it kill you to be happy for me? You know, to just take this for what it is?”

Xander scowled. “I’m well-versed in the world of wishes gone wrong, Buff. For all we know, old Spike may be just demon of the month out to prey on your weaknesses.

“That’s ridiculous,” Buffy said.

“Demons? Vampires?” Mickey said. “Are we still speaking metaphorically? Cause, I thought the witchy thing was a bit weird...”

Xander plowed on. “Ridiculous, Buffy? Like the likes hasn’t happened before?”

“This is different,” Buffy said.

Outside, Andrew went on, getting more creative by the second. He’s added train derailments, shoe bombs and the Titanic to his list of things that regularly kill humans.

“Andrew,” William interrupted. “Not that this isn’t riveting...”

“I haven’t even covered the full spectrum of cancers – pancreatic, colon, rectal...”

William practically jumped to his feet. “Bloody hell,” he said, annoyed. He pulled a cigarette from its pack. Stared hard at it. “Do you know why evil wins, Andrew?” he asked.

“Because they have money, cool clothes and speak with English accents?”

William handed him a blank look. “No,” he said. “It’s because people – humans – are stupid. It’s because they can’t see beyond their tiny lives. They kill themselves. They kill each other. They wreck everything. And for what? Fleeting breaths between birth and death. They just... reach for each other in the dark and get flashes. Of love. Of happiness. Pleasures so thin. They – we – see nothing.”

William looked up into the patchy clouds and saw stars winking out. He nodded to himself. “But I get it,” he said. “I see.” He strode toward the door.

But paused with his hand on the doorknob. Over his shoulder he said, “All those little killers lurking about you. You can’t let ’em keep you from living. You gotta live while the blood’s in your veins.”

He looked down at the cigarette in his hand. “And these things are...”

“Bad for you?” Andrew suggested.

“No,” William answered. He tossed the cigarette aside. “They’re inconsequential.”

He opened the back door and walked in.

Buffy was still facing off with Xander in the dining room.

Buffy said, “We have all been through hell. Some of us, literally. It’s so hard, Xander. I know how difficult things have been since Anya.”

“Don’t,” Xander said, but less with the forceful.

Buffy went on, “Sometimes something you want comes true, and when it does you have to hang on to it. Take it at face value.”

“At face value, then?” Giles spoke up. “Let’s have a look then at the face of William the Bloody. Before he won back his soul. Buffy, he was a murderer. A manipulator. And an insufferably bad poet.”

“Hey!” Willow said. She looked down. “That’s low.”

“Point is,” Giles continued, “he left thousands of corpses in his wake, cut a swathe across continents. Buffy, the things he’s done to you...”

“Old song, Giles. Besides, he’s changed,” Buffy said.

“It feels wrong, Buffy,” Xander said. “I don’t trust it.”

“Why? Make me understand. Because I just don’t”

William moved closer to the dining room, but stealthily so. He could see plainly that Mickey, poor girl, wished to be elsewhere. She shrank against the window seat, face ashen. No one else took note of her. Giles had removed his glasses. He looked around at all of them. When he spoke, his voice took on the stony, blunt edge of disappointment. “It comes to this, Buffy. Only this. There is no way in hell that creature deserves a happy ending.”

William heard every word and cringed.

But Buffy uttered a half-laugh. “Oh, I see,” she said. “Creature, is he? Willow, Dawn. You felt him. You know.”

“She’s right,” Willow said. “He’s human, Giles.”

“Nice and huggably soft,” Dawn added.

“Yes, well, he may have the appearance of humanity,” Giles said. “It does not change what he is...”

“You know what,” Buffy said. “I don’t care. Maybe he doesn’t deserve a happy ending. Really not for me to say. But I do. I should get the big Hollywood ride into the sunset. And damn you both for wanting to take it away from me.”

Buffy moved away from the table.

William stepped into view then, his boots echoing hollowly on the hardwood floor.

“Buffy?” he said.

She shrugged.

Xander flopped down and glowering.

Mickey stood up behind Dawn.

“So,” she said. “I guess I’m gonna... flee now.”

She bolted past Dawn and ran away.

After Mickey fled, Dawn slammed her hands palm down on the table.

“Well, guys. That’s the death of my social life in London,” she seethed. “Less than one month. So, thanks. I’m going up to my room to sulk. Not that any of you care.”

Dawn sprinted past Buffy and William, then pounded up the stairs.

Andrew, who had just come in from the garden, said, “I care.” Dawn, who couldn’t have possibly heard and probably would not have cared that he cared, slammed the apartment door behind her.

Willow sat back in her chair. “Our first dinner party in London,” she mused.

“Went great,” Xander said.

“Yeah, you guys always did know how to throw a shindig,” Kennedy said. She took Willow’s hand. “C’mon, Sweetie. Night’s not a total loss.”

Andrew came in. “Yeah, we still have dessert.”

“I’m down with that,” Kennedy said. “You desire?” she said to Willow.

“In a minute,” Willow answered. “You go on.”

Andrew and Kennedy went into the kitchen to serve up his mangolassi cheesecake.

With no one from the dining room watching, Buffy took the cue to exit stage right. She gestured for William to follow. She led him upstairs to the roof, where they spent the rest of their waking hours watching the stars play hide-and-seek with clouds.

