Previously in "Sum": A freak accident has split Buffy into two not-so-equal pieces. The Slayer piece was on terminal meltdown until she and Buffy made physical contact. And they couldn't leave Spike well enough alone (thankfully!). But dawn has to come eventually . . .
Chapter 17 Reunification
Spike woke up to find her watching
him.
He still couldn’t tell which her it
was. They had shifted around in their sleep, so that now the one in the middle
was the one being held, having her hair gently stroked by the one on the
outside. It was the outside one who met his gaze over the blonde head between
them. Her eyes were soft, thoughtful.
“Everything alright?” he asked
quietly, his voice still heavy with sleep.
She nodded a little. “Just thinking
too much,” she answered softly.
He gently stroked a knuckle along her
cheek. “Shouldn’t do that. Not good for the soul.”
“As you know.”
He shrugged in agreement.
“What’s going to happen to you now?”
He shrugged again. “’S up to her.
Crossed a lot of lines last couple days.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She laid a
hand on his chest where his heart should beat. “We made you so vulnerable these
last few days. You’ve had some peace and comfort. And maybe a little bit of
hope. It will be so hard for you when we’re gone and it’s just her again.”
“Christ, pet! You think that’s not
the least of what I deserve? After everything I’ve done in my life, everything
I’ve done to her? This time with you? With both of you? That’s what I don’t
deserve.”
She met his eyes calmly, but with an
intensity that shook him. “You do if I love you.”
He kissed her, fiercely but gently,
forcing down the tears that her words evoked. She responded equally, putting all
her love and compassion in each caress.
Finally he pulled back, resting his
forehead against hers. “I am really going to miss you,” he said, his voice still
heavy with emotion.
A grumpy, sleep-filled voice rose
from between their chests. “God, do you two ever stop yammering?”
Buffy laughed softly, and Spike
smiled but growled, “You I don’t think I’ll miss so much.” He immediately proved
his words a lie by dropping a kiss on top of her head.
“Yeah, yeah, tell me again when
you’re pounding me into the mattress.” And she reached for him.
There was a gentle tap on the door.
They all froze. A moment later the
tap repeated, and Willow’s voice came hesitantly through the panels. “Buffy?
Spike?”
He slid out of bed and into his
jeans, pulling on his button-down as he crossed barefoot to the door and opened
it a crack.
“Mornin’, Red.”
“Good morning.” She dropped her eyes
with a blush when she saw it was him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but that was
Xander on the phone. They’re about ready to come back.”
He nodded his acknowledgement. “We’ll
be down in a bit.”
“K.” And she disappeared back down
the hall.
He turned and leaned against the
door.
“Time’s up.”
Willow wanted to be sure she was busy when they started coming downstairs. So
she fell back on her childhood heritage. Why talk when you could eat?
A double batch of pancake batter was
ready and she was heating up the pan on the stove when Spike came down. She
didn’t look up, but heard his heavy boots cross the linoleum and heard the
refrigerator door open, jars rattle, and the door close again. A moment later
the microwave beeped.
Finally she couldn’t stand the quiet
anymore. “I figured I’d better make breakfast before the locusts descend. I
thought they might be hungry after . . .” She stopped before she could embarrass
herself. She blushed anyway.
He didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah,
probably.” His voice sounded . . . odd. She dared a glance over her shoulder to
try to read his expression. But just then the timer on the microwave pinged, and
he turned away to take his mug out. She turned back to the stove, staring hard
at the batter, willing the little bubbles to the surface. But it ignored her,
cooking along at its own happy pancake pace
She was surprised to hear him
chuckle. When she looked at him, he wore a faint smile. “Slayer sure can pack it
away, can’t she?” She saw the amusement in his eyes. And something a little
more.
“Yeah,” she offered her reply
carefully. “It’s weird seeing Buffy eat like a . . . well, eat at all, really.”
She finally slid the spatula under the circle of batter and flopped it over.
Perfect. A good sign.
“Need any help?”
“Um, sure. You could cut up those
strawberries.” She gestured with the spatula to the bowl on the table.
He put his mug down and pulled a
paring knife out of the block. They worked together in silence for a while, the
only sounds the click of his knife and the thrum of the shower through the
house’s pipes.
“Did you have any more luck last
night?” he finally asked.
She sighed in frustration. “Not
really. As usual, our circumstances are so weird that no one really thought to
cover it.” She covered the stack of golden pancakes in tinfoil before turning to
him. “How are they? This morning, I mean!” She flushed again.
If he was aware of her innuendo, he
didn’t comment, instead playing thoughtfully with the knife in his hand. “I
don’t know. I think they may have . . . changed a bit . . .”
“Lucy, we’re home!” Xander’s voice
called from the front hall, interrupting them.
Xander held the front door open as a
dozen teenage girls, Dawn included, and Andrew piled into the house, dragging
their bedrolls, overnight bags and various and sundries into the living room,
each of them finding a bare stretch of floor to deposit their belongings.
“So, how did it go?” she asked,
watching the parade.
Xander glared at her meaningfully. “I
am so in need of testosterone injections after last night’s chick-flick-athon.”
“So, situation normal then,” Spike
sniped from the dining room door.
“No one asked you, ungrateful
undead.”
“Guys.” Willow forestalled them.
