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Dateline: 2001
The two pairs of lips slowly disengaged; one panting for much-needed the breath, the other curled in a satisfied smirk.
“Alright, Pet?”
The brunette collapsed back into the crumpled pillows, still coming down from the high of the night’s exertions. Well, not just the night. The night and most of the previous afternoon, if truth were told. He closed his eyes, savouring the memories when… “Oh fuck!”
“Again, Pet? Well, okay then, that’s not gonna be *too* much of a chore.” And the oh-so familiar chuckle. He felt the bed shift around him; someone was getting ready to pounce.
Tired lids flew open to meet the sparkling sapphires of an unflagging lover. *Lover*. Wow! But he just had to go and spoil it – “She’s gonna be angry. I have to go and talk to her.”
Another chuckle. He could definitely get used to hearing those more often. That is, when the lips in question weren’t pressing down sweet affirmations on his own.
Like now.
He melted into the offered embrace.
“Don’t worry about it Luv. After all, what’s the worst she can do?”
* * *
Thunderclouds rumbled and crashed above her as she stormed the streets of Sunnydale.
Or would have, if this weren’t southern California and she weren’t a helpless human. She missed being able to influence the weather with a thought. It just wasn’t the same stalking in the, albeit fading, sunshine.
“Good evening, Lady Anyanka.” The familiarity of the voice stopped in her tracks. She oriented on the sound, coming from a copse nearby.
A few paces forward, then a bow, though more out of past obligations than any true deference. “So, you haven’t found a replacement for me still.” It was a matter-of-fact statement.
D’Hoffryn stepped forward to greet the girl who had been his most favoured choice. Once upon a time.
“You have my condolences.”
“I don’t want your pity. I want vengeance. I want my powers back!”
The waning light glinted off his polished horns, as the demon considered his response. “The boy is a demon-magnet. You *should* have known that something like this was, ah, inevitable.”
“Men are fickle toads,” she spat. Her ire momentarily faded as flashes of the fond memories she had for the boy surfaced. “I thought he was different. I thought I could change him,” she whispered. The scowl was quickly resumed though. “Will you give me back my powers?” she demanded.
“Not yet.” He held a hand to forestall any whining or whatever her currently turbulent hormones might suggest she do. “I will give you your Wish, though. You have been scorned, you have the right.”
She paused to consider. The convoluted list of what she had once been capable of ran as litany through her mind once again. But she was too confused, too wrapped up in whatever emotions she still had left for him to go for something fun like evisceration.
“I wish…” she began falteringly, before steeling herself with a modicum of resolve. “I wish that Xander had never met Spike.” That way she still had a chance. Didn’t she?
“Done.” There was a small thunderclap and the sky went black.
* * *
Dateline: 1997
He knew that he had come here to observe. What he hadn’t quite figured on was that there would be two targets for his watchful gaze. He slowly made his way round the dance floor so as to gain a better vantage point, heavy boots lost in the swirling music. A brown-haired figure (Target #1) detached itself from the outskirts of the crowd and made its way over to a small table where two girls (Target #2) were sitting. Even with keen hearing he had to lean forward to catch what was said.
Xander: Guys, I'm all alone out there. Somebody has to dance with me.
Willow: Well, we are studying.
Xander: C'mon, one dance. You've been studying nearly twelve minutes.
Buffy: No wonder my brain's fried.
He smiled. This Slayer didn’t seem to be too keen on the book smarts. Not that they generally were, he mused. But a smart Slayer was an especially canny adversary. Any advantage he had, so much the better.
A few more moments of watching the trio gainfully trying to enjoy themselves, then he signalled to his companion at the bar. “Go get something to eat.” He watched his minion slip out, presumably to the alleyway behind the nightclub. He’d give him a few minutes then raise the ‘alarm’.
* * *
Spike winced in mock sympathy as Buffy was thrown heavily to the ground. “That’s gotta hurt,” he commented in a whispered chuckle.
Vampire: I don't need to wait for St. Vigeous. You're mine.
A shake of the head accompanied the sound of a swift boot to the face. “Moron,” was his sole comment. His hench-vamp staggered backwards, before casting about as if trying to locate something. Or someone.
Vampire: Spike! Gimme a hand!
The blond shook his head and folded himself deeper in the shadows. This Slayer may lack book learning but more than made up for in Slaying ability, even from what little he had seen. No need for him to get involved just yet.
He observed the boy duck back out and throw a stake to his friend who quickly administered it to the fallen minion. The three of them – ‘blonde’, brunette and redhead – hurried out the alley. Spike stepped forward and gazed at the scattered ash. “I like a challenge, I do,” he murmured gleefully.
* * *
“A Slayer with family and friends. That sure as hell wasn't in the brochure!” he spat as he threw a looted case in the trunk of his blacked out DeSoto. “Come on Dru luv. We’re getting out of here.” He paused to pat the large bundle that lay within before slamming the hatch down. “We got what we came for. We’ll find somewhere safer to get you stronger.”
He turned back to the town. “Then this town will really see what a party is.” He swung into the driver’s seat, revved the engine and sped off into the night, his Dark Princess by his side.
* * *
Dateline: 2001
Anya blinked. And shivered. The evening air was surprisingly chilly. Aside from that, there didn’t seem to be anything amiss. Reality appeared to be much the same as usual. She pondered on the thought that D’Hoffryn had actually pulled a cruel joke on her and done nothing.
She dismissed that though; he wouldn’t do that. Not to *her*. He took the vengeance game too seriously to do something like that. So, she reasoned, something must have changed. She would go and find her Xander and everything would be alright. As long as she could snuggle up in his arms once more, whatever was wrong with the world could be put to rights.
