A Better Thing I Do…. remainder
Hi me again! Apparently for some people, including me, the text stops two thirds of the way through the story. So here is the bit that goes up to the end. Perhaps this will also answer one or two questions that have been asked!
A Better Thing I Do. (continuation)
"Bloody magic! You know I don't trust it. Hang on a minute - "
There was a loud crackling sound and Spike's swearing viciously and for one glorious moment, Buffy was back in his Sunnydale crypt, lying naked on the red velvet bed in the lower crypt on an evening when he'd been trying to get one particular channel on his stolen television.
Then there was a rumbling and in the rock wall opposite, a small glowing silver circle appeared and spread in waves until it covered several feet. And standing there, gazing at her, was Spike.
His gaze ate her up, remembering their last days together, the disbelief that he couldn't go to her when he'd come back to life in L.A., the stupid sense of betrayal at her actions in Italy. And there she was, looking slim, elegant and - different in some way. But still his Buffy, his Slayer, the girl for whom he would cheerfully dust himself if she asked. But he couldn't tell her that now. Their relationship had to be equal. He had to find some pride, some protection against her power otherwise he'd be lost forever again. And so…. "Bloody hell, Slayer, you look frozen half to death! And what the heck have you done to your hair?"
Buffy swallowed back the words of love she'd been about to blurt out, forced her voice to be cool and off-hand. But it was Spike! The man she'd dreamed about, ached for, cried out for in the dark of the night when it seemed she could not go on alone. Apart from another scar across his other eyebrow, he looked just the same; black leather coat, platinum hair, heavy boots. But of course, he would, she realised: it was only her who'd aged. To a vampire the time that had passed since they last met was nothing but a blink of an eye.
"Nice to see you, too, Spike. Thought you were long dead and everything."
"A few poxy months? And you've been busy with the Immortal and all your Italian friends. Didn't like to interrupt the dolce vita."
Buffy wondered vaguely why he was talking about cheese but then the impact of what he was saying shot home. "Spike, you've been gone years, not months! I'm nearly thirty-four. It's Christmas Day in England. I should be patrolling. Oh, by the way, Dawn's married; remember my sister, tall girl, long dark hair? Cried when you died. Well, she's got a little boy. You obviously didn't care enough to keep in touch."
"Christmas? Thirty-four?" Spike tried to take a step forward, but the silver circle held him fast. So that was why she looked different. His Slayer was no longer a girl; she was a woman, a cold-voiced, cold-eyed one at that. And he'd pulled her away from her Christmas celebrations.
For a moment Buffy could have sworn he looked shocked, devastated, unsure of his next words. She forced herself not to feel sorry for him. Wherever he'd been, he hadn't cared enough to get in contact with her. So much for love that would never die! So much for her being a hell of a woman. His woman.
"I'm sorry about it being Christmas. So Dawn's got a sprog? How? Who?"
"How was the usual way, I imagine," Buffy replied dryly. "And the father is her husband. A very nice Watcher called Mark. They live out in Australia."
"Dawn married an Aussie! Does he play cricket?"
Buffy waved a hand impatiently. "I don't know - yes, I think he does but Spike, that's not important. Why did you call me here? And, are you alive or just a ghost? And is Angel with you?"
This time she could tell that her words had found their mark. "Oh great, Slayer. Don't bother asking how I survived the Apocalypse - and, let me tell you, I ended up saving your former lover from being eaten by a sodding great dragon thing - just worry about him, like always."
"I never worried about Angel, you clown! I worried about you. You died. You were gone and then, oh look, you're back, living in L.A. and then oh look, you're gone again!" Buffy realised she was shouting, her anger bubbling to the surface. It was odd but in all the dreams and fantasies she'd had over the past years about meeting Spike again, she'd never shouted at him, never lost her temper. There had been passionate kisses and mad, wonderful sex and words of love and tenderness. But in reality, of course, he'd managed to annoy her effortlessly in several different ways in about five minutes flat.
Spike frowned. "Had no choice, Buffy, about the last going. End of the world, demons, dragons, we saved humanity. And then…."
"Not interested! I so have been there before you. You're talking to someone who's died more than once, remember."
"I remember helping you recover the last time. We were - I thought we were - close."
Buffy shut her eyes as a wave of pain and frustration and plain anger swept over her again. Close! Was that what he called it, that feeling of completing a circle, being a partner in a relationship that defied logic, sense and every Slayer principle under the sun? And before she could stop herself, the question that had haunted her over all these years, the words that she thought of last thing at night and first thing in the morning, blurted out. "Why did you tell me I didn't love you?"