But downstairs, Giles was busy deep thinking. He said, “Willow, Xander. Meet me downstairs. We need to have a discussion.”

So, they met up in the basement-slash-spell room. The design did not lend itself to meetings since there was no furniture, but they each sat on the colorful, overlarge pillows that lay scattered about for just that purpose.

Without preamble, Xander said, “This is bad.”

“Yes, you have it,” Giles said, massaging his forehead.

“But it’s bad, Giles. Really bad. Baddy-bad as in Greek morality play bad,” Xander said.

Willow caressed Xander’s arm.

“You’re not helping, Xander,” Giles said. “Do remain calm.”

Xander got up and entered pace mode. “You saw them,” he said. “He’s got a foothold. He’s working his way up to knee-hold. And after that...”

“I’ll go to the Council archives first thing tomorrow morning. No. I’ll go tonight. I’ll look up what I can on resurrection spells, mystical constructs, transfiguration...”

“Doppelgangers,” Willow offered.

Giles turned to her. “I’ll need you to run a search on his last known whereabouts, starting in Los Angeles. I’m doubting he could just appear as Buffy says.”

“She wouldn’t lie,” Xander cut in.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Giles said. “But whatever this thing is, it may have the ability to warp reality or change perceptions. We really have nothing to go on at the moment.”

“It does seem extra broad,” Willow said. “But what if the explanation is as simple as she says. What if she...”

Xander wheeled on her. “Made a wish, Wil? Like, blow out the candles and your lost lover returns from the undead? Wishes don’t come true, at least not in the way you want them to. We both know that.”

Willow gave him a look of defeat. “I know. But what if...”

“It didn’t,” Xander said. His voice came out raspy and harsh.

“Look,” Giles intervened, “the only thing we can say for certain is that there is a potential for danger. If someone is using him as a tool for acquiring information, he’s just walked in our front door. All of your concealment spells to protect this house are for naught.”

“So we watch him?” Willow asked.

“Until we know more, yes,” Giles said. “It might be best for all involved if we keep our suspicious between us. For the time being.”

“I’m on board with that,” Xander said.

Willow shrugged.

“Wil?” Xander said.

“Fine. Me too. For now,” she said.

Giles patted her shoulder. “My resources at the council are growing daily. We’ll know very soon what course to take.”

Chapter Nine: The Kitchen Witch

That night, William dreamed.

He was downstairs in the kitchen, cleaning up dishes, putting away food, covering bowls with plastic wrap, which confounded him because he had never used it before and it seemed to stick to everything, including itself, but not to the actual bowl. He wound up tearing off great sheets of it and wrapping several dishes together.

He heard Buffy enter the kitchen, but he didn’t turn around because he was slightly embarrassed over the plastic wrap fiasco.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice sounded smoky and playful. He was about to be ribbed. He smiled at that.

Over his shoulder, he said, “Clearing things. Earning my keep.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, coming to stand beside him. She took the wooden spoon he held in his hand. “You shouldn’t do that. You’re the guest of honor. Party was for you.”

She turned on the faucet and let the water run. She immediately began to hum as she rinsed the dishes.

William looked over at her, then sprung away when he realized. It wasn’t Buffy; it was Anya.

“What are you...?” he began.

“Doing here?” she laughed, still scrubbing. “Oh, you know. I always complained that Xander never took me places. Now here he is in merry old England.”

“What?”

“I’m haunting the place,” she whispered, conspiratorially.

“Haunting?”

“It’s the cool new thing. I get to be here with the one I love, but I can never, ever touch him. And, he will never know,” she said.

She tackled the baking pan, scrubbing vigorously at the red gunk around its edges. William took a step back. He watched it swirl down the sink drain in horror.

“But that’s not the best part,” Anya continued. “No, the killer is that I get to daily witness his bitterness. Then, I get to watch it fade in tiny increments undetectable by him, until finally one day he’ll come around. He’ll forget me and eventually move on. Meanwhile, I’m here, watching and watching because time doesn’t move like it did. It moves, but I’m not stuck in it. I’m just outside, looking in.”

Anya sighed. “Damn this grease. There’s no Palmolive in Purgatory. My skin gets so red and cracked.”

She looked down, watching the water as the drain sucked it down. He noticed then the diagonal gash across her back. He reached to touch it, but she whirled on him.

“But hey!” she said, in a falsely cheerful tone. “It’s all part of the luxury atonement package, right? It’s what I get for reaping a thousand years of vengeance on hapless, undeserving souls.”

Anya hopped up to sit on the lip of the sink. Behind her the water ran and ran.

“Oh, blah,” she said. “Enough of my woes. Ta-da! You’re here.”

“I’m here?” William said.

“You’re like a newly resurrected parrot. You know that?”

The water in the sink swirled red. William felt absurdly embarrassed for her. His urge to lean in and turn off the tap was almost unbearable, but when he reached for it, she caught his arm.

“Don’t do that,” she warned.

William stepped away.

“How is it I can see you?” he asked.

“Oh,” she said. She swung her dangling legs like a child on a swing. “Ooooh,” she said again, this time mockingly sympathetic.

“You’re dreaming, William. William – you’re dreaming.”

Now it was his turn to awake with a start. Actually, to him, that was the best way to wake up. Awakening with a stop was no way to begin.