She wandered in the direction of their apartment building, idly trying to discern if anything was amiss with the world. Sure, the streets were a bit sparsely populated but then, this *was* Sunnydale, a town noted for its predisposition towards hazardous nocturnal activities. And it didn’t feel the same as when she had granted Cordelia’s Wish. The air wasn’t oppressive; fear wasn’t in charge here.
A flash of colour from a nearby pole caught her attention. Intrigued she walked over. And stopped, staring incredulously. She could hardly believe the face that stared back at her, an ingratiatingly charming, yet nervous, smile plastered across his features. Perplexed, she tore the flyer away and continued to stare at it. It was unbelievable.
Lost in musing over this strange turn of events, she suddenly registered that she had arrived outside the apartment that she shared with Xander. *Had* shared at any rate. It took a moment of fumbling in her pockets before she realised she had thrown them away in disgust at having walked in on them together. She shuddered – it was not a feeling she wished to experience again. Damn the boy for making her feel all fuzzy and warm, then shattering everything like that…
She took a deep breath, and rang the buzzer. “Just a moment,” called out a voice faintly from within. A *female* voice, Anya noticed.
“Er, can I help you?” Anya stared at the young lady in the fluffy pink bathrobe who stood before her.
“Umm, I’m looking for Xander? Xander Harris?” she asked, somewhat shocked. The blank look she got in return was partly reassuring. But then, she was still no closer to actually finding him.
“I’m sorry, there’s no-one of that name here, miss. You must have the wrong address.”
“Sure,” Anya mumbled. “Er. Sorry.” The word tasted unfamiliar on her lips; she was more used to hearing it from her Xander.
The lady gave her a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. I hope you find your friend.” The door closed, leaving a somewhat dejected ex-demon standing in the hallway. Well, there were still a few more avenues of enquiry that she could try. His parents’ house, Buffy or that witch. Or even… she stared down at the poster she clutched in her hand. Next stop: City Hall.
* * *
There was a light on in one of the conference rooms and she could just about make out some figures moving about in there. Probably a late meeting. If not she could always just try and bluff her way through. She remembered the age-old tactic about infiltration – act as if you belong there.
Head lowered, as if deep in thought, she strode determinedly through the revolving doors and into the main lobby of Sunnydale City Hall. Pausing only momentarily to get her bearing on the elevators, she moved towards them. Only to be halted by a restraining arm clad in blue.
“Sorry, authorised personnel only after hours,” started the security guard before looking up to meet her gaze. Great, she thought, thrown out before I’ve even begun my investigation. She could always say she was a friend, but she didn’t think that would really get her very far. Guards tended to be singularly single-minded on access issues.
“Oh, terribly sorry, Councillor. They’re expecting you in Conference Room 2 ma’am.”
Now this was definitely weird but far be it for her to pass up the opportunity. “Yes, right. Er, thank you.” She started towards the elevators again before she gave him any reason to change his mind.
She contemplated the situation on the ride up to the top floor. She was a councillor. That meant power and money, didn’t it? She smiled. At least things in this reality seemed to be going well for her. And once she found Xander, things would be super.
The ‘ding’ signalled arrival and she stepped out into the well-appointed corridor of the conference suites. She found room 2 and walked in, without bothering to knock. She was obviously expected or at least welcome. Probably.
“Surprise!”
Anya fairly leapt out of her skin at the bellowed greeting. Then, a babble as she was beset by people. Familiar faces all.
“Blast, wrong again. Do you think they’re actually coming back tonight?” The cultured tone and accent was unmistakeable.
“Don’t worry honey, I’m sure the flight’s just been delayed slightly.” Another familiar, motherly voice.
“Anya, glad you could make it. We weren’t sure if you were gonna be back from LA in time.” The sparkling tones of a socialite at heart.
“How was your trip?” A soft-spoken guy.
“Oi bint! Close the bloody door, we gotta get ready to go again.”
She spun round to face this last speaker. Someone she expected to be gone. Out of her life.
Then she saw the banner behind him. ‘Welcome home Xander and Willow!” it read. She looked back down into azure eyes that were regarding her with… it looked like suspicion. This was all too much. In a detached sense, she felt her eyes roll back in her head and fainted clean away.
The semi-crumpled poster slipped from her unresponsive fingers and drifted slowly to the carpet, revealing the words if not the photograph thereon – “Putting the ‘SUN’ back into Sunnydale – re-elect Giles in ‘01”
* * *
The insistent buzz of a cell phone roused her back to consciousness. Whereupon she found herself staring down the business end of a crossbow. A dark-haired girl stood next to her chair, where she seemed to have been moved following the faint.
“Who are you? What have you done with our Anya? You some kind of doppel-whatsit?”
“Er, Faith, there’s no need to be quite so antagonistic towards our… our… guest. Until we ascertain exactly who it is and whether a threat is posed.”
“Whatever, Watcher. But the bow stays ‘til I’m satisfied.”
“Giles, it’s me, Anya. You know, ex-vengeance demon and all,” she insisted, somewhat pleadingly given the proximity of a rather sharp bolt.
“So, where’s the scar?”
She looked at Faith, completely baffled. “Scar? What scar?”
Her left arm was seized none-too-gently by the Slayer, who ignored her protestation against the force. “The ‘real’ Anya has a long scar running up her arm from an attack with a Fyarl demon. No scar, therefore *not* Anya.” The smile that adorned the girl’s face was positively chilling. “So, ‘fess up or it’s no-Dodge City for you.”
