By the time he decided he was relatively safe from attack or capture, Xander was shaking so hard he could barely gain his feet. Before he’d met Buffy, he had very carelessly wandered the Sunnydale streets in blissful ignorance; once he had met her, he was traipsing around the Hellmouth under a misappropriation of bravery. With Spike, he’d become cocky and confident when he had no real right to. Now he was alone, no super-strength friends to get him through the night in one piece—unmarked and unbloodied.
Xander felt his head slowly turn and seek out the reassurance of the phone and felt the sweat drip from his top lip as he rejected the easy out. He wasn’t made for it—being the wimp. As useless as he might actually be to Buffy’s nightly fight, he’d never hide in the dark while his friends were hurt. No way. Not him. And Spike was his friend, and boy was he sure the vamp was in way of a world of hurt.
But it would be beyond dumb to wander the streets looking for Buffy without at least equipping himself with a weapon. If only he had a semi-automatic, he’d feel relatively safe. Even if the rational part of his brain argued that it would have no affect on those already dead. Too bad he lived with the practical vamp—the one who hunkered down over a huge stash of axes, swords and stakes. Still, he was sure to find something that might add a little testosterone to his form as he raced around emitting a powerful scent of fear.
His hands swept over handles, discarding many before grabbing the sword from under the couch that he knew Spike was looking forward to giving Buffy for her birthday. It was impressive and the night was influenced with the heaviness of disaster, but he even now couldn’t take this one. Couldn’t rob the pleasure Spike had been feeding on when he nightly took it out and polished it up, just waiting for the night when he could pass it on to its new owner. See Buffy bond with such a powerful weapon.
Even if Spike didn’t make it, this was his last link to Buffy and Xander wasn’t going to do anything to deprive the vampire of that gift. He left the sword gently on the couch and covered it with cushions, his eye quickly sweeping over the leftover weapons to locate another. Then his focus shifted to an axe and he felt all torn up inside about what would be the best weapon for him to choose. On the one hand, the axe could do some major damage, but it required a powerful arm or one thud into his victim would be it before he succumbed to an attack. The sword was lighter and had a different trajectory through his potential demon victims and he was much more likely to be able to wield it without needing more strength than he had. So, he picked up the sword.
Decision made, Xander loped toward the door and then stopped, his heart racing with too much adrenaline and the urge to take flight rather than stand and fight. His fingers were slick on the hilt of the sword and he could feel the sweat bead between his brows. Breaths were coming in gasps as he readily admitted to himself that he more than likely wasn’t going to make it out in the night on his own. In a sudden desperate move, he snatched up two large pieces of splintered wood to use as stakes should he need them.
He only hoped he wouldn’t.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy fell back on the rock with a gasp, hand clutching at her heart as she struggled to breath against the resuming onslaught of visions. How could this be? Her one body braced itself against the experiences of two. Her skin shuddering to keep it all in as she met the truth head on and took it all inside. It only took minutes and she was done; different. She was sixteen and twenty-one. Once dead yet twice. The Slayer in love with Spike, and the one that could do nothing but deny him as anything good.
Buffy winced as she rolled to her knees and finally regained her feet. She had some serious sorting out to do of the vampire variety. What had she been thinking with the whole hang up on Angel, the taking of pleasure and comfort from one who loved her so fully while letting her friends dictate to her what she was allowed to do, to feel. She was brimming with supernatural power and strength, yet amongst them she was powerless. More of a child than they were.
Tears gathered in her eyes as she stumbled a few steps, taking that journey back to Giles and home. Compiling words of apology in her head that would make it all better. Hopefully.
Even in the dark, the sand glowed white, reflected the moonlight in a way she’d only ever found one thing to do. Spike—his hallmark hair that told her where he was, where she should be. A watery smile teased her lips as she felt her heart tear from being apart from him. But it wasn’t sixteen-year-old Buffy’s heart. This was the heart of a suffering Slayer. One who had discarded what she wanted and needed for something that was far from right. She’d loved him even as she’d turned her back, left him watching the shimmering purple of her top as she forced herself to take the steps away from his loving comfort, refusing to see the pain her decision caused him.
It was mature Buffy combined with the girl who had accepted the vampire in her bed with love and trust. Experienced Buffy who could see his potential now that he’d gone back to save her the pain of Angel’s love. Taking away that tall brooding obstacle had allowed her a view that had been shrouded in unreality before. Brought a vampire in focus that didn’t need a soul to be good. Didn’t need a soul to love and be loved. Didn’t need a soul to make the right decisions. To learn from the bad ones. Older Buffy saw it all with a wiser, untarnished eye. Spike could have loved her, did love her without the benefit of being trapped and cursed. He was pure in the most elemental sense.