So he awoke with a start. He was in the bed, with Buffy, but they were both fully clothed and above the covers. She was asleep with her head resting on his shoulder.

“Unbelievable,” he whispered. He stroked the fringe of her hair.

Then, he edged out of bed, careful not to disturb her. Downstairs, he heard breakfast table chatter. Though he didn’t know who it was meeting over bran flakes and OJ, he found the sound distinctly comforting. That kind of noise signified normal, regular morning things. No ghosts in the kitchen. No blood in the sinks. Just morning.

William went into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. He ran his hands through his hair. He checked his teeth, checked his skin. He squinched his eyes tight in an imitation of his former demonic state. Then he just stared at himself for a long while.

Downstairs a door slammed with such force, he jumped. He paused, listening for breaking glass or monsters trudging upstairs. But, no, nothing. He laughed at himself, and returned to the bedroom.

He slid back into the bed beside Buffy. She made a sleepy-head sound and curled toward him.

“That was Kennedy,” she whispered. “Slamming the door reaffirms her presence.”

“So she’s the earliest early-bird?” he asked.

“Yep. She opens the school at 5 a.m. He students view her as the Anti-Christ,” Buffy said.

“Most days you go with her?

Buffy stretched a little. “No, not most days. I’m more the mid-morning shift. We both patrol every night, but I’ve been in it longer. I pull rank. One of the few perks.”

“And the Minis? They don’t have their own circles of patrol?” he asked.

“Nah. London’s a lay-low place where vamp activity’s concerned. I’m not the One and Only anymore, but I do still have a job to do,” she said.

Downstairs, the door slammed again. William raised an eyebrow.

“That’s Busy Bee Xander, off to work. Giles helped him get the contract for rebuilding the Watcher’s offices,” she said.

William recalled a flash of dream, of Anya scrubbing pans for eternity.

“He’s not doing so well, is he?” William asked.

“Noticed, huh?”

“Poor bloke.”

“He’s tough, though. More than he looks,” Buffy said.

“Yeah, the old lumberjack facade. Got it,” William said.

The door slammed again.

“And that would be?” William led in.

“Andrew. Reporting for Watcher training,” Buffy said. “He’s not actually a Watcher, or in training. But he tags along for good measure. Faithful little Watch-er dog.”

The door closed again, softer this time.

“Andrew again,” Buffy said. “He always forgets something.”

William laughed. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Live with it. The chaos. The noise. Day in...”

Buffy sat up. “It’s not so bad. I just... I hear them every morning, coming, going. There’s a rhythm to it. It’s... I don’t know, comforting.”

“Strength in numbers,” William said, watching her closely.

“That,” she said. “Plus, rent in London...” She made an explode-y sound.

The door closed again, but this time with a sense of purpose and dignity in the sound.

“Willow, off to see the Wizard.”

“The Wizard?”

Buffy smiled. “He’s part of the Coven. They’re studying life-force magics to build an enduring protective circle around this place. It’s been done before, in places like Stonehenge and Easter Island, but the level of magics involved is supposed to be like...”

William sat up. He shook his head.

“Something wrong?”

“Um. No. No no.”

Buffy craned her neck to the side. “One ‘no’ good. Three ‘no’s’ bad,” she said.

“Buffy, I heard what Rupert said last night. What if...” he paused, shaking his head again. “What if I don’t belong here?”

Buffy’s brow creased. “Don’t even think it,” she said.

“You said you made a wish. How often does that come out candy and roses?”

“To date? Never,” she said. She looked down at her hands. “But I’m getting used to re-writing rules to fit my situation.”

He smirked. “That a fact?”

Downstairs, someone clicked off the TV and left the house. Suddenly, it was strangely still and quiet in the Flat.

“That was Dawn, off to catch her train for class,” Buffy said. “Which means...”

“We’re all alone,” William said.

Buffy arched her brows. “Hmmm. So, William, what do you want to do today?” she asked.

He leaned against the headboard, folding his arms. “There was this one thing,” he said.

She bit her lip. “Thought you’d never ask,” she said.

Chapter 10: Kensington Park

So not what you were thinking.

Buffy had wanted to try out her roller blades since she bought them in Rome six months earlier, but thus far had not found someone to go with. She even went as far as to buy a pair each for Xander and Dawn. Dawn declined, citing that it was not cool to be seen skating with the all the wannabe sk8-punks in the park. Xander bowed out due to limited depth perception. Then, in a desperate last-ditch effort to have a warm-bodied somebody to go skatng with her, she tried to give the roller blades meant for Xander to Andrew. But Andrew said, “those indie kids are just too scene.” Whatever that meant.

Xander’s skates fit William, so whether he liked it or not (he did), he was going with her to skate.

Since it was a Monday morning, they found the park quite empty. No wannabes or indie scenes to be found. And this park was really nice, too. It bordered The Strand with a nice view across the Thames and up to Westminster. Plenty of sidewalks, shrubbery and a nice stretch of riverfront overlooking some of the older London business centers.

It was soon clear that Buffy had lots of skating experience, and that William had none. She whirled around him, literally skating circles.

“This is something you always wanted to try?” she taunted.

“They make it look all easy on the telly,” he said. He made an effort to move forward by waving his arms in front of him.

