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This is set directly after ep 19, "Empty Spaces."
The house was silent. Spike had never seen Buffy’s house this quiet before. All the lights were on, but nobody was stirring. Nobody was out in the yard training. Nobody had the radio blasting—which was actually a small blessing. Spike sat outside the house for several seconds, Andrew clutching him.
“Uh, Andrew? We’re not moving, you can loosen up a bit.”
“Right, sorry. Spike? Why is everything so quiet?”
“I don’t know. I’m going in. You stay here.”
“Ok. But what if the Bringers come for me? Or Jonathon-Slash-The First?”
“I won’t be long, you’ll be fine.”
Andrew nodded and Spike got off the bike and headed towards the house. He turned around half way there, “If something happens, you know how to drive that thing. Get the hell away from here.”
“Ok, Spike,” Andrew replied, his voice shaky but resolute.
Spike tried to push all the dark images out of his mind, but all he could think of us was that Caleb and came back to finish what he started. And he wasn’t there to protect the girls or help Buffy because Giles sent him away. Spike clenched his fist. He sorely wanted to hit the ex-watcher in his smug face.
He pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked. A quick glance confirmed that nothing was broken or removed. Probably not a fight then. What the hell had happened? Where was everybody?
“Willow? Harris?” Spike called, moving from room to room. There wasn’t a sign of anybody. Had Buffy taken them out? Were they all patrolling? No, something didn’t feel right about that. Spike’s senses were tell him that something was very, very wrong at Casa de Summers.
“Watcher? Slayer?”
No answer.
Spike ran up the stairs, but all the rooms there were empty too. Afraid and growing more worried by the second, he raced down to the basement. “Dammit! Answer me!”
Spike hurried down the basement stairs and then froze. His eyes wide, he tentatively went down the final few steps. “Red? Harris?”
Everybody lay on the ground, eyes open but unseeing. The potentials, Giles, Anya, Faith, all of them. He bent down and shook each one of them, trying to get a response but nobody reacted. They were all alive though; their pulses were present, if weak. It wasn’t until he had checked each one of them that he realized someone was missing.
Buffy.
Fuck.
“Andrew!” Spike bellowed. He had to figure out what was wrong with all of them, and he had to look for Buffy, and the only one who could help him was the little boy. Great, just great.
“Where is everybody?” Andrew asked, rushing into the house.
“Downstairs.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. But I have to find the Slayer.”
“Buffy’s not down there?”
“No. You stay here while I…”
“I can’t stay here!” Andrew protested. “What if whatever did that to them comes back for me?”
“Nobody is going to come back to finish you off.”
“You don’t know that Spike. The First is after both of us.”
Spike sighed. “Call 911, then we’ll go look for Buffy.”
“What should I tell them?”
Spike sighed. “I don’t know! Make something up. Just hurry.”
While Andrew fumbled his way through the call, Spike went outside and sniffed the air. It wasn’t telling him anything except the direction Buffy went. That was a start at least. In the distance he could already hear the sirens. He wanted to be gone before the ambulance and police arrived.
“Come on kid,” Spike yelled, “we don’t have all night.”
“I’m coming. Where we going?”
“The cemetery district.”
Spike flew down the streets of Sunnydale. He hadn’t pushed the bike to these speeds since the night Buffy came back, when he was looking for Dawn. The town was empty now, and Spike didn’t see a single person or demon on the streets.
After what seemed like hours, Spike saw a lone figure in the distance walking slowly down the street. Her head was down, shoulders bent, and she was shuffling more than walking. She seemed completely dejected and smaller than any person had a right to be. But despite all of this, Spike instantly recognized her.
“Slayer!” He shouted about the sound of the bike’s engine, but she didn’t turn around. Maybe she was ignoring him, or simply didn’t hear him. She looked like she was lost in her own world. Had she been hurt somehow?
Spike pulled up even with her, but she didn’t even look up. He pulled a head a few feet and got off the bike. “Stay here,” he flung over his shoulder and he hurried towards Buffy.
“Slayer? Buffy?” She still didn’t respond, just kept walking.