And he was hers.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Giles was sipping coffee from a thermos when she finally made it back. He’d lit a small fire from his sticks, his gourd balanced precariously on his knee. He looked up, his eyes bleary from keeping himself awake with nothing but the shimmering moonlight on the sand and the mesmerising view of his fire. It was obviously very late and Buffy felt a little guilty, despite knowing that what had just happened to her was essential. One look at his commiserating smile and she felt the tenseness from their initial drive return.
“You knew,” she shot at him in powerful accusation. ”You knew where Spike had come from and all about me, didn’t you?” Her voice held the touch of fury she often had when kept out of something that was important and affected her.
“Yes. From the night Drusilla bit me. The vengeance demon that granted his wish popped in trying to convince him to go back.”
“Anya,” Buffy confirmed quietly. “I wonder why she is so desperate for him to go back. I personally kind of like this timeline much better.”
He looked at his charge with confusion shadowing his eyes.
“Why is that exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Buffy flopped down onto the sand as she thought. A warm smile curved her lips and she felt her body melt as she thought of the loving first time she’d had with Spike. That night with Angel had been way more than nice—absolutely no doubts. But even her teenage heart could tell the difference between what felt so right and what could only be wrong. Deep down she’d always felt Angel wasn’t the one. But he destroyed her morning after, made it a living nightmare so that by the time she’d recovered and the pieces were all put back in place—albeit more than a little on the damaged side—she’d talked herself into believing the only reason she’d withstood the trauma was because she loved him. Loved him so deeply and with so much of her heart and soul that no other was ever going to replace him. It was a child’s dream of fairytale proportions.
Ironically, Spike was more the fairytale hero than even Angel could possibly have been. He’d kissed her awake from her nightmare sleep after death. Made her live and feel in ways she’d not experienced—even before she’d succumbed to her misunderstood gifted death.
“Because here you all believe in Spike, trust him. And I can let him hold my hand and kiss me and feel reasonably secure that neither you nor Xander will try and remove his head from his shoulders.”
Buffy giggled at Giles’s affronted spluttering and then quickly enveloped him in a hug. “It’s so good to have you around, Giles. I’ll always need you, so don’t go thinking I don’t. And even if I…die…again, the gang need you too. Even Spike.”
She felt a warmth blossom at his small nod of agreement and then followed him as he pushed himself to his feet, hokey gourd clasped tightly in his fist.
“Ready to head back then, are you?”
Combined Buffy’s felt deep inside the anticipation to be back with Spike, feel him once again within arms that wanted to be truthful to him. Hold him tight in love and acceptance.
“Oh yeah. Homey goodness is just what the Watcher ordered for this Slayer. Home, Giles.”
Heart steadied and beating with a rhythm of merged happiness, Buffy helped dust out the fire and then managed to get in the car, slamming her door in a display of her eagerness.
Home was just what she needed, and home was where she was going to stay, even if he tried to kick her away. He didn’t need to breathe, so he could just deal.
The wheels spun up clouds of grainy sand as the car sped away, out of the desert and back to the highway. Buffy sat silently putting it all together in her head, resolving herself to two sets of experiences and memories. And then she grinned at it all, so forgiving and needful for the man that made it all possible to heal her. To return her to a life free of pain.
To return her to her life.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
His body hung limp and battered from the chains on the wall. His face was bloodied, broken, blind and he had to resort to his hearing to know what wandered around him. His eyes were filled with the blood of his body and he felt his flesh shudder against the strain of his hanging vertically and spreadeagled against the rock of the ornamental wall. It was a cacophony of sound, yet he felt every single strain of it separated and identified in his head. Dru cackling in her insane way, shooting threats of doom and gloom at him as if he was a stranger and didn’t know her tricks, didn’t know her strengths and had learned to resist them over a century of being with her. Angelus, harsh and cruel as he whispered his own brand of evil threat—promises of pain and torture to the one Spike loved and wanted with all the world to protect. And someone new—a toff that had no balls but plenty of power.
It was power that he muttered almost incoherently against the force of Spike’s invulnerability and kept the blood running and the wounds open. The gem had less and less effect as the new little addition with a heartbeat magicked him open and allowed his own family to torture and maim him in ways he’d never thought they could. Holy water singed his skin and the insides of him as Angelus set up clamps to hold him open. The gem pushed through the mutilation eventually, but it was becoming a slower process of healing each time Spike was savaged.
