l'androise blanc

Chapter Five: Set It Free

Spike held Buffy close until she fell asleep, then carefully extricated himself from her arms. He pulled on his coat and climbed to the top level of the crypt, leaving through the door to the cemetary.

Cooped up inside all day, it was refreshing to be out in the night air. Just this side of nippy, trees swaying a bit in a light wind, moon a shimmering bright sliver... it was really all so terribly romantic, and --

Spike shook off the sentimentality. Got a bleedin' job to do, he told himself. Best get it done with right quick.

He walked briskly toward the sidewalk when suddenly his feet were swept out from under him, and he landed on a slab of marble, letting out a groan of surprise and pain. Small, tight fists buried themselves in his hair and lifted his head an inch, only to drop it back down hard on the stone again.

"What the bleedin' --"

"Spike?!" The voice was incredulous, shrill, and very familiar.

He bounded to his feet and turned to face his attacker.

"Willow?" He stared at her. "Since when do you go out on patrols all by your..." He paused, frowning. Suddenly it dawned on him.

They were coming back. Slowly, like drips in a leaky faucet, but they were coming back. His memories. But there was something wrong with them, something off. As if everything were falling on him in twos and threes, the same events, but played out at different angles, different outcomes...

Willow looked confused. "Are... are you okay?" she asked tentatively. "I - I didn't mean to put the drop on you like that. I thought you were a vampire."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Thanks. Why don't you say you thought I was male, too, just shatter my fragile ego all the more."

She cringed. "Sorry, sorry, I mean, I thought you were a, you know, stake-able vampire. Which you're not. You're very not-to-be-staked." She nodded, then looked at him with a little pleading pout.

He chuckled. "Know what you mean, Red, 's fine. Though I'm surprised after all this time you haven't learned how to recognize me. Don't exactly blend in."

"I've been a little out of it today," she admitted. She began heading out of the cemetary, and he fell into step beside her.

"Question still remains, since when do you go out on patrols all by yourself, eh? Awful dangerous-like, even with the magic."

Willow shrugged. "Giles is busy tonight."

"Why don't you lot ring up Buffy, then?"

Willow stopped walking. "Buffy?"

"Yeahhhh," he said slowly, looking at her oddly. "Buffy. Blond thing, fond of boots with pointy heels... very fetching..."

Willow's face was blank.

"The Slayer?! You do know who I mean, eh?"

"Faith?" Willow asked. "She's in prison in LA. You know that."

Spike snorted. "I know no such sodding --" He paused. "Hang on. Yeah. I do know that." He remembered a night long past spotting Faith in the Bronze chatting with Angel. The image shifted, and it was Buffy. Faith. No...

He shook his head. "Somethin' appears to be all manner of fucked up, it does," he said quietly.

***

"You're saying reality has shifted somehow?"

Spike shrugged. "Don't know. Might just be me. Well, and her, too."

"That girl, Buffy," Tara said. "She came to the house today."

"She thinks she's Dawn's sister?" Willow asked.

Spike shut his eyes and sighed. "She is the bit's sister. Then again, Dawn never had a sister." He banged his fist on the table and stood up. "Bollocks, this day just keeps getting more and more nonsensical."

"And you're a vampire, but you're a good vampire?" Anya eyed him suspiciously.

"You've known me for three years, An," Spike informed her.

"I met you an hour ago."

"Right," he conceded. "Well, yeah, that too."

"You're getting memories from two different realities, then, is that it?" Giles asked.

"Seems so. I'm thinking the only thing what's different in the reality you lot are clingin' to right now is that there's no Buffy in it. Mucked a few other things up, that did. Anya and Harris didn't meet when they should've, witches are back together solid," Spike said, sitting down on the ladder to the upstairs stacks, "but the real problem's that the only Slayer you got's behind bars and all manner of ineffectual. Means next thing to rumble out from heaven or hell's not getting smited proper."

"So this girl, Buffy..." Xander began.

"She's the one you want. Chosen one, et cetera." He looked pointedly at Willow. "You did this," he said. "Think I know why, too, even if you don't recall. But one thing's for certain. You're bloody well going to fix it."

"Me?! Why do you think I did this?!"

"Got your name all over it, Will. Just... fix it." He got up again. "Comin' back with her in a few. Have this sussed out quick, or I damn well know a few blokes who wouldn't mind taking each and every one of you and ripping your sorry heads straight off." He disappeared through the basement door.

"Okay, suddenly very much not liking this new job," Xander said.

"If you resign now, you've still got to give me two weeks' notice," Giles said sternly. "I suggest you make yourself useful as we do research, or at the very least, do please shut up and dust something."

***

"Slayer?" Spike called. "Buffy?"

Buffy was roused from sleep at the sound of his voice. She sat up. "I'm here." He swept into the room, and she smiled. "You came back."

"Think I wouldn't?"

She shrugged.

"Told you I would get you answers, and I did." He shucked off his duster and climbed onto the bed beside her. "Lots and lots of answers."

She looked at him with hope laid bare, eyes wide, and it was then that it came to him: Buffy got her memory back, and she'd return to hating him. Swift kick in the head, punch in the jaw, stake pointed threateningly at his chest... that would be the extent of their contact if the spell were reversed.

But if it weren't reversed, the world might very well go straight to hell.

He took her hands in his, his eyes downcast. "Got my own memory back, you see..."

"You did? And - and you still remember me?!"

He nodded. "Remember you above all else. It seems I've been in love with you for a goodly long while."

She didn't say anything, he just felt her hand on his cheek, urging him to look at her. "I don't know what to --"

He pulled away. "Don't say anything, don't need a response. Your mind's rinsed out of all that rubbish. Everybody's working on turning the spell back 'round, gettin' it set all to rights again."

"When?"

"Just now. Soon. Whenever Willow can manage to figure it."

She leaned in and kissed him tenderly. "Is there enough time?" she whispered against his neck.

"We'll make time."

Gently, she helped him out of his clothes, and he assisted her in turn, then laid her back against the pillows. Covering her body with his, he propped himself up slightly on his wrists, just far enough not to crush her, still close enough to kiss her deeply, feel her warmth against him. Everything slow and languid, everything peaceful... he savored the last moments he'd share with her this way.

"Got to fly, luv," he told her after they'd curled together contentedly in the wake of bliss.

She nodded, then realized he looked almost close to tears. "What is it?"

"What you said before, this morning..." he replied. "Not precisely a rule against this sort of thing, but --"

As she had earlier, she smiled at him, openly, sweetly, with neither shame nor hatred clouding it. "I promise," she whispered. "I promise I'll come back."

Not after you remember, he thought, but it sure as hell was beautiful while it lasted.