They were back in another cave, this time one of death and fire, demons and fear, their hands bound by flames.
"Thought you didn't. Thought you were just pretending, to be nice to the vamp who was about to be dusted."
Buffy took a swift step forward, aching to punch him on the nose, to inflict pain in as many ways as she could. "That's nonsense. I know what it was. You were going all Sydney Carton on me."
"Dickens, Buffy? Really, Dickens?"
Buffy shrugged her shoulders reminding herself to be angry later at the incredulity in his voice. "I've had time to catch up on reading since - well, since." And she would never tell him that the Dickens book had been jammed under her computer table to steady it until recently when she'd read it out of boredom. "And I know exactly what I mean. You went all "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." You were playing the hero, Spike. You thought telling me I didn't love you would, what?, help me move on? Make losing you easier? Well, it didn't. It just made me sick to think you died believing that. But you didn't die, did you?"
Spike ignored the question; even in the darkness of the cave she could see his eyes gleaming. "So you did love me?"
Buffy bit back the one word that longed to escape, shrugged and said, "Oh Spike, that's a long time ago."
"Just a few months for me, Slayer. And no matter how many years pass, it wouldn't make any difference to the way I feel about you."
Buffy felt the first pulse of warmth zing through her body - heat she hadn't felt for such a long time. But she fought it. No way was she going down that road again. Admit to Spike that she still loved him and she'd be lost forever.
There was a silence, broken only by the sound of dripping water. Buffy realised her feet were freezing and wished she wasn't wearing smart, fashionable boots that were soaking up moisture like a sponge. "So, why did you call me here, Spike? I mean, you were trying to reach me the other evening but when I got here, you'd gone."
"It's complicated."
Buffy sighed: she could still feel the shock-waves of seeing him alive racing through her body. She wanted to touch him so badly she could taste it. "Spike, I'm freezing. Let's go sit in the car. It's dark outside; you'll be OK."
Spike shook his head. "I can't come any further, pet. This is the threshold."
"Threshold of what?"
"Here and there, where you are."
Impulsively, she reached out to touch him but stopped as he shouted. "No, Slayer. Don't touch anything. Not till I've explained."
"OK, so not touching. It's obviously magic. Life might be a bit slow these days, but I recognise that when I see it."
"Is life that slow? Sounds bloody boring. And how many years have passed? That's bollocks."
"It's fine. I lead a perfectly happy, fulfilled existence. I have friends, family and a useful job."
"Job? Slaying isn't a job! You mean Giles pays you now? Hey, is he still alive? Or have you got a new Watcher?"
"No, of course not. Giles is in very good health for his age. And he doesn't pay me, not directly. But there's some sort of Watcher fund he uses to keep us afloat. Look, Spike, what the heck is going on? You've been gone for years and now you're using some sort of magic to come back."
Spike shook his head: he'd not realised until this second how difficult this meeting was going to be. What was harder - seeing her or not seeing her? Both caused pain beyond belief. "Not coming back, pet. Would if I could, but I can't. This - this border place is the best I can do. Listen, Slayer, I didn't understand. I got my hands on this magic device - was told it could contact you. I thought just a few months had passed, guessed you might be angry with me but when I explained, you might have some ideas, some plan."
Buffy closed her eyes. Why couldn't he be more explicit? "Spike! Keeping very calm here, but it isn't easy. What should I have ideas about? And why didn't you realise you've been gone for years?"
"Time must pass at a different rate where we are now."
"And that is?"
"Well, it's Sunnydale, of course, pet."
"Don't call me pet and - what!" Buffy felt the cave whirl around her. "Sunnydale's long gone. They built a sort of amusement park on the remains. I hate it. Mom's grave buried under a water-ride. She hated rides."
"It is Sunnydale, well, one version of it. An alternate reality, I suppose. Angel understands all that crap, even if I don't."
"Angel's with you?"
Spike was silent for such a long time that she wondered if he'd heard her - then, "Well, he's here, but - look Slayer, I'm dealing with Angel, he's not the problem."
"Dealing…? OK, moving on, what is the problem?"
Spike glanced over his shoulder, back into the silver mist that was still circling around him. "We need a Slayer. We need you, Buffy."
She laughed, suddenly, harshly. "Jeez, Spike, two vampires, even ones with souls, so do not need a Slayer."