Oh well, she was going to have to tell them the truth and hope that they accepted it. They’d faced weirder things than a simple Wish gone wrong. Again, another hope. After all, Willow’s attempts at magic had caused more serious problems. And then there was that business with Tara. Another thought struck her quickly – if Willow was gone then maybe those things hadn’t happened here. And Xander had gone away. Which meant that he wasn’t *here* with *her*. Another neuronal burst brought the thought that maybe he and *Willow* were together in this reality. She felt a tear escape the corner of her eye. Well, the truth it had to be. Short and to the point – no need to tell them more details than were necessary. Then maybe she could get some explanations of her own.
“Umm,” she began positively, still wary of the sharp object aimed at her. “Look, I’m from a different reality. I made a Wish and things changed.” She attempted to look at them sheepishly. And innocent. Above all, innocent.
Two questions flew out of the tension at her.
“Are we talking ‘wish’ like bizarro world with that skanky vampy Willow here?” This from a well-dressed, as ever, Cordelia. At least they were familiar with her work, she mused.
“I-I th-thought you said ‘ex-vengeance demon’?” The concerned, erudite words of Watcher-turned-Mayor Rupert Giles.
She nodded then spoke in reiteration. “Um, yes on both counts. I was… was scorned in my reality so D’Hoffryn gave me a Wish.” She looked apologetic. “But things don’t seem to have turned out too badly, right? I mean, you’re Mayor so no snake-Ascension-y thing. No world-ending apocalypse and we all have power. And money. We have money, right?”
She noted weary recognition pass across Giles’ features as he removed his glasses in that particularly British manner of his. Oz managed a faint smile even as he remarked, “That’s Anya all right.” In a somewhat surprising move, the sometime-werewolf placed his arms comfortingly around the Slayer and guided the crossbow to a less-threatening trajectory.
“I *hate* to break up this charming little inquisition and all but I believe we’re supposed to be on a schedule here.” Spike swaggered over. “Nibblet should have been here by now with the goods.”
“Spike, how many times do we have to tell you that people are not ‘goods’ and they tend to be a bit put out if you refer to them as such.”
The British blond rolled his eyes. “And how times do I have to tell *you* Watcher, that I’m a *vampire* - you lot are cattle to me. Or would be if I didn’t have this bloody controller in my brain.”
“So you’re still chipped then?” Anya managed to inquire.
“Oh great! Even in another reality I’m not good enough to stop them doing this. That’s just what a bloke wants to hear.” He stomped over to the drinks trolley.
Joyce decided to speak up at this point, from her position of hovering at Giles’ shoulder. “Spike does have a point,” she began, ignoring the snort from Faith, “We really should see if Dawn has picked them up safely. We don’t want any slip-ups with *his* henchmen.” Anya really didn’t like the emphasis that she detected on that word – were these Xander’s people she was talking about? Or perhaps someone else?
“Yes, you’re right dear.” Giles put his glasses back on. “As fascinating as this is, we have a party to finish and a prophecy to complete.” He turned to grasp Joyce close to him. “Then we can get back to being a family again.” Joyce buried her head in his shoulder and began to sob quietly, comforted by Giles’ reassuring strokes on her back.
Okay, Anya was officially confused now. The group dynamics were way weirder than in *her* reality – a place she was wondering if it had been wise to leave. Everyone else, was looking distinctly uncomfortable. Cordelia was staring out the window. Spike had one hand on her shoulder – and she wasn’t doing anything about it! – with his head fiercely concentrating upon his alcohol bottle. Faith had her legs up on the conference table, intently studying the crossbow. Oz was staring at a nondescript painting.
“Would someone mind telling me what’s happened here? Where’s Buffy?”
This was obviously the wrong thing to say, as Joyce started sobbing far louder and violently. It was all Giles could do to keep her standing and close to him. The others shot her disgusted and/or shocked looks. All except Oz, that is.
“What you go and do that for you bloody bitch?!” Spike shouted.
“Hey lay off her man,” Oz interjected, “She obviously doesn’t know what’s been going on here.” Turning to Faith, he whispered something in her ear; she nodded, then left the room. The lean young man slipped into the chair beside her. She noticed Joyce being led to the far end of the table, drying her eyes.
“Um, I’ll try and explain. How far back do you want me to go? Giles told us a bit about how this things work, so it would help if we knew the split point.” She recognised the smile he gave her as an attempt to be supportive. She was further surprised by this having been the most she’d ever heard him speak in one go.
“Umm, start from the first time Spike arrived in Sunnydale.”
Oz raised an eyebrow – he was seriously wigged, she thought – and she felt, rather than saw, Spike’s surprised glare at the back of her head. “Wow, that’s going back a bit.” He shook his head. “I guess I’ll have to try and summarise then.”
“Er, Spike breezed into town several years ago now. Shook things up a bit trying to get Drusilla better.” Anya nodded; this was more or less familiar so far. “Anyway after a fight at the school, he kinda skipped town with Dru and… he’d kidnapped Angel as well. You know Angel?” She nodded again.
“Turns out Spike’d found some sort of restoration ritual to make Dru better only it made Angel go all evil – but we didn’t know that at the time.”
“So tall, dark and glowery lost his soul again?”
“Oh you know about the curse. Okay then, well things were fairly steady up until graduation. Faith had come to town, Giles was made Watcher to both of them and married Joyce.”
“Well, after the chocolate incident, it seemed a-a decent thing to do. As one thing led to another…” he trailed off, looking back to his wife, who had stopped crying by this point.
“After a number of shenanigans we managed to stop the Mayor from becoming some kind of demon. We graduated. Cordelia and Buffy started college at UC Sunnydale, Willow got into Oxford and Xander went with her to England to do Watcher training.”
Xander?! A Watcher!? Her mind leapt to the thought of a bespectacled Xander in a tweed suit, holding a cup of tea. Still sexy, in a disturbing kind of way. She let out an involuntary giggle.
