Prologue
"I'm so afraid to love you
But more afraid to lose
Clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose.
Where once there was a darkness
A deep and endless night
You gave me everything you had.
Oh, you gave me light."
Sarah Mclachlan
"Would you choose
Water over wine?"
Incubus
*****
"Yeah, Buffy. What are you we going to do now?"
At the time, the question had brought a smile to the Slayer's face. There was no more Hellmouth, and she and Faith were no longer the only two Slayers.
The world had been full of possibilities.
Too bad she hadn't realized that a lot of possibilities usually amounted to untold amounts of stress.
*
The entire Scooby gang was in a state of euphoria on the drive to Los Angeles, where Robin and several of the injured Slayers were admitted into a hospital sfor care. They left several of the newly activated Slayers with Andrew there to watch over them, while Giles treated Buffy, Dawn, Faith, Willow, and Xander to dinner.
It was that first night that the group of them started planning what would come next. Giles suggested that their first plan of action be to track down all the new Slayers, and everyone agreed.
There was also talk of finding any surviving Council members, recovering any files that might have survived the Council's destruction, acquiring the funds needed to provide shelter for any Slayers that might need it...
It made Buffy's head spin, and by the time she and Dawn arrived in England with Giles to meet the coven there, the Slayer had grown quiet. Giles never commented on it, thinking that Buffy was trying to decide on the best course for her and Dawn's futures.
But Buffy wasn't thinking of the future at all.
Her mind had wandered into the past; the very recent past.
"I love you."
"No, you don't. But thanks for saying it."
He hadn't believed her.
It was difficult for her to feel upset in those first days, when everyone was all smiles over their victory, even if Xander's were shadowed by the death of Anya. There was so much to be happy for; no more averting apocalypses on the Hellmouth, a world full of new choices to make, a freedom none of them would have ever imagined they would taste.
But Spike's words found Buffy before they'd gotten out of California, while lying in her bed at the Comfort Inn near the airport.
"No, you don't. But thanks for saying it."
At first, the words brought righteous anger to the surface of Buffy's thoughts. She could have left without saying anything, and it had taken every ounce of courage inside of her to admit her feelings; knowing that Spike was dying hadn't taken that fear away.
The anger abated within minutes, however, and the tears followed soon after. Of course he hadn't believed her. She'd waited too long, and had made too many mistakes...
And now he was gone.
The days spent in Westbury passed in a blur for Buffy, and she often remained at Giles' while the others made trips to London and surrounding areas, speaking to the coven, contacting the Travers family, and all manner of other things.
Buffy preferred walking.
The grounds around Giles' house were beautiful, and Buffy wandered over them endlessly, huddled in a sweater to fend off the chill in the air while she'd tried thinking of nothing at all.
It was Dawn that brought the Slayer back to reality.
*
"Buffy?"
Turning from the view of the rolling hills, Buffy looked to the back door to see Willow's distant figure, and reluctantly gave up on her walk to return to the house.
"What's up?" she asked, noting the wrinkled brow of the redhead.
"It's... it's Dawn," Willow told her.
"What? What's wrong?"
Willow's eyes widened from the note of panic in the Slayer's voice. "No, she's fine! I mean... physically, she's fine. She's... she's crying."
"Crying?" Buffy echoed.
Willow's lips thinned, her expression pained. "I think she's been holding it off for a few days now. She hasn't looked too good."
"Oh..." Buffy honestly hadn't noticed, and felt immediately guilty about it. "But... what's she so upset about?"
Taking a deep breath, Willow replied. "Spike."
"Spike?" Buffy asked, a hint of breathlessness to her voice, which didn't go unnoticed by the witch.
"I went to go check on her, and she said she never forgave him. I couldn't make out much else. She's hurting pretty badly, Buffy."
Buffy could tell by the look on Willow's face that her friend expected her to try to console Dawn. She knew she should, but...
How could she?
How could she tell Dawn it would be alright, when she couldn't convince herself that? All she ever wanted to do was scream at the unfairness of it all. She had no logic to ease her sister's pain.
"Uh... Will? I... Could you talk to her, maybe?"
Willow nodded immediately. "Sure, I'll try. Buffy... are you okay?"