He shook his head. "Sunnydale's a different place in our world. No Slayer around and over-run with vamps and demons: and there's evil here, Buffy. Real, sick evil. I can taste it, but I can't find it."
"So - you do want me - but just to come and clean up for you? Oh, do I feel loved!"
Spike stared across the cave at the woman who still held him in thrall. She looked so different - even thinner, if that was possible, but no longer a young woman. Her hair was scraped back from her face so tightly that the skin gleamed on her temples. He could see that her clothes were different, too: expensive, elegant, there was no way he could see her fighting vamps and demons in that tight skirt and boots with high heels. But none of that mattered. He still loved her, heart and nearly new soul. She would never know what he'd promised to get his hands on this magic device so he could speak to her, beg her, if necessary.
"You are loved: you just won't admit it. Look, Buffy, I'm sorry, I realise it's a big thing I'm asking. I didn't know about Christmas or Dawn having a baby or that so much bloody time has passed. I suppose I reckoned that with all the Potentials around, you might be bored."
"And would drop everything just to come and help you?"
Spike shook his head. "No, I'm not that big-headed, pet. But you're still the best Slayer I've ever known in all my unlife. And isn't that what Slayers do - battle demons, kill vamps, follow where the mission leads?"
"And your mission for me apparently leads to stepping into a silver circle in the wall of a cave! Spike - this is ridiculous. Listen, you must have a Slayer in your new world. She probably just hasn't arrived in Sunnydale yet. Hey, she might be another Faith. You'll enjoy that."
"So you won't help?"
Buffy bit her lip at the surprise and sorrow in his voice, fighting against every instinct that was forcing her forward. Of course she wasn't going to leave her family, her friends and life here to travel to an alternate reality and become the only Slayer once more. How ridiculous of him to even ask. OK, he hadn't realised she had a life of her own, but now he did. She was a sensible, cool-headed woman of thirty-three. Not an impulsive teenager, ready to take a chance, leap into any emergency, stake in hand.
"Spike - it's impossible. I can't just walk away from everything here. I have responsibilities."
The vampire shuddered as he felt the magic holding him in place begin to shift and quiver. He gazed at Buffy, surprised to discover that he felt a surge of pity for her. She looked - cold, lonely, lost, but bloody hell, he had no right to put any more pressure on her. She'd said no and that was that; he'd just have to cope with Angel and Sunnydale on his own, and as she said, perhaps there was a nice new Slayer on her way at this very moment. But how could he say goodbye, knowing that this was the very last time he would see her, speak to her? The temptation was overwhelming - to step forward out of the circle, to hold her in his arms one more time, kiss her, pull her hair down out of that ridiculous style and run his fingers through it. But he knew even as he felt his feet shifting in that direction that there were too many lives depending on him returning and once he was through the circle, there would be no going back.
"OK, Buffy. Don't worry about it. Look, I've got to go - I don't want to be spliced in several pieces by this portal shutting on me. Say hi to Dawnie for me and Giles, if you think he'd want to hear! Oh and Buffy - "
"Yes?" She could hardly get the word out.
"Have a good Christmas, pet! Be happy." He forced a grin - "Hey, be happy, so that one of us is happy!" And raising his hand in farewell, he stepped backwards into the silver mist that swirled around him until he vanished.
"Merry Christmas, Spike," she whispered, watching the shifting light playing across the cave wall. And the heart she thought she'd mended and locked carefully away, woke up and broke all over again. He'd gone and she hadn't even managed to touch him. Pain rocketed through her and she wrapped her arms tightly around her body to hold herself upright.
She headed towards the cave mouth, then hesitated - outside this cave life would go on as drearily as before. Despite what she'd said to Spike, if she walked away now, no one would care. She'd long ago faced the problem that she wasn't necessary to anyone any more. New Slayers controlled the vampire world, Dawn had Mark and Stephen, Giles and the rest of her friends would worry for a few days, then move on with their lives. What did she have?
The answer was there - bright and shining - she had only two certainties in her life - her love for Spike and her mission as a Slayer. And Spike wanted her. Whether he truly loved her or not, she still didn't know, but she loved him and that was all that mattered. And in a split second the cautious, older, careful Buffy who'd built wall upon wall of protection from her emotions vanished. She tugged the clips out of her hair and shook it down round her shoulders and grabbing the edge of her skirt, she tore it up past her knees.