Buffy scraped past him, showing off now. She turned to skate backwards, away from him. “It’s not like swimming,” she said. “Use arms less.”

William rolled his eyes. He put one toe forward, then shoved off with the other. He moved all of five inches.

“You’re all wobbly,” Buffy said. “Like Bambi.”

William glared at her. “All those years I was a bad ass...”

“Wasted,” she said, skittering away. “It just takes practice. And you know, once you learn, you never forget.”

“Like some other things,” William said. Since he had minor success, he tried the toe forward maneuver again. This time, though, gravity disagreed. He wheeled his arms to keep his balance, but he was sidewalk bound. He stumbled, scraping his leg on the curb.

“Oh, oh!” Buffy said. She skated over and knelt beside him. “Are you all right?”

William was laughing. Hard. “I’m fine. Better than that...”

She sat down on the curb and began rolling up his pants leg. “Let’s have a look,” she said.

He watched her closely. “Buffy,” he said.

She ignored him. “You’ve violated the cardinal rule of roller-blading,” she said. “Stay upright-ski, don’t fall down-ski.”

He titled his head to the side. “Hurt my knee-ski?” he asked.

She pushed the cuff over his knee. He winced.

“More like shin-ski,” she said. The not-so-attractive scrape fell just below the kneecap. “Ouch,” she said.

“Does sting,” he admitted.

“Let’s see the other one,” she ordered.

He pulled way. “It’s not so bad as that,” he said. “Besides, I don’t hate it so much.”

Buffy scoffed. “What? You came back as some kind of masochist?”

William pursed his lips.

“Right,” she said. “My bad.”

He nodded. “I do love the way the air feels in my lungs. A not-unpleasant burning. Humans live their lives on fire. I had forgotten that. And the sun!” He raised his face to catch the sunlight. “What a curse not to feel it.”

Buffy laid her hand on his leg. “You know what,” she said. “You’ll live.”

William began tugging his pants leg back down, when Buffy stopped him. The blood that oozed from the scrape was rapidly vanishing into the skin.

“Hang on a tic,” he said. “It’s not supposed to do that.”

“I’m thinking no,” she said.

“Buffy?”

She looked at him. “Do you feel all right?

“Right as rain. Right as – as daisies and caterpillars. What is this?”

“You have heal-y power,” she said.

They watched in stunned silence as the wound closed up, leaving nothing but unscarred skin. Not even a bruise.

“Confused is the word,” he said.

“Let’s get you home, okay? We’ll call Willow. She’ll help,” Buffy said.

They got shakily to their roller-bladed feet.

William looked at her. “How did I get here?” he asked. He looked lost, and felt lost.

“It was me,” Buffy said. “I did it. We’ll figure it out, though. We’re good with the figuring.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Right.”

They hobbled together all the way back to the house.

Chapter 11: Aura

Dark as roses, fine as sand
Feel your healing and your sting again
I hear you laughing and my soul is saved
On forgotten graves you cry
Crawl like ivy up my spine
Through my nerves and into my eyes
Cuts like anguish
Or recollections of better days gone by
But it’s all right
When you’re caught in pain
And you feel the rain come down
It’s all right
When you find your way
Then you see it disappear
It’s all right
Though your gardens grey
I know all your graces
Someday will flower
In the sweet sunshower
Eyes like oceans so far away
A feather trail to a better way
Worried mornings turn into days
Then into worried nights
But it’s all right
When you’re all in pain
And you feel the rain come down
Oh it’s all right
When you find your way
Then you see it disappear
Oh it’s all right
Though your gardens grey
I know all your graces
Someday will flower
Oh in the sweet sunshower
Oh in the sweet sunshower
In the sweet sunshower
I know all your graces
Someday will flower
In the sweet sunshower
And it’s all right
All you’ll be you are today
Are today
It’s all right
All you’ll be you are today
Are today.........

Sunshower, Chris Cornell

When Buffy and William arrived home, they found that Willow had already returned from her visit with the Wizard. They explained what had happened in the park. Just as Buffy expected, Willow had something in mind to try out.

They gathered around the carved altar in the basement. Willow arranged some milky blue crystals and sprinkled powdered pink coral dust on the floor around the altar.

Afterward, she read an incantation:

“Coradis, vendi, septulis mouri. Elafem, radres. Courdis.”

Willow sat back on her pillow and drew in a deep breath.

“Okay,” she said. “You fell down, got scabby, then got better?”

“As in, rapidly,” Buffy said.

“That’s about the size of it, yeah,” William said.

“Hmmm,” Willow said, looking over at Buffy. “Not get the ‘why this is bad.’”

“We need to know more about it. Is it permanent? How’d he get it? And why?” Buffy said.

Willow placed her hands on the corners of the altar. “It would help a little if Sp...” Willow looked up, then corrected, “William. It would help if William could tell a little more about where he was before he was here.”

“He doesn’t remember,” Buffy began.

“Rain,” he said.

“A rain dimension?” Willow offered.

“Not a dimension. A place,” he said.

“A place?” Buffy said.

“Dark alley,” William said.

“You know, I hear those places aren’t safe,” Willow put in.

“Well, what else?” Buffy said.

“Demons. Legions of the buggers. And a...” he strained to recall. “A dragon? Complete with fire. Something’s not right.”