If he’d not gotten used to this kind of torture the past two years he might have buckled by now. Angelus might have played him well in his vampiric youth, but over the past century he’d gone soft. Sure he was hard and fierce, but in the ways of vengeance he’d lost his edge—not that he’d ever really had one. Not compared to Angelus. But Spike couldn’t let them get to Buffy. Never to Buffy.
And now it was quiet, yet his eardrums still rung with the pain of earlier noise.
The poof knew about the ring, and Dru’s insane prattling was gonna get it for him. Spike felt nerves tighten his skin and he could feel his stomach revolt at what he suspected would happen. They’d cut him, freed his blood and made large holes while they searched. Spike tried to blink against the blood even as his weakened limbs pulled against his bonds. It was hopeless for him to escape. Hopeless to protect the ring even though he’d thought it would be safe on his insides.
He was about to resort to the sobs of defeat when he felt the crack of ozone in the air and Anyanka stood in front of him, staring in smug satisfaction.
“Believe me now? Your situation here is hopeless. Buffy will never trust you and you are just making things worse by staying here. Just take back your wish and everything will go back to how it was.”
How could he not consider the offer? There she stood, all brunette and polished and pain free. He was tired of always being the one beaten to an inch of dusting. Always being the one who got the bloody hell tarred out of him for no real reason.
He raised bloodshot eyes, his vision a little cleared as he watched her, feeling a cough squeeze his throat dry as it hacked through his body. A tickle of amusement kept it lingering, spluttering through him until he’d coughed up a substantial amount of blood. When at last he looked up, she was staring at him with a nasty turned up nose and a look of revulsion on her face.
“Just what did I screw up, luv? Did the Whelp actually go through with the wedding this time?”
His amusement died with the tears that rose in her eyes. “No,” she sniffed. “He doesn’t even meet me. Things go really well with Cordelia, he never cheats with Willow and so they all live happily ever after. No vengeance wish, no Anyanka.”
“And what?” Spike gasped. “Now you want to give the boy ‘nother chance? Forget he humiliated you and take ‘im back?”
“Exactly,” she beamed through the tears, feeling at last that she was going to get what she wanted.
Spike felt remorse for ruining that part of Anya’s life, and he hung his head in dejection, knowing that there was nothing he could do.
“Wish I …no, not doing that. ‘S not possible, pet. Even if I could do it for you, help Buffy. Would be a disaster this time. If I leave, then unchipped Spike is hanging from this wall with an invulnerability ring in his gut.” Even as he remembered he could feel his wounds healing, a little slower than they’d been doing earlier in the night and he felt a rising fear that he was in for another round of torture. He was losing so much blood, replenishing none and undergoing bout after bout of beatings. Even the power of the ring was faltering when he had no strength to replace what he was losing with every cut, every open wound.
“An’ even if Peaches were too stupid to find the thing and take it, an invulnerable Spike to this Buffy would be too strong for her. This chit wouldn’t be expecting me to turn on ‘er. An’ worst case scenario, the poof does get it. My girl will need someone on her side to fight him.”
He was arguing against the angry stomp of her foot, the selfishness of both the demon and the girl that wanted Xander—if not to punish then to love. But then her eyes softened and she conceded his point, knew that she was defeated and Xander would never again be hers.
“Well, well, well. Looks like we have a little visitor. What can we do about this, Ethan?”
The little man—finally finding his feet in this outfit—clicked his fingers and found his hand filled with the glittering pendant formerly around Anyanka’s neck.
“Why, how pretty,” he commented even as Anya’s face drained of colour and her eyes were riveted to her missing necklace, hand clawing uselessly at her neck.
“How?”
“Luck of the draw I guess, petal.” His grin was filled with malice, even though he had no knowledge of who she was, only what she was. With one seemingly callous moment of clumsiness, the stone fell from his fist and his heel slammed down on the gem, fragmenting the solidness and letting it flash away its power.
Their was a gasp of outrage as Anya once again felt the frailty of humanity take her body over and Spike braced himself against the end of his wish, his brave new world, and being shuttled back into a world where he was hated. He closed his eyes against the swirling haze of dissipating vengeance.
Silence greeted his ears and it took minutes and many tears sliding down his cheeks before he found the courage to open them, not once connecting that his body was still strained within the metallic prison of chains. Once his wet lashes parted and he could see his captors watching him with rising fury, he succumbed once again to confusion.