This was Christmas Day, a time for new beginnings. Pulling a stake from her purse, she took a chance, a deep breath and leapt through the slowly fading silver circle, following her man and her mission.
ends.
A Better Thing I Do. (continuation)
"Bloody magic! You know I don't trust it. Hang on a minute - "
There was a loud crackling sound and Spike's swearing viciously and for one glorious moment, Buffy was back in his Sunnydale crypt, lying naked on the red velvet bed in the lower crypt on an evening when he'd been trying to get one particular channel on his stolen television.
Then there was a rumbling and in the rock wall opposite, a small glowing silver circle appeared and spread in waves until it covered several feet. And standing there, gazing at her, was Spike.
His gaze ate her up, remembering their last days together, the disbelief that he couldn't go to her when he'd come back to life in L.A., the stupid sense of betrayal at her actions in Italy. And there she was, looking slim, elegant and - different in some way. But still his Buffy, his Slayer, the girl for whom he would cheerfully dust himself if she asked. But he couldn't tell her that now. Their relationship had to be equal. He had to find some pride, some protection against her power otherwise he'd be lost forever again. And so…. "Bloody hell, Slayer, you look frozen half to death! And what the heck have you done to your hair?"
Buffy swallowed back the words of love she'd been about to blurt out, forced her voice to be cool and off-hand. But it was Spike! The man she'd dreamed about, ached for, cried out for in the dark of the night when it seemed she could not go on alone. Apart from another scar across his other eyebrow, he looked just the same; black leather coat, platinum hair, heavy boots. But of course, he would, she realised: it was only her who'd aged. To a vampire the time that had passed since they last met was nothing but a blink of an eye.
"Nice to see you, too, Spike. Thought you were long dead and everything."
"A few poxy months? And you've been busy with the Immortal and all your Italian friends. Didn't like to interrupt the dolce vita."
Buffy wondered vaguely why he was talking about cheese but then the impact of what he was saying shot home. "Spike, you've been gone years, not months! I'm nearly thirty-four. It's Christmas Day in England. I should be patrolling. Oh, by the way, Dawn's married; remember my sister, tall girl, long dark hair? Cried when you died. Well, she's got a little boy. You obviously didn't care enough to keep in touch."
"Christmas? Thirty-four?" Spike tried to take a step forward, but the silver circle held him fast. So that was why she looked different. His Slayer was no longer a girl; she was a woman, a cold-voiced, cold-eyed one at that. And he'd pulled her away from her Christmas celebrations.
For a moment Buffy could have sworn he looked shocked, devastated, unsure of his next words. She forced herself not to feel sorry for him. Wherever he'd been, he hadn't cared enough to get in contact with her. So much for love that would never die! So much for her being a hell of a woman. His woman.
"I'm sorry about it being Christmas. So Dawn's got a sprog? How? Who?"
"How was the usual way, I imagine," Buffy replied dryly. "And the father is her husband. A very nice Watcher called Mark. They live out in Australia."
"Dawn married an Aussie! Does he play cricket?"
Buffy waved a hand impatiently. "I don't know - yes, I think he does but Spike, that's not important. Why did you call me here? And, are you alive or just a ghost? And is Angel with you?"
This time she could tell that her words had found their mark. "Oh great, Slayer. Don't bother asking how I survived the Apocalypse - and, let me tell you, I ended up saving your former lover from being eaten by a sodding great dragon thing - just worry about him, like always."
"I never worried about Angel, you clown! I worried about you. You died. You were gone and then, oh look, you're back, living in L.A. and then oh look, you're gone again!" Buffy realised she was shouting, her anger bubbling to the surface. It was odd but in all the dreams and fantasies she'd had over the past years about meeting Spike again, she'd never shouted at him, never lost her temper. There had been passionate kisses and mad, wonderful sex and words of love and tenderness. But in reality, of course, he'd managed to annoy her effortlessly in several different ways in about five minutes flat.
Spike frowned. "Had no choice, Buffy, about the last going. End of the world, demons, dragons, we saved humanity. And then…."
"Not interested! I so have been there before you. You're talking to someone who's died more than once, remember."
"I remember helping you recover the last time. We were - I thought we were - close."
Buffy shut her eyes as a wave of pain and frustration and plain anger swept over her again. Close! Was that what he called it, that feeling of completing a circle, being a partner in a relationship that defied logic, sense and every Slayer principle under the sun? And before she could stop herself, the question that had haunted her over all these years, the words that she thought of last thing at night and first thing in the morning, blurted out. "Why did you tell me I didn't love you?"