William swallowed hard. He tried to hide the fact that his hands were shaking.

Willow saw, though. She said, “I have an idea. Something we can try.” She stood up and crossed to the stack of books in the corner. She selected a thin volume with a green cover and returned to the altar.

“Here,” she said, flipping through the book to a specific, pre-dog-eared page. “This won’t tell us where you’ve been, but it might help in telling what you are.”

“What am I?” William asked, hollowly.

“Clearly... not human,” she said.

“What?” Buffy said, both looking and feeling sold out.

“Guys, super healing action? Not even Slayers heal right before your eyes. Point is, I can read your aura,” Willow said.

William and Buffy exchanged questioning glances. Willow went on.

“It’s simple. Really. All creatures have auras. Good auras are like clear, wavery energy. Sometimes even regular people can see them.”

“Like a heat mirage?” William said.

Willow grinned. “Yeah. Good. Exactly. But evil auras are...”

“Black?” Buffy said.

Willow looked over the book proudly. “Good students both. I’m so proud. Anyway, auras also sometimes show streaks, or um, blips, kinda like an electromagnetic pulse recording of a charged event. For instance, a close brush with an uber-evil. Or, like a trip to another dimension.”

“Like heaven?” Buffy asked.

“Yeah,” Willow said, nodding. “Like that. Also, vampires, werewolves, demons – all creatures great and supernatural – they have distinctly separate auras. Which this spell should show us.”

Buffy looked to William. He nodded. “It could be an interesting read, all I’ve been through.”

Willow said, “You don’t have to. It’s just a spell. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

They all paused, as if waiting for the other to say something.

Buffy said, “Will it... hurt?”

“Not at all,” Willow said. Then, she amended, “It’s supposed to tingle.”

William sat forward. “Good then. Let’s have it,” he said.

“Just give me a sec and I’ll be set,” Willow said. She closed her eyes to center herself in preparation for the spell.

Buffy took William by the arm and pulled him to recline against the pillows they had arranged around the altar.

“You okay with this?” she asked.

“Need to know,” he said. He was distant now. Determined.

“Know what?” Buffy said.

He shrugged.

Buffy said, “If your aura comes out all hot pink with yellow spots, it won’t change a thing.”

“I need to know if there’s a reason for me being here,” he said.

“Other than me wishing it?”

“Does my heart good, lamb. Can’t deny it. But...” he gave a weak smile.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I get it.”

“Do you?”

Willow lighted candles on the four corners of the altar. “Okay, you two. If you’re going to make with the kissing, I can make a hasty exit.”

William sat up, all business. “No. We’re ready,” he said.

“Right,” Buffy said, taking her place between them. “Ready.”

Willow began to invoke the spell, muttering a series of lyrical chants beneath her breath. Seconds later, the candle flames flickered. The powder around the altar sparkled like embers stirred from a fire. The embers shimmered, turning to vapor in the air. As it coalesced, the spindrifts turned to feathery curls in the air above the table.

“Good,” Willow said, breathlessly. “It’s working. And, for the record: I don’t need a spell to know. Your energy... it’s like butter.”

William gave her a good-natured sneer. Willow took his hands in her own across the altar.

“Hold tight,” she said.

The wisps of vapor converged in a pattern above the candles. A deep red-gold color spread up through the smoke, like sunlight through red wine. A shape emerged – a deep crimson rose with velvety petals.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Buffy asked.

“Wait,” Willow said, concentrating.

The rose spiraled inward and upward like a galaxy of tiny stars. A mist gathered then into small glowing spheres like miniature suns. A wind gusted, guttering the candles and rattling the basement door. It rose to a gale, and a deafening keening sound filled the room.

“Willow!” Buffy yelled.

Willow held tight to William’s hands. She began an incantation in Latin, but the words were ripped away by the wind. The shining mist floated up between them. It gathered into larger, brighter pulses of radiant light that settled over him, setting his skin aglow.

“Oh,” Willow mouthed.

William clenched his teeth, but mostly to guard against the sound. He closed his eyes as the pulses of light bore into his shoulders, his neck, his chest and his arms. Traces of light moved through his veins, still visible beneath his skin.

“Wil!” Buffy called out. “Stop this!”

William tightened his grip on Willow’s hands.

Through clenched jaws, Willow said, “Not yet. Power...”

William groaned. His head snapped forward to his chest. The pulses converged on William’s heart. The sound of its beating drowned out the wail of the wind. William tried to restrain. He tried to hold on, tried not to scream, but he slid right over the edge into realm of blistering pain.

“No,” Buffy yelled. She touched William’s arm, but the voltage of the contract threw her back. She hit the wall then scrambled to her knees. So she didn’t see as Xander rushed onto the landing of the basement stairs. He called out to Buffy and Willow, but they couldn’t hear him. Then he tried to run in to the rescue, but he boinked off of some unseen force that barred him from entering.

William struggled. Willow’s hands glowed white, but she fought to keep her contact.

William threw his head back. His eyes were rimmed with light. A wave of energy erupted from him, smashing all of the crystals and flattening the candle flames.

“Oh God,” he panted. “I see...”

The violent winds abated. The storm passed. William sat within a sphere of pale light that emanated from him in waves. It enveloped him, then spread outward like pond ripples to encompass Willow and Buffy.