“Pet, thought you wanted me to take back the wish? Wouldn’t that mean that you hadn’t granted anymore since mine?”
Even in the face of danger, she huffed. “Yesss,” she hissed. “But I did, and then I had to strike a deal with Hoffy about reversing it, except now I’m stuck, aren’t I?”
“And now you’re food, little girl. Tie the useless bitch to the wall. Spikey can eat her once we convince him that he’s on the wrong side.”
Anya’s fear induced whimpers was the only thing to replace the snarl of thwarted vengeance from Angelus’s lips, and with a cold grin he kicked Spike in the side and left his minions to do as he’d ordered. Ethan followed behind, his disappointment clear by the slump of his shoulders and the slowness of his step. For the first time since being captured, Spike smirked and spat at their parting entourage.
“Fuck you, Angelus. I’d rather dust than eat the demon bird. She’s quality stuff, unlike what you usually drum up to eat.”
When none turned back to challenge his fighting words, he sighed in relief. Just what he didn’t need was for the raving poof to go all competitive and eat the girl in front of him. No, for now they were left alone and Spike slumped against the metal cuffs around his wrists.
“What now?” Anya whispered, fear heavy in her voice.
“Now we’re well and truly buggered.”
And as Anya took in his not so sexy remaining wounds, she couldn’t help but agree. They were definitely that word. Well and truly. And screwed, too. She was going for screwed.
“On the plus side, if we get out of here you’ll get to knock Harris’s socks off. But no shagging under my roof. Got it?”
“Oh, absolutely. But how about your car?”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
As Harris luck would have it, he’d rounded one corner with his sword outstretched and run into a crowd of feuding vamps. His feet had moved faster than he thought possible to get away, feeling that pit of dread in his belly as he felt the light pursuing footsteps intent on hunting him down. Completely non-Xander luck had them pass him by as he crouched under a discarded pile of boxes.
Once they’d left, he’d been slow to surrender the hiding spot, not even once wondering why they’d not been able to trace his fear or hear his thundering heartbeat. They were gone and it was all that mattered. All he’d let himself concentrate on.
One block from Giles’ place and he stumbled upon another group of vamps, this time already feeding and throwing between them the body of a man who’d once held life in his hands. There was no argument within Xander to take again to a hiding spot, and as the vamps got comfy around where he was hidden, he allowed himself to get comfortable, hoping he could soon calm himself enough that they’d not even know he was there.
It seemed to work as he slowly drifted off, lulled by the feral growls outside as the vamps swelled to a gathering and entertained themselves. He had no hope against such a number and had nothing to do but sleep. He was stuck; unable to kill those that threatened his existence and prevented him from seeking help to save Spike. He was so consumed with panic and fear he could think of nothing else to do but hide within himself, and for Xander that meant succumbing to sleep.
And hide he did, oblivious to the roar of vamp jealousies and challenges around him.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Giles dropped Buffy off at Spike’s place just as dawn was breaking through the sky. She stopped at the front entrance to the building and just took stock of what all this meant. She wouldn’t be meeting him as the Slayer who’d overheard about his wish that catapulted himself into her impressionable youth. She wouldn’t be the Slayer who had fucked him into oblivion for the majority of their fling, even as she turned her back and denied him his outlet of love.
She was both, yet neither.
A new Buffy that had the enthusiastic flush of youth and inexperience that allowed Spike to steal her heart, as well as the wizened, twice dead and damaged Buffy that had now merged with the one with lesser pain. She was filled with verve for life, filled with understanding and tolerance, and most of all, love. She was freer than she had ever been in her own existence.
Two whole, completely different Buffys now existing in one body, yet merged in a way that made her the same. And she was completely in love with Spike. All parts of her. The relief of knowing this finally had her almost crawling through the door, had her heart thumping with the anticipation of their first kiss. The hope that he would notice the change and see the acceptance from his abuser. Recognise the Buffy he had escaped from in making that wish, but who she secretly hoped he’d missed despite having this Buffy fall for him and offer everything she’d always been too afraid to.
Her feet hardly felt the stairs as her desire carried her all the way up, happiness still clinging to her body even though she was forced to come to a swift stop when she found his missing doorway, the barrier now in pieces on the floor inside the apartment.
The chill that overwhelmed her was colder than the desert air she had just escaped. Penetrated deep into her bones so that she feared nothing could ever make her warm if it wasn’t encased in black leather and had fingers dangling out the end of the sleeves. Experienced Buffy felt the well of doom as it curled in her belly and tears gathered in her eyes as she begged she wasn’t too late. Whatever had happened, let it be anything but too late. She couldn’t come to her senses only to miss her chance.