"I'm fine," the Slayer lied.
Willow knew she was lying. She just didn't know what to do about it.
*
In the days that followed that conversation, the coven informed Giles that there were four active Slayers in Africa, three of them in rather remote locations. When Xander immediately volunteered to locate them, the Watcher agreed without question, understanding the young man's need to be alone. He needed to mourn.
*
The news that there were over two thousand new Slayers all over the world was daunting, and everyone agreed that it would take more resources than they currently had to contact them all, though Andrew informed everyone that he was busy trying to acquire email addresses of the few specific girls the coven had been able to name.
The Hellmouth in Cleveland was an issue they felt ready to handle, however, and there was a long discussion on how to split everyone into equal groups. No one was surprised when Giles suggested that Faith lead the Cleveland branch of Slayers, except for Faith herself.
"Wait, why me?" she asked, looking warily around the kitchen, which was cramped with the number of people, including all the newly activated Slayers that had survived Sunnydale.
"Faith, you have proven yourself as a capable leader, and you are a veteran Slayer," Giles pointed out.
"And I guess B's already done the whole Hellmouth gig," Faith finished, looking to the blonde.
Buffy smirked. "Yup. It's like Christmas for you, huh?"
Faith grinned in reply. "Yeah, except it sucks." Still, no one missed the pride in her dark eyes.
After much more discussion, it was decided that Kennedy and Robin would go, as well as Rona and Shannon, and a week later they were off to the States with Willow, who had decided it would be wise to arrange some Wiccan aide for the Cleveland team. By the middle of June, Giles' house had went from having thirteen guests to seven; Buffy, Dawn, Andrew, Vi, Caridad, Dominique, and Samantha.
Andrew and Vi were the next to leave, agreeing to travel Europe in an attempt to find as many Slayers as possible, and also to recover anything that the deceased members of the Council might have left behind with their families that could be used for the new records they were attempting to build.
The house was quiet after their departure, with only Caridad and Samantha, who kept each other company, avoiding the Summers girls for the most part, since both of them had become quiet and withdrawn over the past weeks.
Giles was almost certain that the reason for Buffy's apparent depression was the same as Dawn's, but knew nothing he could say to comfort his Slayer. Spike had died nobly, which was more than the Watcher had ever expected from the vampire. He'd saved the world.
There had been few comments made about it, however. No one had really mentioned Spike since they'd escaped the collapsing Hellmouth, and in all honesty, Giles didn't think it was fair.
But what could be done? Spike had been a vampire. There were no funerals held for the twice dead, no memorial services anyone could attend.
And no one would, besides two very sad young women who were obviously in very much pain over their loss of the monster that had finally proven himself a man.
*
"Buffy?"
She was stirring soup on the stove when Giles' voice called her away from watching the swirling noodles.
"Yeah?"
"I was wondering if you've given any thought on what you'd like to do now."
"Do?" Buffy asked, turning away from her dinner as she watched the man take a seat at the kitchen table.
"Well, yes. I wasn't certain if you wanted to fully retire, or if you'd rather go on slaying."
"Of course I'll keep slaying," Buffy replied with a tired smile. "It's what I do, Giles."
The lighter tone of her voice brought a smile to the Watcher's face, as well. "That's good to hear, Buffy. Have you thought on where you might like to continue your duties, though?"
Buffy crossed her arms over her stomach, pensive. She'd given it a lot of thought, really. She just wasn't sure Giles would like her answer.
"I know there's not a Hellmouth anymore," she told him. "I know there's a whole world, and besides coming here, I haven't really seen much of it. But... I wanna go home, Giles."
"Home?" he repeated, his brow furrowed. "Buffy, Sunnydale's gone."
"I know that," she replied. "I mean California. I mean, this crazy weather's great, and all. And I'm sure I'll want to do some traveling now that I'm not tied to the Hellmouth, but... I miss it. I thought maybe we could start something up in L.A."
"Los Angeles?" Giles asked. "How do you think Angel would feel about that?"
"Don't know. Don't care, really. He's not the boss of me."
Giles grinned, unable to help himself. "There's quite a lot of Slayers in the States," he told her. "Perhaps we can make our way from east to west."