“Wow,” Willow breathed.

The light that fell around them appeared like the evening sky following a storm. A faint hum replaced the keening, and the air seemed to shimmer and vibrate around them.

William sat up straighter, relaxing his grip on Willow’s hands.

Buffy ran her fingers through the palpable energy that flowed from William. “Wow,” she said, echoing Willow.

The three of them looked up at once to see even blue-white stars swirling in the dark ceiling of the room like a constellation. As they watched, the stars faded gradually then finally disappeared.

Willow drew a deep breath, then released William’s hands.

“Good,” she said.

William, still breathless, could only nod.

“Great!” Xander shouted from the landing. “Broken stuff. Thought we left all that back in Sunnydale. But look! I get to be useful after all.”

He came down the stairs toward them.

Willow got to her feet quickly. “Xander! How was your day?”

Xander ignored the question. He pointed at William.

“You,” Xander said. “You come back. Things get broken. Wanna try explaining what just happened?”

Buffy got up too, dusting her hands on her jeans. She looked down at her watch. “Yes,” she said. “But no. I’ve gotta go.”

“Go?” Willow said.

“Meeting Dawn at the shops after school. I can just catch the train if I go right now,” Buffy said.

Xander sputtered. “Shopping?”

“Yep,” Buffy said. “William, you okay?”

William made no effort to stand. But he nodded that he was fine.

“Do you wanna come with?” Buffy asked. “Our sight-seeing, skating fun was cut short, but...”

“No,” William said, dismissing her with a wave. “You go. I’ll hang here with Glinnda and the Scarecrow.”

Xander glared at him.

Buffy took William’s hand, squeezed it.

“There’s no place like home?” she said, lamely.

“Indeed not,” William said.

As Buffy passed Willow, she said, in a hushed voice, “We’ll talk later, okay?”

Willow gave a curt nod, and Buffy left.

As far as uncomfortable silences go, this one rated at least an eight. Xander eyed William. William eyed Xander. Willow made an effort to break up the macho stare-down, without much success.

Finally, Xander said, “What’s with the spellage, Wil? Learn anything... of use?

Willow shrugged, uneasy. She cut her eyes to William.

“No worries,” William said. He stood up. “I’m beat. Think I’ll go for a nap.” He managed, despite utter exhaustion, to swagger past Willow to the base of the stairs. From there, he started to say something to Xander.

“Don’t even start,” Xander said.

William climbed toward him, slowly, deliberately. When they stood shoulder to shoulder, he said, loud enough for Willow to hear, “Don’t worry, Harris. You and I don’t have the answers. But they do.”

And then he left the room.

Willow continued to clean the basement, righting her candles, picking up pillows. She kept up her purposeful performance under Xander’s disbelieving eyes.

“Okay, Willow,” he said, finally. “Tell me what just went on, cause it looks like you were meddling with unseen forces of the breaking kind.”

Willow looked over her shoulder. “It was an aura detection spell,” she said.

Xander descended to the bottom of the stairs “Aura?” he said “Detection?”

Willow made a makeshift dust pan out of a scrap of paper, then started sweeping up bits of shattered crystal. She talked as she swept. “We read William’s aura. Very basic spell, basically. Tells you if a person’s a person, or a demon, or good or evil.”

“Am I off in guessing some touch of evil with all the abundant destruction?”

Willow whirled on him. “I know what you’re thinking, Xander. I know you don’t like having William here...”

“For God’s sake, Wil. It’s Spike,” he said. “And something is up. Something you aren’t telling me. Should I head for a bladed something and take it on upstairs, or what?”

“No,” Willow said, urgently. “And, no. Nothing’s up. I just don’t...”

“Don’t what?”

“I don’t know how to read the reaction we got. His aura’s like nothing I’ve seen or read about. It was primal, and pure, and the power...”

“None of these things I’m liking,” Xander said.

“Buffy wants to wait to talk about it, so I think we should,” Willow told him.

“Again, not liking,” Xander said.

Willow crawled along the floor, sweeping up. “Xander, I don’t know what we’re dealing with. Something just happened. Something big... I need to dive into some texts to figure it out.”

She found an unbroken clay vase in the corner. Willow poured her collected crystal shards into it.

Then, she looked up at him, puzzled.

Xander took her by the elbow, helping her to her feet. “Willow, what is it?”

She stared at Xander for a second. She said, “William’s not human.”

Chapter 12: A Round In

Once Buffy had gone, William went up stairs. He stood idle for a moment, focusing on returning his breathing to an even rhythm. Then, once his heart had stopped its crazy trip-hop, William went back down stairs. As he pulled on his borrowed lumberjack coat, Andrew walked in the front door.

Andrew gave William the suspicious eye.

William handed it right back.

“Where’re you going?” Andrew asked. He sounded more than inquisitive, though. To William, it seemed he was looking for an invite.

“Out for a drink,” William said.

“Where is everyone else?”

William shrugged. Andrew remained stubbornly in the doorway.

“Fine,” William said, caving. “Buffy and Dawn are shopping. Willow and Xander are downstairs on clean up detail. Willow did a...” he waggled his fingers in the air, “spell.”

“You did magic? Without me? I miss everything,” Andrew said.

“Well, bye,” William said, striding past.