“Yeah, we couldn’t quite believe it either. But with Giles’ approval and some wrangling they got him in – something about creating a new breed of Watcher. Anyway, some of us got it into our heads that Sunnydale would be better run by someone who knew what was going on behind-the-scenes, y’know. So Joyce managed to convince Giles into standing. And what d’ya know, he actually won. Twice.” He smiled at the former-librarian before his face clouded over in grim recollection.
“Then Spike came back, alone though. Ethan worked some dark mojo and some secret soldier group captured Spike and some other demons for testing. Nearly got me too. That’s how Spike ended up with the prohibition chip.” A low snarl from the window. “Then Angel returned. Only it wasn’t Angel, it was Angelus. Him and Dru together. Before we even knew what had happened, he and his minions…. they… they ambushed…” He hesitated, looking over to where Joyce sat, who indicated he should continue, tears welling up in her eyes again.
“Buffy. She didn’t really stand a chance. They got her out on patrol. And then they were in our face so fast we didn’t know what hit us. They almost got my Faith too. And now it’s a stand off. We cut a deal with Angelus.” He stopped, as if disgusted with himself, at what they as a group had done. “He and his vamps share the power with us – and we try and keep him in check.”
He perked up a bit. “But we think we’ve got a way to set everything right again. But we need Xander and Willow back here. Then we can bring Buffy back.” Anya watched dumbstruck as he wiped a tear away from his eye and then Faith’s eye as well.
This was all so much to absorb – her head was reeling. Giles was Mayor. Faith was sane. Joyce was married. Xander was a Watcher! And Buffy was… dead. But there was one other thing niggling her.
“But what’s Spike doing here? Shouldn’t he be on Angel’s side?”
Her response from the peroxide vamp was a harsh snarl and a snapped, “I have my reasons.”
Cordelia chuckled, before sweeping the bleached bad boy into a tight embrace. “And one of them is very glad you do,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes. Yet another astonishment for the former demon.
“So what are you going to do?” she addressed Giles. She didn’t add the ‘with me’ corollary that was running round her mind.
“Well, my translation is a little rough and ready but the most pertinent section runs along the lines of ‘When the new old and the old new are joined, one circle binds the one and nine to make the roar fall silent.’”
“Not cryptic much, huh folks?”
Everyone spun round at the familiar voice. Anya stared back into the goofy grin she thought might have been forever out of reach.
* * *
General explanations and celebrations over and done with, things rapidly returned to the patterns of old, a traditional Scooby meeting in not-so-traditional surroundings. Everyone sat arranged around the conference table, side by side with their respective partners where present. Which was all except Anya and Dawn. She groaned internally. Xander and Willow looked so comfortable together, their friendship of youth having blossomed into inevitability of future. The fact that this coincided with prophecy, or maybe because of it, made Anya even more depressed.
“So what’s your plan then?” Perhaps she could distract herself in the moment.
“Well, we surmise that basically, if we marry Xander and Willow tomorrow night then we can close the Hellmouth, thereby cutting off Angelus’ major source of power and making it easier to, uh, deal with the threat that he and his followers pose to, er, *my* town.”
She noticed that the now-engaged couple didn’t bat an eyelid at this pronouncement. They must have been informed about this previously. Unfortunately, this left her still unenlightened. “And how does this bring back Buffy?”
“Er, well. The text goes on to say that the energy released by the ceremony is enough to bring a-a-a recently deceased Slayer back to the … land of the living.”
“*Any* Slayer?”
“I believe so. Provided that they died in the last five years, that is. And you can perform the ritual at the interment site of the remains.”
“Gee, just what I always wanted. My wedding in a graveyard. At least we won’t have to worry about witnesses.” Typical Xander, she mused. Trying to diffuse a situation through humour, weak though it may be. Everyone else just smiled at him, they knew he didn’t mean it any negative way. He would have been the first to insist that they join him and Willow in Buffy’s presence.
“So why Willow and… Xander?” She didn’t care if this made her sound like a real stranger to these shores but she was seriously confused and somewhat annoyed that her Wish hadn’t worked out for the better.
Willow answered this one. “Well, Giles thinks that the ‘old new’ person is Xander coz he’s a Watcher – the old part – who’s still a teen, or American, or something. Something they’ve never had before. New.” She turned to gaze at her husband-to-be. “Unique,” she whispered.
Xander blushed – oh how Anya missed being able to make him do that. He grinned at the assembled group. “Yup, that’s me, a freak wherever I go.”
Willow giggled. “Silly. And there’s me being the computer girl – the new bit – who’s clued up on demons and stuff – the old.”
Anya pondered. It all seemed a little too neat for such a vague prophecy. There was something that wasn’t quite right with all of this – besides this whole freaky screwy Wish reality where she still didn’t get Xander.
“Anyway, I suggest we all head home. We will have to keep our wits about us for tomorrow night, lest Angelus decides to try something to interfere.” Anya looked up as Giles turned to her. “Um, you’d better come back with us, since everything here is probably unfamiliar to you. We can figure out what to do tomorrow after the ceremony.”
* * *
Well, today was the day. The Watcher-boy would be marrying the Red Wicca come sunset that night. He’d not batted an eyelid when introduced to the bleached vamp, like a neutered demon was something he came across everyday. An impotent joke of a scrap of a creature of the night.
A vase didn’t complain as it yielded to his clenched fist.
He prowled the corridors of City Hall, ignoring employees who just ignored him right back. They’d gotten used to his incongruous sight, a leather clad sinuous figure with bad manners, just another ‘special adviser’. A British guy for the British mayor. Just another accessory to the cabinet that kept the wheels of this strange town turning. A town of demons, their hunters and hapless ‘innocents’ caught in this turf war, night and day with endless twilight skirmishes. With any luck, though, that ended tonight.