Buffy nodded. "Sounds good. Where are we going to put all the girls we find on the way, though? Because I've already got way too much stuffed into my luggage."
"I suppose we'll have to run up some incredibly high hotel bills," Giles laughed.
*
Spike stared at the dilapidated apartment building across the street with an expression that was mixed parts of boredom and trepidation.
He'd been led to it; bugger if he knew why.
It wasn't enough that he'd earned his soul, or that he'd gone up in flames to save the world. No, he'd been brought back, cursed to wander as a ghost, unable to effect his own surroundings.
And now, he was hearing things.
It had started two days before, when he'd been wandering the lab during the nighttime hours.
William...
That's all it had been, and Spike had looked around for the owner of the wispy voice for several minutes before realizing it wasn't coming from anywhere around him.
It was in his sodding head.
It was easy enough to figure the voice belonged to a girl, but she wasn't giving him much to go on, other than the fact that she needed the amulet that had led to his temporary death. Spike didn't trust it, but after two days of her annoying the shit out of him, he was ready to give the bint anything.
It had been quite a trip, trying to concentrate on holding the amulet across downtown L.A., and he'd dropped it over a dozen times. By the time he'd arrived at his destination, Spike wasn't in the best of moods.
"Alright, pigeon. 'M here; what now?"
Inside, she urged, and Spike sighed, rolling his eyes before he crossed the street. He knew he could be making a huge mistake, but it wasn't like he had to deal with it. He was nothing more than a spook, so any Big Bad he happened to loose upon Los Angeles would be Angel's job to take care of.
He had to give the girl credit, however. She knew exactly what made him tick.
For starters, she was female, which never hurt. And she sounded weak, possibly hurt, and that left the more noble side of him chomping at the bit to help.
The thing was, Spike knew an act when he heard one, even without the visual cues that would suggest a lie. When he'd told the bird to fly right on out of his head, it had brassed her off, and he'd quickly learned he was dealing with no helpless waif. She was full of fire, and crafty to boot.
He liked that.
Entering the darkened hall of the condemned building, Spike nearly staggered at the scent that hit him. He hadn't sensed anything at all from the street, and now wondered what exactly he'd gotten himself into. He'd never smelled anything like it. It reeked of power, raw and ancient, leaving the taste of something hot and metallic in his throat.
Too late now, William, she spoke within his thoughts. Bring me my trinket, please.
Spike's brow darkened as he stepped slowly down the hall, his eyes fixing on the door he knew she rested behind. "Here goes nothin'," he muttered, reaching for the doorknob, and focusing his energy on grasping it. For a moment, he felt the cold metal within his grip and twisted, letting the door fall open to reveal complete darkness within.
Stepping inside the abandoned apartment, Spike's eyes quickly adjusted to the blackness, focusing on a small form on the threadbare sofa.
She was tiny, and completely nude, save for a battered throw pillow clutched across her chest, and the vampire found himself laughing softly. "Is this it, then?"
The girl glared at him in a wounded manner under the dark fringe of her bangs. "You of all 'people' should know things aren't always what they seem, William," she said.
Spike tilted his head with obvious scrutiny. "Well, it seems you've taken quite a beating, and you're completely starkers, and since there's not a chance you can kill me seeing as I'm nothing more than ghost now, I'm not so worried." His brow furrowed suddenly. "Would like to know how you came across my name, though."
"My amulet, please," was all she said in reply.
Sighing, Spike looked to the amulet that was gripped in his hand. "Be glad to get rid of it," he said, tossing the gaudy accessory in her direction.
She caught it easily, her fingers turning it over as she appeared lost in thought. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way."
"What's that, pet?"
She regarded him warily, though he knew she didn't fear him; not even a little. "You weren't supposed to come back. That's not how it works."
"Can't say I'm happy with the arrangement, myself," Spike replied dryly. "Being no better than a bloody figment, and all."
She smiled ruefully, standing from the sofa without a shred of modesty, and Spike's couldn't stop his eyes from wandering curiously over her soft curves, her pale flesh mottled with colorful bruises. "Well, that's kind of why I'm here," she confessed. "Let's see your hand."