“Wait,” Andrew said. “Do you know where you’re going?”

Impatiently, he said, “I did live here...”

“Yeah, like a hundred years ago.”

“It’s London. Pub on every corner,” William said.

“Do you have any money?”

William paused. “No.”

Andrew stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Falling back on old habits?” he asked.

William rolled his eyes. “You buying?”

Andrew beamed, triumphantly. He put down his folder on the entry hall table and headed for the door. “There’s this place we go around the corner called Shepherd’s. Hey, maybe we can play darts.”

William followed him out into the busy night, playing things cool.

The pub was the ordinary sort. Neon beer signs. Cracked vinyl booth seats. Threadbare carpets. And a half a dozen tired-looking middle-aged patrons lost in pints.

Andrew and William sat among them, at the bar, also with pints. William looked the picture of boredom. Andrew was extra conspicuous.

“So,” Andrew said. “What was the spell all about?”

“Aura detection,” William said.

“Interesting. And?”

William leveled his eyes on Andrew. “I’m not a vampire,” he said.

Andrew nodded, slowly. “Cool,” he said. He sipped his beer.

“What’s your story, Andrew?” William asked, suddenly inspired.

This surprised Andrew so much he almost spilled his beer.

“When last we saw you, you were Tuxedo Man living the life in Italy. Now you’re starring here as Giles Junior. I’m missing the cue for costume change,” William said.

“Yeah, well. Italy was cool. Night life. Women.”

William nodded. “But?”

“Well, when we were attacked, Giles thought it best if we, you know, castle up here,” Andrew said.

William leaned in. “Attacked? Who attacked you?”

“Demon cult,” Andrew said. “Remains unsolved, though. It was dark and kinda confusing. We spent a few days hiding in these catacombs... creepy.”

“What were they after?”

“I don’t know, Spike,” he said, frustrated. “I was a little unconscious at the time. And I lost the tippy end of my pinky.” He poked out the abbreviated finger, then looked down into his pint, ashamed. “Buffy had to save me. She and Dawn could’ve gotten out a whole much sooner, if I hadn’t first been head-bashed, then finger mashed.”

“So it was just the three of you?”

“Not at first. You know, the Immortal...”

“I know him,” William said. He sneered.

“Well, he kinda split.”

“Poncy bastard,” William said. “Was he part of the demon conspiracy? Or did he just flee to save his own skin.”

“In the camp of the latter. He hid out the first night, but by morning...”

“Gone.”

“Yep.”

“And Buffy?”

“Upset by the whole can of Pringles. But you know her. She’s tough,” Andrew said.

“She’s the Slayer,” William said. He watched the homeward bound worker’s traffic filling up the streets. There was so much going on, and he was just waking up. He had the sense that there was something he just wasn’t getting yet. Something just beyond his ability to grasp. He reached for it, but came away with... nothing.

He returned to his conversation with Andrew. “So. What else then?”

“We came back here. Giles used money from insurance claims we filed in Sunnydale, plus FEMA assistance, which he invested in high-yield undisclosed investments. Giles isn’t much for sharing trade secrets. So, he used that fundage to buy the Flat and the building that houses the school. Willow and Kennedy have a house in Westbury, but they stay here so Kennedy can help with the school. Meanwhile, Giles is taxed with the heavy responsibility of rebuilding the Watcher Council. And Dawn and I are helping out. We’re really making contributions, I think. Dawn’s way gifted, you know. Like connected to the powers.”

“Runs in her blood,” William said.

“Yeah. We all have our purposes, doing the good work,” Andrew said.

“And Xander?”

Andrew frowned. “He does his share. But he’s still sad, you know. Losing a woman like Anya? Like he’ll ever find another girl like her in a thousand years.”

“Hear that,” William said. He touched his pint to the rim of Andrew’s and drained down the rest of his beer.

“And he’s so not adaptable. Like, he hears the word ‘snog’ and goes all Beavis,” Andrew said. “Then, like two weeks ago he crashed his car into a phone box...”

William got up abruptly. “Think we better head back,” he said.

“Oh. Okay,” Andrew said, following along. “But you wanna get a round of pool in? Maybe play the quiz game. Willow and I have a team. Pretty much unbeatable. Or, oh! Fruities?”

William considered for a second. “No,” he said. He turned on his heel and strode out.

“Okay,” Andrew said. “Maybe another time.”

Chapter 13: Patrol

Xander was snarling-mad in the kitchen, in full pace mode, with Kennedy, Dawn and Andrew. Outside, the yellow evening sunlight opaqued the windows and coaxed out long shadows under the eaves and alleyways.

“Couldn’t she take him another time? Maybe like when we’re more sure? Or how about never?” he said.

“Calm down,” Kennedy said. She tried to get in front of him, to square off with him.

“She’s taking him on patrol,” Xander said, pushing past her. “Oh here, mysterious back-from-where-ever guy, come out into the dark, dank London night. Have some pointy weapons. Now, wait till I turn my back...”

“It’s kinda romantic,” Dawn said. She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“Two lovers reunited beyond death. It’s like Brandon Lee in ‘The Crow,’” Andrew said.

“No. No. It’s not like ‘The Crow.’ It’s like ‘Evil Dead,’” Xander said. “Why is it that only the women in this house have gone all wacky for William the Bloody?”