So why couldn’t he stop his mind from being drawn back to that dark club, that evening, of four years ago? The first night that he had seen the Slayer. Watched her fight, the deadly ballet. Impressed that she had a support network. And what a support network! A Watcher with a dark past, a teenage witch and even a mother who was handy with an axe. And then there was the boy.
Before tonight he hadn’t even met the lad. Only observed from afar – the awkward ‘dancing’ at the Bronze and the stake provision in the alley. There had been something entrancing about him, a sort of quiet courage. Plus, he was damned hot. But he carried himself as if that weren’t true. He’d made a promise to get to know the boy a lot better – in the eternal sense.
Only his plans had gone astray on that ill-fated attack before St. Vigeous’ Night. Just managed to grab Angel and skedaddle out of town. Hadn’t even seen the boy that night. And then nothing ‘til tonight. So why had he spent the past few years thinking about him? Was it as simple as the one that got away? Or was it that he had missed out on something bigger? Something that he thought he had with Dru.
But the loony bitch had just been using him to get her Daddy back. There he was thinking that Angel would die, Dru would be restored and then all would be happy ever after. But no! He had to go and lose not only his blood but his soul as well. It didn’t stand a bloody chance versus Dru’s demon.
And neither had he really.
So he came back to the Boca del Infierno to get himself a new mate. The boy would be his – his Childe, his consort of the night, a Dark Prince forever. Sharing his unlife, his bed and his heart. Only the whelp had disappeared. Vanished to Blighty along with the redhead. He was going to be a Watcher, of all things! Responding in his usual manner, he got drunk. And picked up by the Initiative, who were operating without Mayor Giles’ authorisation. He had busted out and been found by Cordelia, with whom he’d been living with ever since.
Ever since their sniping and bitching had progressed into genuine affection. Spike wasn’t a ‘person’ who could really handle being alone – he always needed a companion. She had taken the ‘risk’ now that he was fangless and here he was fighting the dark forces of Angelus. But he still held a candle for the boy, deep in the recesses of his unbeating heart. Which meant that he couldn’t stop himself from sneaking glances at him across the table the whole night. But he only had eyes for Red. There was no way he could entice him away. Not now. No promises of eternity were going to win him round, not like they would have when he was the stumbling youth of before. And there would be no coercion, no abduction, no seduction to the dark now that he couldn’t bite. His Dark Prince was now, more than ever, the White Knight.
So Cordelia would have to do until som-- oof!
He’d collided with someone, someone who was going to receive a barrage of verbal abuse. That would cut them down to size, help him relieve the anger and misery he felt.
But the words died soundlessly on his lips as he realised just who it was that he had run into. He glanced around nervously, only to find the corridor empty of anyone who might come to his assistance. Five menacing figures stood behind him, arms folded, daring him to try anything foolish – like running. Or possibly even speaking.
Spike was frightened. Yes, he could fight demons but that wasn’t going to help him now.
He shuddered as Angelus smiled broadly and curled his brawny arm around Spike, who was suddenly preternaturally aware of how fragile he felt right at that moment.
“Spike, my boy.” The familiar lilting Irish brogue curled its way through his still veins, chilling as it went. “Fancy running into you here, laddie. Now what would you be up to?” One raised eyebrow suggested that this had been a rhetorical question. “Going somewhere perhaps? Another little lady perhaps? The bimbo getting on your nerves? Can’t get no ‘satisfaction’, maybe?” The demon next to him laughed, vampiric ridges creasing with mirthless jocularity. He found himself swung around to face those features in a more up close and personal manner. He considered struggling, but it wouldn’t do any good. And he couldn’t engage his muscles to scream.
“We’re going for a little walk, boy. Visit an old friend. Pay our respects, like.” The grip on Spike’s shoulders tightened and he detected the hench-vamps behind him close in to dissuade any notions of escape. They proceeded mutely down the corridor.
* * *
She thought it had been a simple wish. Nothing major. Nothing cataclysmic. Nothing like *this*. Talk about ‘perversion of intent’. All she wanted was Xander back. And here she was now, about to participate in his wedding. To Willow. She hadn’t even had a chance.
At least in her reality she had actually had him, if even for a short time. They weren’t even good friends here – they barely knew one another. How could she have this yearning for someone who considered her an almost perfect stranger. True he knew that something had happened and that she wasn’t *their* Anya but she hadn’t told them much about her life. It would be too complicated, she told herself.
They hadn’t even gone to the Prom together.
So, not meeting Spike drove Xander into Willow’s arms – the witch might find that particularly interesting. If she ever got back to her own reality, that is. Willow might even be persuaded into doing something *to* Spike. And then she could sweep Xander back into her arms and give him so many orgasms that he’d forget all about the vampire. She would be his demon again.
Casting about, she noticed that her bleached nemesis wasn’t present. They were heading down into the sub-levels of City Hall. Spike was a no-show but only Cordelia seemed concerned, but not unduly it appeared. He had no particular fond recollections of Buffy so he might not have felt comfortable being there. Probably out roughhousing with some devilspawn.
But still… she had an uneasy feeling about this. And not just that they had set up Buffy’s grave in a basement. Although Giles had rushed to assure her that having her interred beneath City Hall in a consecrated crypt, as memorial, was the best possible situation. That way, there was no temptation for her remains to be desecrated by scavengers or others who may want to take advantage of a deceased Slayer.