Spike searched the girl's face for any sign of intent, but there was only expectation in her eyes, and he finally held his hand out to her.
She passed through it with her fingers, her eyes narrowing slightly, and then Spike watched as the tips of her fingers brushes softly against his knuckles, and she smiled slightly with her success.
He wasn't prepared when she turned his palm up, slamming the amulet between their hands with brute force, and there was only immeasurable pain in that moment, which seemed to drag on for eternity, bright with light and a cacophony of sound.
Spike growled, drawing back his hand, and after a token resistance he felt her let go, the room full of shadows again, silent.
"What the fucking hell was that?" he cried, using all of his will not to fall to his knees. Everything hurt, absolutely everything, down to his toenails...
The crazy bitch was smiling at him, and he heard the distinct crunch of glass, looking to the girl's closed fist to see blood trailing down her fingers.
She'd broken the amulet. Or they'd done it together.
"What the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice sounding weaker than he would have liked.
"Take a moment, William," she suggested, letting her hand open, and the broken amulet fell to the floor, blood dripping in its wake, but the girl appeared unconcerned, unmindful of the pain.
"A moment to what?" he barked angrily, running a hand through his hair for want of something better to do, like smash the damn girl's face in; he had a feeling she was stronger than him.
"You're in pain, aren't you?"
"Of course I'm in pain, you silly--" Spike cut himself short, blinking quickly. He was in pain; he had no idea what had just happened, didn't really care, but...
Eyes narrowing, Spike's fingers drifted up to trail over the edge of the door, its splintered wood like a caress to his formerly intangible skin. He heard the girl laugh softly as he stomped his boot upon the concrete of the floor, drew in great breaths of air, feeling his lungs expand and contract.
Frantically, Spike began searching through the pockets of his duster, the newly real pockets, and he cried out in victory when he found the wrinkled pack of Marlboros within, along with his Zippo.
Lighting a cigarette, Spike inhaled the smoke with a feeling close to euphoria, but it was clear the girl was waiting... for what, he wasn't sure.
"Not sure how you pulled that rabbit out of the hat, love, but 'm appreciative," he told her.
She nodded. "Yeah, well, I figured it was my screw up. No need for you to suffer."
"How's it your fault?" he asked, arching an eyebrow as he paced a circle around her, delighting in the way his boots actually made sound as they traversed the floor. "Thought Wolfram and Hart concocted it all."
"They did," she agreed with a nod. "But I didn't think they'd really be such a threat; when they came across the amulet... it must've been a millennia ago, I wasn't very concerned. After a time, I forgot about it."
"And what made you so concerned over a monster like me?" he wondered.
The girl rolled her eyes; over what, Spike didn't know. "Well, the Powers weren't really caring about happened to you from here on out; you did what they'd wanted. You died, saving the world. They figured having you around in the ghostly way wasn't really going to effect much as far as the Balance was concerned."
"So, they were just going to leave me, that it?"
She nodded, crossing her arms over her ample breasts. "Yeah, that's exactly what they were going to do."
"And you disagreed?"
She shrugged. "Did a lot of arguing. Then, I decided I'd just fix it myself, and trust me, no one was happy about that."
"'M guessin' you're an agent of the Powers, then?"
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, I..." She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "I guess you could say I was."
"Get kicked from the cool kids' lunch table, did you?"
She smirked at his analogy. "Well, I figured that much would happen, but..." She shook her head, sighing. "Didn't think the 'fallen' part would be so literal. Pain. It's an interesting sensation."
Spike's brow furrowed at the girl's words, looking once again over her battered form.
Fallen...
Spike only knew one creature that terminology was applied to, but knew he had to be wrong. While most people in the world couldn't believe in demons and witches and Slayers, he knew they were real. Evil was everywhere, and good always appeared to fight it back, but in all his years of walking the earth, he'd never heard mention of anything out of Christian mythology besides a few pathetic fledges trying to pass themselves off as Lucifer.
"What are you thinking?"
The simple question startled Spike out of his musings, and he fixed her with a knowing look. "Like you don't know?"
"I chose not to; thought it'd be more... polite? To ask. I couldn't find you before, so I had no choice in using your thoughts."