And where was Xander? Was he safe? She stepped over the demolished front door and felt her breath catch in her throat. She blocked out the splattering of blood over the frame and in the hallway as she looked for signs of hope. She found it in the open weapon’s bag Spike kept near the couch. That had to be good, right?
It gave her a place to start. An understanding that whatever it was that had done this damage, she needed more than her bare hands to protect herself and fight the evil. Falling to her knees in a desperate speed induced by panic, Buffy swept most of the weapons aside. Nothing felt right; nothing fell into her hand like it was meant to be there. She felt restless and tingly with the need to grab and slash, but what could she do if it wasn’t right?
Buffy could feel a hum around her as she stood again in the middle of the room, the furniture swirling around her in an escalating pace until she fell sideways, grabbing her head even as she collapsed on the couch. The weakness disappeared almost as suddenly as her palm brushed against something hard and cold. She gasped as her fingers tingled and her palm burned against the metal, even as her hand curled around it and pulled the sword from its hasty cover of cushions.
It made her feel euphoric, more confident than she’d ever been. She felt invulnerable, powerful. She felt like the Slayer in need of her mate. And that thought brought back all the fear that had hit her as soon as she‘d gained the top of the stairs.
“Spike.” She could barely push his name through lips gone stiff with terror.
She’d felt this before, this numbing panic that she wouldn’t be able to do anything, despite who she was.
Dawn.
Her baby sister being taken by Glory and Buffy’s all-consuming fear that she’d killed her own flesh and blood by not being able to protect her. Deep in her gut she knew that this was all down to Angelus. Her former had taken her lover and gifted him to his insane ex. Buffy couldn’t let them win, couldn’t let them take away the one man who truly did love her. The one man that had healed her heart and been there for her when everyone else hadn’t been.
The power of the sword surged through her again, like a reminder it was there, the simple jewel pattern that adorned it sparkling even in the dark. It gave movement to her feet and she felt herself move with determination to the door, then through it and down the stairs, back into the receding night.
First, she had to get to Giles and find out what happened about the soul restoration spell and Jenny, then it was on to save her lover. Save her vampire. His new classification made both incarnations of Buffy smile. Even as the damage from resurrected Buffy had faded with the merge, those memories had lingered and made her smile more difficult to utilise. But it was Spike, and knowing that he was hers, theirs, deserved the biggest smile she could come up with.
All he had to do was hold on and wait. She was coming for him.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He’d blocked it all out. The cackling of his evil ex got on his nerves in a way that had never happened to him before, and as she giggled away while Angelus tore out throat after throat of a multitude of victims lined against the wall, all stripped naked so he could cut them, fuck them, make them bleed and scream in the way cowards like best, Spike closed his eyes and ears and tried to think of Buffy.
He felt sick. This had been him, only a few years ago. Maybe not to the degree of torture and depravity, but he’d fed from humans for over a century. The thought of it now, of treating people in the way Angelus was right in front of him, made him want to lose everything in his stomach. That in itself said a lot as he hadn’t eaten for days.
Only blood—crimson strength that had steadily vacated his body with every slice, despite the almost immediate healing. He was back to looking pretty, but it was his heart that hurt now. Hurt for the pain this would have on his Slayer, the knowledge that even if she now hated him she would still march to the rescue, if only to take out Angel. And Spike was past defending the poof. He’d been just as vicious when he’d lost his soul in Spike’s original timeline, but being still evil and consigned to the status of invalid, Spike had hardly batted an eye. Now he knew intimately the beating hearts that his sire and grandsire were eager to snuff out with a well placed bite.
Anya was crying silently along beside him, no doubt counting the minutes down of her life.
“You won’t really eat me, will you, Spike?”
He looked at her, incredulous that she could even think what the great walloping wanker had threatened was true.
“O’ course I bloody well will. You’re a right tasty looking bint. ‘Sides, your continuous yapping about getting me to take back a wish THAT WASN’T EVEN BLEEDING WELL POSSIBLE is what got me in this mess in the first place. That neck of yours deserves a good chew.”
He slumped back on the wall and hung his head in irritated defeat. Who was he trying to kid? He wasn’t even fierce enough to scare the willies out of a dog these days. Still, he took comfort in Harris’s demon bird’s sniffles as she took his bravado to heart.