She had to say, though, that the final results were good. Crosses and blessed objects stood around the room, some in convenient niches and others hanging. A large, golden cross stood at either end of the transparent sarcophagus that held the well-preserved body of her friend. The carved catafalque, on which it rested, was surrounded by a pool of, what she was told, was holy water.
She watched as Faith made a quick survey of the darker recesses of the room, just in case anything was hiding. A shake of the head indicated nothing found. Anya was still uneasy though. Something was going to happen tonight – she just wasn’t sure what.
The assembled faces looked expectantly towards Giles, who took a small leather-bound book from his satchel. Joyce clasped Dawn’s shoulder, wary Faith stood beside Oz who looked towards a nervous Cordelia. Willow took Xander’s hand in hers and stepped round to the head of the casket. Anya reluctantly admitted to herself that they made a beautiful couple – Willow in a simple silver gown, Xander in a midnight blue suit. He looked good enough to eat and Anya was ravenous.
“It’s a simple enough procedure,” Giles started. “Ah, ce-ceremony, I mean,” he corrected after taking in the looks from the gathered crowd. He bade them place their free hands on the clear glass over Buffy’s head. He cleared his throat and began reciting. “We, the folk of those who love, those who stand here present, call upon you Hymenus, lord of the ring, lord of the leafy bough, to bless and watch this couple. We ask that they may have long years; that they stave off pestilence’s ravages, to keep their voices clear and their hearts pure for the convocations that are to come.”
The Watcher looked towards Oz. “You have the ring?”
The boy grinned and went through the traditional pocket-patting gestures before passing the mayor a plain platinum wedding band. Giles grasped it firmly in his left hand and motioned for Xander and Willow to look into one another’s eyes. “Spirits of another world, we offer this symbol of their devotion. We invest it with desire, with fidelity, with truth. Guard their hearts and keep their eyes clear. Let their steps not falter in the path of light, whatever the flames may call.” He placed the ring on the bier, then Xander’s hand atop it and Willow’s atop his. “Willow Rosenberg, do you swear by the ring of your faith in Alexander and call for Hymen to affirm.”
“I call,” she replied clearly.
“Alexander Harris, do you swear by the ring of your faith in Willow and call for Hymen to affirm?”
“I call,” he answered, his smile threatening to dazzle his almost-wife.
“Then let the Heavens know that this covenant is sealed.” He lifted their hands and nodded towards the ring that was now faintly glowing. “They approve,” he smiled. The group broke out into applause as Xander swept his radiant bride into his arms and planted a searing kiss to her lips. Anya’s heart tore at remembering the fire in those kisses he used to rain down upon *her* lips.
Giles continued to leaf through the pages of his book. He gave them a few more moments before clearing his throat to remind them of the task ahead. “We still have a summoning to perform. It must be done while the energies still remain here.”
The pair separated, Xander displaying his trademark sheepish grin. “So what now, Mayor G?”
Giles pretended to look pained at the appellation and said nothing as he guided their hands to rest on the glass once more. He took the glowing metal in his right hand and started to read once more.
“Spirits of the ether, conduct our message and let slip the bonds of earth. We ask for Persephone to free the one bound in our hearts and thoughts. With this ring, blessed in the eyes of Olympus, we do call.” He rapped the ring sharply on the glass, letting a clear note resonate through the room. “We do beseech.” Another tap. “We do conjure.” A third tap then he laid the ring down. “Return the Slayer to this Earth, her tour of duty is not yet ended. Return!”
The glow of the ring rose in intensity, white fire that flashed for an instant and then was gone. The crypt stood still, save for the breathing of its still living occupants.
Everyone peered forward. Supposedly the Hellmouth was now closing for good and Buffy should be on her way back to them. They strained to see if there was any movement within the casket.
Was that a flutter?!
Nothing.
The expressions ranged all the way from surprise through despair. “It should have worked…” whispered Giles.
“Incoming!” came the hasty warning from Faith, who started forward, stake raised in hand to meet whatever threat she had detected.
“Stop!” The powerful voice resonated from the antechamber behind them. Anya saw that Faith had halted in the face of two large and pale figures toting what looked distinctly like semi-automatic firearms. The Slayer was good but bullets in such a confined area might tax even her skills. Not to mention the fact that they could take out the rest of them without any trouble.
Well, this was the end, thought Anya. Gunned down over Buffy’s grave. Not exactly the fifty years or so she had expected on having. She saw Giles step forward. “Wh-what exactly is going on h-here. This is a private function.” She couldn’t believe he actually said that. Two large guys, obviously vampires, were standing before them, mass murder in their hands. And he was acting as if they were simple gatecrashers. Inconceivable!
A darker shadow loomed up from behind the two, chuckling as he came forward. “Aw, Mayor, and here’s me hoping to pay me respects to the happy couple.” Angelus stepped forward into the doorway. “After all, aren’t weddings are time for togetherness? And I do *so* want us to be close,” he leered in a friendly Irish accent.
“What do you want Deadboy?” Firm and authoritative – this wasn’t her Xander. Her Xander was fragile and goofy, a tangle of emotions that she soothed and comforted. This Xander didn’t need her.
The vampire snarled. So, that nickname could still cut him to the quick. “Curb yer tongue boy… and keep your pet on a leash, Mayor, less’n you all want to spend eternity with Buffy here.” He turned to glare at Faith, who had been slowly inching forward, apparently unnoticed by the guards.
He returned to address the group as a whole. “And I advise that Mrs Harris step forward where I can see her,” he stated pointedly. Willow gave a guilty little start, before moving out from behind the casket to stand beside her husband, his hand firmly grasped in hers. Reassurance that did not go unnoticed by Anya.
“You guys are really too obvious. No style, no finesse. It’s always patently clear when you’re up to something. Midnight meetings, et cetera. Honestly, you want to sap *all* the fun out of spying.”