They were back in another cave, this time one of death and fire, demons and fear, their hands bound by flames.
"Thought you didn't. Thought you were just pretending, to be nice to the vamp who was about to be dusted."
Buffy took a swift step forward, aching to punch him on the nose, to inflict pain in as many ways as she could. "That's nonsense. I know what it was. You were going all Sydney Carton on me."
"Dickens, Buffy? Really, Dickens?"
Buffy shrugged her shoulders reminding herself to be angry later at the incredulity in his voice. "I've had time to catch up on reading since - well, since." And she would never tell him that the Dickens book had been jammed under her computer table to steady it until recently when she'd read it out of boredom. "And I know exactly what I mean. You went all "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." You were playing the hero, Spike. You thought telling me I didn't love you would, what?, help me move on? Make losing you easier? Well, it didn't. It just made me sick to think you died believing that. But you didn't die, did you?"
Spike ignored the question; even in the darkness of the cave she could see his eyes gleaming. "So you did love me?"
Buffy bit back the one word that longed to escape, shrugged and said, "Oh Spike, that's a long time ago."
"Just a few months for me, Slayer. And no matter how many years pass, it wouldn't make any difference to the way I feel about you."
Buffy felt the first pulse of warmth zing through her body - heat she hadn't felt for such a long time. But she fought it. No way was she going down that road again. Admit to Spike that she still loved him and she'd be lost forever.
There was a silence, broken only by the sound of dripping water. Buffy realised her feet were freezing and wished she wasn't wearing smart, fashionable boots that were soaking up moisture like a sponge. "So, why did you call me here, Spike? I mean, you were trying to reach me the other evening but when I got here, you'd gone."
"It's complicated."
Buffy sighed: she could still feel the shock-waves of seeing him alive racing through her body. She wanted to touch him so badly she could taste it. "Spike, I'm freezing. Let's go sit in the car. It's dark outside; you'll be OK."
Spike shook his head. "I can't come any further, pet. This is the threshold."
"Threshold of what?"
"Here and there, where you are."
Impulsively, she reached out to touch him but stopped as he shouted. "No, Slayer. Don't touch anything. Not till I've explained."
"OK, so not touching. It's obviously magic. Life might be a bit slow these days, but I recognise that when I see it."
"Is life that slow? Sounds bloody boring. And how many years have passed? That's bollocks."
"It's fine. I lead a perfectly happy, fulfilled existence. I have friends, family and a useful job."
"Job? Slaying isn't a job! You mean Giles pays you now? Hey, is he still alive? Or have you got a new Watcher?"
"No, of course not. Giles is in very good health for his age. And he doesn't pay me, not directly. But there's some sort of Watcher fund he uses to keep us afloat. Look, Spike, what the heck is going on? You've been gone for years and now you're using some sort of magic to come back."
Spike shook his head: he'd not realised until this second how difficult this meeting was going to be. What was harder - seeing her or not seeing her? Both caused pain beyond belief. "Not coming back, pet. Would if I could, but I can't. This - this border place is the best I can do. Listen, Slayer, I didn't understand. I got my hands on this magic device - was told it could contact you. I thought just a few months had passed, guessed you might be angry with me but when I explained, you might have some ideas, some plan."
Buffy closed her eyes. Why couldn't he be more explicit? "Spike! Keeping very calm here, but it isn't easy. What should I have ideas about? And why didn't you realise you've been gone for years?"
"Time must pass at a different rate where we are now."
"And that is?"
"Well, it's Sunnydale, of course, pet."
"Don't call me pet and - what!" Buffy felt the cave whirl around her. "Sunnydale's long gone. They built a sort of amusement park on the remains. I hate it. Mom's grave buried under a water-ride. She hated rides."
"It is Sunnydale, well, one version of it. An alternate reality, I suppose. Angel understands all that crap, even if I don't."
"Angel's with you?"
Spike was silent for such a long time that she wondered if he'd heard her - then, "Well, he's here, but - look Slayer, I'm dealing with Angel, he's not the problem."
"Dealing…? OK, moving on, what is the problem?"
Spike glanced over his shoulder, back into the silver mist that was still circling around him. "We need a Slayer. We need you, Buffy."
She laughed, suddenly, harshly. "Jeez, Spike, two vampires, even ones with souls, so do not need a Slayer."
He shook his head. "Sunnydale's a different place in our world. No Slayer around and over-run with vamps and demons: and there's evil here, Buffy. Real, sick evil. I can taste it, but I can't find it."