Xander scowled but turned back to
her. “How are the Buffies?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen them
yet . . .” she stopped as she noticed that his attention was now focused about
halfway up the stairs.
“We’re fine, Xander,” Buffy answered
his question. “Really.”
“But thanks for asking,” the other
Buffy continued.
By the time they reached the bottom
of the stairs, everyone was staring.
They were practically
indistinguishable from each other.
Both wore their freshly washed and
blow-dried hair clubbed loosely at the back of their necks. Very light make-up
highlighted both features. They even wore the same style clothing, soft silk
tank shell over loose cotton trousers, one in peach and tan, the other in
seashell pink and cream. Both wore practical jazz flats.
Willow looked back at Spike, who was
leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, watching everyone’s
reactions. “A little bit?” she mouthed at him.
He shrugged.
She moved forward and took each of
them arm in arm, leading them to the kitchen. “Well, I hope you’re hungry,
because I made pancakes.”
“Oh! Pancakes!” several of the girls
squealed.
“Hey!” Xander protested. “You guys
already cleaned me out of three dozen donuts and two gallons of orange juice!
What happened to the birdlike appetite of the modern American teenage girl?”
Willow halted all protests. “The
pancakes are for Buffy. And me,” she amended, “’cuz I haven’t had anything but
caffeine for the last ten hours. You guys can have the leftovers.”
There was a general groan of
complaint, but it was fairly good natured.
Willow was getting the syrup out of
the cupboard by the stove when she noticed Spike stop one of the Buffies, laying
a hand on her arm. “You make sure you eat all that, yeah?” he insisted quietly.
She rolled her eyes, but smiled.
“Yes, mother.”
He wagged a finger at her. “You mind
me!”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
Willow saw his hand come up, to cup
her face or caress her hair, she didn’t know. But he stopped short of actually
touching her.
Willow’s heart ached for them.
The three of them settled in at the
dining room table with their plates, joined by Dawn and Kennedy and Molly and
several of the other girls. Willow ate quickly, watching the copies of her
friend. She glanced at their plates. The one Spike had spoken to had two
pancakes on her plate and a small dollop of strawberries. The other had at least
five, and a separate bowl for her fruit. Willow remembered Spike’s comment from
earlier. So he had felt that Buffy Buffy had needed encouragement to eat. At
least Willow could tell them apart now.
She was surprised that the Slayer was
the one in pink, though.
The girls jabbered away about the
movies they had watched the night before and which girls thought which actors
were cute. Buffy joined in the discussion eagerly, her eyes shining, smiling
like Willow hadn’t seen from her in years. Slayer didn’t speak much, preferring
to focus on her meal, but she listened attentively and occasionally chimed
in with her own opinions. Granted it was often lascivious comments about a
performer’s “package”, but it amused the girls, and she seemed to enjoy it as
well. She was certainly more engaged with them than she had been for the
previous two days.
Willow cleared her dishes, then stood
in the passageway, watching and listening. Pondering the possibilities. Could it
really have been so simple?
“But sex never solves anything,” she
grumbled under her breath.
“If that were true, there wouldn’t be
so many songs about it, pet,” Spike’s voice spoke close to her ear. She jumped
away, ignoring the little frizzle of something she refused to call arousal.
She turned her head to look at him,
then back to the table. “How long have they been like this?”
“Sort of came on slowly over the
course of the night. By the end, if they didn’t open their mouths, I couldn’t
tell the difference.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “They seem a
lot more in sync with each other.”
He leaned against the opposite wall,
arms crossed, looking at her. “What’re you thinkin’, Red?”
She shrugged. “Second try?”
He shrugged back. “Can’t hurt.”
So after breakfast they moved the
table aside and rolled back the rug to reveal the pentagram they hadn’t bothered
to clean up from the previous attempt. This time everyone gathered around the
edges of the circle as Willow set the two up in the middle.
“Aw, that trick never works,” Xander
muttered under his breath.
“Shut up, Rocky,” Willow retorted.
She moved the two closer together. “Okay, this time why don’t you hold hands,
stand kind of close. Let’s try to put that aura balancing energy to work in our
favor. And you guys,” she turned to the people gathered at the periphery. “You
need to hold hands, too, and think about Buffy the way you know she’s supposed
to be. Focus really hard on that image and send the energy into the circle,
okay?” They nodded, joining hands. Willow was heartened to see Dawn hesitantly
take Spike’s hand.
She closed her eyes and centered
herself, sinking her magickal roots deep into the earth like she had been
taught. As she began drawing up the clean, white energy of nature, she intoned
silently, “Gaea bless us, love us, protect us, charge us, strengthen us to work
your will. Gaea bless us, love us, protect us . . .” over and over until she
felt her skin alight with the power she drew on. “Focus,” she said aloud, and
felt the energy field of the circle snap into alignment as eighteen people
focused their will and vision on this act.
She watched this time, needing to see
if it worked. “Let the spell be ended!” and with her words she drove all the
will and focus and energy into the two before her.
They glowed white hot for an instant,
barely long enough for her to register. Then with a flash and crack that only
she could see and hear, the energy was gone.
Just Buffy stood before her.
Dawn squealed and threw her arms
around her sister. Xander hugged the both of them enthusiastically. The girls
gathered around to pat her on the back.
Only Willow saw the pain on Buffy’s face as she watched Spike slip back into the basement.
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