“Well, pardon us for being s-such a disappointment, I’m sure.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t,” Angelus replied, the mockery of Giles’ tone dripping from his as yet hidden fangs. “But when I found out what you were planning to do to me, to this wretched town, I just had to come and see for myself.”
“How did you find out?”
“It’s a pity your information chain isn’t as secure as you’d like to think.” He beckoned in the chamber behind him. A struggling bundle was pushed through, then shoved to come to rest kneeling at Angelus’ feet. A gagged and chained blond, who had obviously seen better times, gazed forlornly into the eyes of his erstwhile companions, lingering particularly on Cordelia. And the boy.
Even Anya winced in sympathy for what the cruel master vampire had put him through. Livid bruises underlay a vicious intaglio of white scars and scorched dead flesh. Ripped leather and silk revealed deep cuts and, most notably, blackened cross-shapes. One whole arm looked as if it had been plunged into and held in a vat of holy water. Those once bright baby blues of his were cold and hard, as dead as the body that had visited such tortures upon him.
Angelus smiled broadly at the expressions on their faces – humans were so easy to manipulate. “Such beautiful treachery should not go unrewarded, don’t you think?” And in the space of a heartbeat, his raised sleeve shot forth a sharpened wooden bolt.
Straight through Spike’s back and firmly into his heart.
The last thought that went through his mind was that all his ‘friends’ believed that he had betrayed them. Having a seer, twisted and loopy though she might be, by his side made him all but redundant to Angelus. His execution was another nail in the coffin of Angelus’ past, the rogue vamp who turned his back on demonkind to fight the good fight. Traitor.
Angelus didn’t even bother looking down before continuing. “So sorry. I appear to have broken your wedding gift. Ah well, never mind. *I* shall be comforted by the thought that you put so much effort into this little charade and yet got it *so* wrong.”
The group was still reeling from what had just transpired. It was clearly taking all of Oz’s effort to restrain Faith from going ballistic and getting them all killed. Giles and Joyce were crushed, but for different reasons it seemed to Anya. Dawn was sobbing over Buffy and Xander and Willow were looking at each other with confusion. Cordelia was just staring at what was left of Spike, her face shrouded in blank pallor. Anya turned to away to stare at Angelus. Obviously she was the only one in any fit condition to say anything. “What are you talking about?”
“Ah, Deputy Demon. So glad you decided to join us. I might as well tell you, since you can’t change anything. I mean, you’re as powerless as this sorry excuse was.” So saying, he swept his boot through the dust, eliciting a strangled sob from Cordelia. “Your precious Mayor interpreted the text wrongly. Hearts notwithstanding, you married the wrong two people.” He laughed heartily.
“Where did we go wrong?” The question rose faintly from Giles’ lips.
Angelus pretended he hadn’t heard. “I’m thinking that the Mayor is in no fit condition to carry on running this town. So we’ll just put it into a more capable pair of hands.” A pause. “Just until you’re better again, of course,” he sneered.
“We’ll fight you,” spat Faith, who knew that wresting control back wasn’t going to be that easy.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Slayer. You’re more than welcome to try, I just can’t guarantee that you’ll get anywhere though. Now, I think that one of us has some edicts to proclaim.” He rubbed his hands in glee. “We’re gonna have such fun boys!”
He turned to leave. “Wait until I’m upstairs, then follow. I hear shots and you two won’t see another moon.”
“You’re gonna let them live boss?” The gun-bearers were as surprised as the wedding party.
He smiled, a delicious slice of evil playing across those angelic features of his. “For now,” he reassured his henchmen. Looking up he explained, “Consider it my *real* present to you lucky kids.”
“Where did we go wrong?” The shouted question boomed through the crypt, rattling some of the hanging crosses.
Angelus didn’t break stride as he called back simply, “Wrong bride.”
* * *
Surprisingly, Angelus was true to his word. They left the crypt unmolested. They even managed a heartfelt memorial to the fallen Spike, placing what they could gather of his remains in a plain black urn and setting it pride of place on Giles’ mantelpiece. It would stand there as constant reminder.
* * *
It was the day after the wedding fiasco. Everyone was gathered in Giles and Joyce’s front room to discuss what was going to happen now. Mayor Angelus had yet to get into full swing, but it was clear that the Hellmouth was still operating and Buffy had remained resolutely dormant. Despondency reigned supreme in that room.
Xander and Willow sat together in an armchair, steadfastly refusing to let go of one another, despite or because of what happened Anya wasn’t sure. And they probably weren’t either, she mused.
“So, who was I *supposed* to marry?” Xander broached. Anya could see that this was a question that bothered his wife, yet she was devoting her mind to its answer. Possibilities were likely spinning round and round like cogs, she considered.
“Well, surely the only two options were Cordelia or Anya, right?” Dawn asked.
“Or you,” Anya interjected. Silence. And stares. Dawn just giggled and blushed deeply. Sure, everyone knew her long-standing crush on the goofy Scooby. But the implications of that particular proposal were disturbing at the very least.
Giles broke the impasse. “Er, it is not entirely untoward for the ritual to suggest or require such a union, er, given the time and conditions under which the prophecy was written. But, er…” he tailed off, not really wishing to continue that train of thought.
“Umm, I know who it is…” came the unsure voice of a certain redhead. She shifted, as if the contact with her husband was now uncomfortable. Xander looked at her with concern. “Uh, honey, you okay?”
She refused to meet his gaze, electing to stand up and move towards the mantelpiece. “They should have had more time,” she whispered beneath her breath. Lips pursed, she looked at Anya. “Just what was it you wished for? Back in your reality?”