"So - you do want me - but just to come and clean up for you? Oh, do I feel loved!"
Spike stared across the cave at the woman who still held him in thrall. She looked so different - even thinner, if that was possible, but no longer a young woman. Her hair was scraped back from her face so tightly that the skin gleamed on her temples. He could see that her clothes were different, too: expensive, elegant, there was no way he could see her fighting vamps and demons in that tight skirt and boots with high heels. But none of that mattered. He still loved her, heart and nearly new soul. She would never know what he'd promised to get his hands on this magic device so he could speak to her, beg her, if necessary.
"You are loved: you just won't admit it. Look, Buffy, I'm sorry, I realise it's a big thing I'm asking. I didn't know about Christmas or Dawn having a baby or that so much bloody time has passed. I suppose I reckoned that with all the Potentials around, you might be bored."
"And would drop everything just to come and help you?"
Spike shook his head. "No, I'm not that big-headed, pet. But you're still the best Slayer I've ever known in all my unlife. And isn't that what Slayers do - battle demons, kill vamps, follow where the mission leads?"
"And your mission for me apparently leads to stepping into a silver circle in the wall of a cave! Spike - this is ridiculous. Listen, you must have a Slayer in your new world. She probably just hasn't arrived in Sunnydale yet. Hey, she might be another Faith. You'll enjoy that."
"So you won't help?"
Buffy bit her lip at the surprise and sorrow in his voice, fighting against every instinct that was forcing her forward. Of course she wasn't going to leave her family, her friends and life here to travel to an alternate reality and become the only Slayer once more. How ridiculous of him to even ask. OK, he hadn't realised she had a life of her own, but now he did. She was a sensible, cool-headed woman of thirty-three. Not an impulsive teenager, ready to take a chance, leap into any emergency, stake in hand.
"Spike - it's impossible. I can't just walk away from everything here. I have responsibilities."
The vampire shuddered as he felt the magic holding him in place begin to shift and quiver. He gazed at Buffy, surprised to discover that he felt a surge of pity for her. She looked - cold, lonely, lost, but bloody hell, he had no right to put any more pressure on her. She'd said no and that was that; he'd just have to cope with Angel and Sunnydale on his own, and as she said, perhaps there was a nice new Slayer on her way at this very moment. But how could he say goodbye, knowing that this was the very last time he would see her, speak to her? The temptation was overwhelming - to step forward out of the circle, to hold her in his arms one more time, kiss her, pull her hair down out of that ridiculous style and run his fingers through it. But he knew even as he felt his feet shifting in that direction that there were too many lives depending on him returning and once he was through the circle, there would be no going back.
"OK, Buffy. Don't worry about it. Look, I've got to go - I don't want to be spliced in several pieces by this portal shutting on me. Say hi to Dawnie for me and Giles, if you think he'd want to hear! Oh and Buffy - "
"Yes?" She could hardly get the word out.
"Have a good Christmas, pet! Be happy." He forced a grin - "Hey, be happy, so that one of us is happy!" And raising his hand in farewell, he stepped backwards into the silver mist that swirled around him until he vanished.
"Merry Christmas, Spike," she whispered, watching the shifting light playing across the cave wall. And the heart she thought she'd mended and locked carefully away, woke up and broke all over again. He'd gone and she hadn't even managed to touch him. Pain rocketed through her and she wrapped her arms tightly around her body to hold herself upright.
She headed towards the cave mouth, then hesitated - outside this cave life would go on as drearily as before. Despite what she'd said to Spike, if she walked away now, no one would care. She'd long ago faced the problem that she wasn't necessary to anyone any more. New Slayers controlled the vampire world, Dawn had Mark and Stephen, Giles and the rest of her friends would worry for a few days, then move on with their lives. What did she have?
The answer was there - bright and shining - she had only two certainties in her life - her love for Spike and her mission as a Slayer. And Spike wanted her. Whether he truly loved her or not, she still didn't know, but she loved him and that was all that mattered. And in a split second the cautious, older, careful Buffy who'd built wall upon wall of protection from her emotions vanished. She tugged the clips out of her hair and shook it down round her shoulders and grabbing the edge of her skirt, she tore it up past her knees.
This was Christmas Day, a time for new beginnings. Pulling a stake from her purse, she took a chance, a deep breath and leapt through the slowly fading silver circle, following her man and her mission.
ends.