“Hey,” Andrew said.

Xander came to a sudden stop. “Wait. Maybe it’s a love spell...”

“Just let them have their peace, Xander,” Kennedy said. She put stakes into her pockets, then slipped on her jacket. “Buffy knows what she’s doing.”

Giles came in to the kitchen, looking equal parts tired and frazzled.

“Giles, man!” Xander said. “Please tell me you found something.”

Giles slid a thick brown file folder onto the bar. “Where’s Willow?” he asked.

“She’s upstairs,” Xander said. “I take it you found nothing.”

Giles rubbed his forehead. “There was an earthquake in LA last week,” he said.

“Yeah, I read about that. Something unusual about it?” Xander asked.

“The building that housed the law offices of Wolfram & Hart was destroyed,” Giles said, in a hushed tone.

“Oh,” Xander said. “Angel?”

“... is listed as missing, as well as the others,” Giles said.

“And Spike?” Xander said.

“Presumably.”

Dawn and Andrew gathered in. Kennedy lingered in the hall.

“We should tell Buffy,” Dawn said.

Giles looked over at her. “Let’s wait until we know more. Where is she, by the way?”

Xander’s lips puckered like he’d bitten into a raw lemon. “Taken Spike out for patrol,” he said. “We were just heading down to Shepherd’s for a much needed night cap. Wanna join?”

Giles heaved a sigh. “No. Not tonight, thanks. I need a word with Willow,” he said. “It seems we have a grave situation on our hands.”

Buffy and William had a grave situation of their own, but only in the literal sense. Graveyards were not the same in London as they were in Sunnydale. Many of them lay adjacent to quaint, peaked-roofed churches, or nestled next to neighborhoods. Plus, they were so old. Moss covered the weathered headstones and statuary, most of which had lost limbs and definition over the ages. Even still, cemeteries the world around had the same creepy energy to them. When the mist rolled in, shrouding everything in pale luminescence, Buffy always got a case of the chills.

Tonight was no different. Except that for the first time she’d come to London, she was not on her own for patrol. William walked quietly along with her, hands shoved deep into the pockets of the new coat she and Dawn picked up for him on Oxford Street. He was watchful, and slightly nervous, she could tell.

“You should’ve come with us,” Buffy said, trying to ease his tension. “Dawn was all about the earth tones. Said she always pictured you in greens and beige. I told her black was more your line...”

“Can’t go wrong with basic black,” he said. “Goes with everything, you know. You both did me fine with the urban camouflage. And the boots. Now they’re top-notch. How’d you figure my size?”

“Length of my forearm,” she said.

“Beg pardon?”

“Measured a bruise once. Your foot equals...” she measured the length of her arm, “this long.”

A look of displeasure crossed his face. “Resourceful,” he said.

“I’m kidding,” Buffy told him. “The skates, William. I knew your size by the skates.”

“Oh,” he said.

They walked on a bit in silence.

She was the one who spoke first: “Leather pants, leather coat - standard. Perfect combo of form meets fashion function.”

“The coat is right smart,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” Buffy said.

He looked over at her. “I’m not worried,” he said, quietly.

“Really? Because you look like Richard Hatch at an IRS hearing.”

“What?” he said.

“Never mind. I can take these guys on my own. We’re just here to see if you came back with skills other than the Wolverine factor,” she said.

“Wolverine?”

She shrugged. “Guess I do listen to Andrew.”

“How can you not, the way he prattles?” William said.

Buffy stopped him. “It’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” he said. He looked away, then back to her. “I’m concerned, is all. It’s just, I rather liked the blood and brawling. Being handy in a fight. It was kind of my thing. And, what if I have lost that? What use...”

“You’ll be fine,” Buffy said. “And just in case, wear this.” She passed a small white box to him.

William opened it. Inside, he found a tiny gold cross on a chain.

He was speechless. He touched it tentatively with the tips of his fingers.

“It’s a cross,” he said.

“The necessary accessory for today’s active demon fighter,” she said. “Here, I’ll put it on.”

She took the cross from its webbing of white cotton and fastened the chain around his neck.

“Color me Agent Scully,” he said, smiling.

“It’s good,” Buffy said.

He turned to face her. “It’s perfect,” he said.

“That’s touching,” a voice called from behind a lop-sided, moss-slimed angel statue. A female vampire stepped around the monument and folded her arms. “They’ll bury your corpses in them pretty chains,” she said.

“How rude,” Buffy said. “We were having a moment. It’s all right, though. We’re ready to move on.”

The lady vamp leapt for Buffy. Behind her, another vampire, this one male and reeking of scotch, headed straight for William.

William dodged. Scotch Boy took a header into a headstone, but recovered quickly enough to sweep William’s legs. He didn’t dodge so well that time. Two other vampires joined the fun. Buffy staked one on a fly-by. She returned to her scrap with Missy Doolittle. The second, figuring William for the weak link, dived in with Scotchie to keep him on the ground.

Buffy continued to tangle Lady Vamp, but she saw that perhaps William had lost his hand-to-hand gift. He swung wide, overbalanced, went down again, this time headfirst. William rolled, though. He got up just as the second male vampire charged in.

William reacted without thinking. He drove his elbow into the vampire’s chest. Scotchie grabbed William’s arm from behind, but William dropped, pu