"Just wondering what exactly you are, is all."
She rolled her eyes, more amusement in the gesture this time. "Does it matter?"
"Well, pet, you can't exactly use the word 'fallen' without a little bit of imagery popping up, yeah?"
"Oh, you mean you're gonna freak out because I'm an angel?" She made a dismissive wave with her hand. "I was already expecting that."
Spike's eyes nearly fell out of his head as he gaped at her, but all she did was giggle, a strangely light sound given the whisky low tones of her voice.
"You're... You're a bleeding angel?" he managed to croak.
"Yeah. It's really not that big of a deal, you know."
"Not a big deal?"
"No. There's millions of us. Hardly less common than cockroaches. Except, you know, on a much bigger level, dimensionally speaking."
"Which one are you?" he asked immediately, his memory drudging up long Sundays spent with his mother in church.
"It's really not like that," she replied with a sympathetic shake of her head.
"What? No station, no name, even?"
"Oh, I've got hundreds of those," she laughed. Funny how people will put so many names to faces they never see." She shrugged. "My 'station,' as you put it, was death. For a long time, anyway."
"You killed people? Spike asked.
"Set up the circumstances, yes. And not just people, William. Death is for everyone, every thing. It all has a time."
"Sounds like quite the job, then."
"It was. Then, vampires came along, death personified," she said with a smile. "Walking, talking death. And I got a new job."
"Killing vampires?" he asked with a lift of his brow.
"No, I'm not a Slayer," she replied, a teasing lilt to her voice. "Besides, vamps are already dead; they're souls have already been judged. No, I watched a lot. Used them a lot for my own devices. Mostly, I was left with the job of deciding whether or not vampires could be redeemed. They're unique, vampires. Demons have their own codes, morals, gods. Vampires were once human, and the gods that preside over humans, well..."
"Have no interest in vampires?" Spike assumed.
"Exactly. For a long time, the Powers viewed vampires as nothing more than murderous shells of the person they used to be."
"And you changed their way of thinking on that?"
"No, not me." She laughed softly. "I'm very low on the totem pole."
"And you're what? The Angel of Vampires? 'Cause excuse me, pet, but sounds like a right awful job."
"I guess I was for awhile, if you're really feeling the need to label everything. It only lasted until Angelus was cursed, though. There was a big cosmic freak out over that. The thought of a soul already judged, returning to the body of a demon? No one knew how that was gonna turn out." She grinned. "But I got a cushier job out of it."
Spike mulled over her words, still unable to believe such a little minx of a girl was an honest-to-God angel. "So, what? You became Peaches' sitter?"
She laughed merrily. "I was," she admitted. "Right up until I fell. Yours too, once you earned your soul, William."
"So, no one's watchin' out for us now, then?"
She smiled. "Hey, I'm here, aren't I?"
"Guess you are, at that. For how long, though?"
"Um... fallen," she reminded him with a lift of her brow. "Which means I'm getting ready to ask you for a place to stay."
"Suppose that'll be fine," he replied with a quick nod. "Plenty of room at Evil Incorporated. Just... not sure you should tell Angelus 'bout the whole angel bit. He'd brood himself into a coma."
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Like you're not going to do the same thing the minute you're alone?"
Spike chose not to answer the question, instead shrugging off his duster to lend to the girl, and she slipped her arms into the sleeves, the leather trailing the floor as she closed it over her nude form. "Smells funny," she commented.
"We'll get you squared away once we get there, yeah?" Holding the door open for the girl, he followed her out into the hall, and soon they were walking through the darkness of downtown L.A., garnering only a few strange glances from passers-by.
Hearing the crinkle of cellophane, Spike looked over to see the girl fumbling with his cigarettes, and watched in interest as she placed the smoke between her lips, lighting it with clumsy fingers before a grimace of disgust crossed her features. "Ugh," she sighed, but instead of throwing the fag to the ground, she took another drag. Spike only shook his head, his confusion growing by leaps and bounds.
"So, pet, you should have a name," he ventured, gesturing for his smokes, and she slapped them in his hand with an agreeable smile. "Got one out of those hundreds you fancy?"