She sighed, resignation in the air. “That Xander never met Spike,” she said bluntly, meeting Willow’s hurt gaze.
“But what’s this thing got to do with my Spikey?” Cordelia asked, eyes teary at mentioning her late partner. “So Xander didn’t meet him… oh.” The light of realisation dawned on her as she remembered just why Anya would have called for a Wish.
“So you and Xander were… and Spike…” This from Joyce.
“What it is with me and Wishes anyway?” joked Xander nervously. “And what did we do to you to wish that and… oh!” His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “No way!” He shook his head vigorously. “No way, no how! That’s just… I’m not…” He buried his head in his hands, shaking at the thought of what he… and…!!!!… must have done.
Willow looked back and forth between Xander and Anya, somewhat disconsolately. “He really cheated on you… with him?” A quick glance to the sable urn.
Anya turned her head as well, before nodding slowly. She wondered if Willow was thinking that she should expect such a betrayal in their future. She could offer no words of support.
“B-But this means that there’s still a chance to close the ‘mouth permanently. We’ve just got to get you back there.”
Again, the group looked at Giles with varying amounts of disbelief. He continued, “We’ve lost our chance here, we’ve got to try and do the best we can. But if *somewhere* we can make it work, then that’s better than nothing. Isn’t it?” He looked to his wife for support. She just bit her lip and held his hand, resolute in indecisive silence.
“This is too much…” Cordelia sobbed, before making a hasty exit from the room and house. Faith and Oz stood up wordlessly and went after her. To comfort her or just to leave the house, Anya wasn’t sure.
Xander uncurled himself and walked over to go to the kitchen. Tear-tracks stained his cheeks. Pausing, he looked towards Willow. “I wouldn’t,” he told her softly. Then padded out of the room. Moments later they heard the back door open and close as he stepped onto the rear porch. Willow just sat back down. Anya realised that she must have seen the surreptitious glances of two nights ago. Glances that had been reciprocal.
Suddenly Dawn leapt to her feet. “It’s your fault!” she shouted at Anya, who was visibly taken aback by the fury of the sixteen-year old. “It’s all your fault that Buffy is gone, that she’s never coming back, that Xander is…” She choked on the tears, turned and fled up the stairs. The loud report of her door slamming echoed back down.
A silent look between stepfather and mother had Joyce departing to administer calm to her daughter.
“So how do we get me back there? I don’t think I’m welcome here any more.”
“You, ah, could be entirely correct in that assessment,” Giles replied, taking in the hurt expression on Willow’s face. “If I remember correctly, we have destroy the demon’s power centre to, uh, reverse the rather deleterious effects of this wish.”
Anya shook her head. “That’s not gonna happen. D’Hoffryn himself granted this wish. He operates differently from other vengeance demons.”
“Dimensional folding spell.” Three simple words from the witch.
“Huh? Oh, yes.” Giles was pensive. “That calls for a lot of power if we’re planning to send a whole person through. I’m not sure if between the three of us we can generate sufficient.”
“Then we’re going to have to find a strong focal point.”
Giles realised what she was suggesting. “Oh dear.”
* * *
They walked through the deserted and long-abandoned corridors. It was amazing that the place was still standing and not a mall or parking lot by now. Clutching their bags tightly, Willow looked nervously out of a broken window as sunset rolled nearer and nearer. “We’d better hurry. If Angel’s men find out what we’re up to…”
“Agreed. Faith, you must be extra alert tonight.”
“I’m on it G,” she assured him.
Xander hovered protectively at Willow’s side, as if being apart from her would shatter any chance they had at making a go of their marriage.
“Well, guys. Didn’t think we’d be seeing this place again.”
“Yep, thought we’d left this scene of serious shenanigans behind for good,” Xander confirmed. They all paused before the remnants of the doors to Sunnydale High’s library – the old home base. They walked through, most lost in reminiscence of events of long ago. All the late nights and research parties, all the training, all the words – jokes, questions and recriminations.
The actual workings would require all the effort Willow, Xander and Giles could muster. Anya, being the target to be shifted, wouldn’t be able to contribute much beyond morale support and concentration. Oz and Faith patrolled the perimeter, trying to ensure that they weren’t disturbed. Or at least had some advance warning.
Clearing a space amongst the dust and debris, they ventured as close to the fissure that rent the floor as was deemed necessary. An inscribed triangle was quickly demarcated and the necessary incense lit. Thin curls of sweet-smelling smoke writhed their way uncertainly in the still air.
Standing at the centre of the markings, Anya looked around to the faces that were distortions of her friends. Concentration masked most of what was there but darker clouds were clearly apparent in their eyes. Disappointment from Giles, upset at what he perceived as his failure to examine the prophecy and restore his charge to the living. Despondency on Willow’s countenance as she sought to reconcile her future with her childhood companion, now her husband. And confusion on Xander’s. A face that wasn’t meant to harbour serious thought, now haunted by the war between longing and denial.
She wondered if this was some kind of lesson that D’Hoffryn wanted her to learn. That vengeance cuts two ways. Torment could just as easily backfire.
She wouldn’t be sorry to go.
The chanting had reached its crescendo, and she felt her hair and clothing being whipped about by the temporal winds, as a swirling vortex, the portal home, slowly manifested and grew around her. She paused, contemplating whether or not she should say something to those who were now looking at her expectantly.
“Just go.” Whispered words on the edge of hearing. A dismissal from the one she sought to reclaim.
This wasn’t *her* Xander.
She stepped though, the eddies of the vortex pulling her insistently to another time, to a more familiar place. But just as the connection to her Wish disappeared, she imagined she heard a softer voice.
“Tell him to be happy.”