“Oh God, I’m going to die and I didn’t even get to have one more orgasm with Xander. He’ll go on living having many, many horrible orgasms with Cordelia because Buffy will kill Angel and Cordelia won’t take off for fame and fortune in LA. Which you know is code for her being a loser and ending up working for Angel, don’t you?”
For a moment Spike was amused. “Yeah, code. Sure. That’s what it was.” His chuckle came to a painful end as he felt nails dig into his gut, the skin parting in screaming pain as more blood flowed between Drusilla’s delving fingers. It was too much like Glory, and hurt as much of a bitch as that time.
“Dru! Get your dirty claws out of me, you bitch,” he hissed at her, too overcome with tearing pain to do anything with more impact
“Oh tut tut, you bad dog. Miss Edith said you were all shiny inside. She whispered it to me while I poured her tea, but she was too excited about seeing you sparkle to drink.” Dru pouted at him, her fingers twitching as they searched blind.
He felt her fingers latch onto the curve of the ring, tug it from the gristle of muscle tissue and blood that held it safe no longer. It tore as it left him and he could feel the overwhelming pain as his insides were ruined, treated like he was just meat on a hook to carve and form in whichever way was needed.
Dru giggled as she stepped away, leaving her childe hanging limply as wounds that had almost healed broke open and began to bleed again to the floor.
“Daddy, I’ve found it. My Spike thought it was hidden but Miss Edith could see behind his lies. He must be punished, grrrrr.”
Angelus snatched the ring impatiently from Dru’s hand and slid it over his big beefy finger. There it sat, a green jewel that glowed for its new owner.
“How did it go, William? Can walk in the sun, can’t be killed? I think I’m gonna love getting to know the world in the daylight. Far more little brats out and about. Succulent and the fear….oh, but a vamp can’t help but love the fear.”
“You truly are a sick fuck.”
Angelus stared at Spike hard, surprise completely taking over his distracted enjoyment of his new prize.
“Well, yeah. Is your demon defective or something? It’s what we do, William. What we are.”
“It’s Spike, you pillock, and I’ll never be like you. Only a raving lunatic could be as cowardly and cruel as you are, and you’ve already got her hanging off your every word.”
A grin of pure malice curled the thin lips belonging to Angelus as he caressed the ring before drawing back his fist and punching Spike hard in the chest. The hurting vamp grunted as he slumped heavier in his chains, almost feeling the indentation of his smashed ribcage. Then a handful of his hair was twisted hard, almost springing free of his scalp as he strained his head to follow the pulling action of his captor.
“’Bout time you remember who your family is, Boy. I’ve no time for your idiot word games. We’ll torture this love crap out of you yet. That’ll make Dru happy to have her baby boy back.” Angelus released Spike’s hair with a final thrust forward, smashing his grandchilde’s skull into the wall behind him. He walked away as Spike began to cough up blood, his body trembling against the abuse.
Dru stepped up and let her nails wander over the flesh of his chest, giggling all the while as blood beaded on his skin and began to flow.
“Let him go, you crazy bitch.” Anya swallowed hard as the brunette did let go of her prize catch and diverted her attention to the new girl.
“Foolish girls can easily lose their tongues.” Dru clicked hers at the again ex-demon before swirling her skirts like a child as she spun before them, stopping suddenly and skipping after her daddy.
“Not wise to put yourself in the firing line, pet. You bleed now. Try’n remember that, yeah?”
Anya nodded, even as her tears began to flow anew and she waited again for the inevitable—her time to die. In the time between when Spike disappeared in the eyes of the Scoobies and when he began to change the timeline, she’d seen Tara die and things go to hell. It had been days, and then things began to change, but still, that feeling of death was too fresh. She’d been there when they’d all mourned the passing of Joyce, and then so soon after Buffy, and now she couldn’t help but feel like it was her turn and what had she done? Got herself stranded in a world that didn’t know her. With a Xander that didn’t love her as well as think her a stranger.
She had no one to mourn her human existence.
She would die most likely, and no one would care.
“I’d care, luv. Don’t fret. We’ll get out of this somehow.”
Anya blanched as Spike spoke through his dribbling blood, but she smiled at the sentiment, only realising with his affirmation that she wouldn’t be a nothing when dead that she’d spoken her fears aloud.
And who could blame her for clinging to his suggestion of rescue? It was all she had in this time. She was going to hold onto that hope with both hands.
And pray for Buffy’s swift arrival.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you so much for all those wonderful reviews. You guys are unbelievable. This is almost over so Ic an't express enough the support you have given me in writing this. I hope you enjoy this chap too.