He caught up with her and grabbed her arm, spinning her around. “Buffy, look at me.” Slowly she raised her tear-stained face and gazed at him with large, wet, red eyes. He had never, ever seen her look so forlorn.
“Buffy, what’s wrong?” He asked gently. “What happened?”
She didn’t answer, and she seemed to be looking right through him. He shook her slightly. “Buffy, please. What’s going on?”
Her lower lip trembled but she didn’t speak, only shook her head. “Are you hurt? Do we need to take you to the hospital too? Was it Caleb?”
“Hospital?” She said the word as if it was completely foreign to her. “Who is that the hospital?”
“Everybody Buffy. I came home and they were all…passed out or something. We called the ambulance.”
“What happened?” Her voice was dazed as her eyes.
“I don’t know Buffy. Weren’t you there?”
As Spike talked, he led her to the front lawn of an abandoned house and helped her sit down.
“No, I—they asked me to leave.”
“What?”
Buffy looked away. “It was my fault.”
“Buffy, none of this is making sense. They kicked you out of your own house?”
“It was my fault that Xander lost his eye. They said I’m under too much stress. Maybe they’re right.”
“He blames you for what happened to him?” Spike kept his voice even though his rage was reawakened.
“They all do. They told me that it’s all my fault and they’re right.”
“No, Buffy, it’s not your fault. They just…”
“It’s my fault!” She shouted, and they all jumped in response. Andrew looked as though he wanted to check on them, but Spike shook his head slightly, and he backed off. “They’re right,” she said, softer. “It’s my fault Xander’s eye is gone, and all those girls are dead, and Jenny died.”
Spike frowned. Jenny? He wracked his memory. Was that the watcher’s bird Angelus killed? “Did Giles tell you that?”
“Buffy.” Spike’s voice was firm and the tone demanded her attention. “They are wrong.”
“But…”
“Buffy, you have saved them all several times, more times than they’re worth. They are all in the hospital now, and I ‘spect that’s because they kicked you out and played right into Caleb’s hands.”
“We have to go help them.” She was more resolute, though her voice was still weak with tears. “If we can…”
“What’s that? What do you mean if? Buffy, you always get it done.”
“Do I?”
He lifted her chin and looked her in the eyes, waiting to speak until he knew that she had her complete attention. “You always get the job done, Buffy. I believe in you, Slayer, and I always will.”
Spike didn’t know what exactly he expected her response to be, but he was not expecting another rush of tears. She was sobbing openly now, and for a moment, Spike was completely thrown and didn’t know how to react. He finally wrapped his arms around her as she continued to cry.
“Don’t cry, pet,” he murmured against her hair, “you’re ok.”
She shook her head, unable to catch her breath in order to speak. “It’s ok, luv. Go ahead and cry it out if you need to. It’s ok.” He stroked her back and met Andrew’s questioning gaze over Buffy’s head. “Hey, Andrew, go to the hospital and make sure everybody’s ok. We’ll catch up later.”
“I don’t know….”
“Just go.”
Andrew didn’t protest again, just jumped on the still idling bike and sped off towards the center of town and the hospital. Buffy’s sobs slowed and she started gulping in air and trying to compose herself.
“Sorry,” she finally mumbled.
“Why are you sorry, luv?”
“For falling apart on you like that. I don’t know what got into me,” she smiled, but it was a sad facsimile of one.
He returned her smile with a genuine one of his own. “You’re allowed to cry once in awhile, Slayer. It’s not a crime.”
“It’s just that you’re always…and I’m always…and here you are…” She floundered and looked at him helplessly.
“You don’t need to say anything, Buffy.” He caressed the side of her face, wetting his finger with her salty tears. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently.
“Yes, I do,” she protested. “I have lots of things I need to say. A world of things I need to say.”
“We also need to go to the hospital and find out what’s wrong with your…” He caught himself before he finished the sentence. Were they really her friends anymore?
She sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes with the heal of her hand. She lifted her chin resolutely and her lower lip only held a small tremble. “Let’s do it then.”
“That’s my girl,” Spike said, rising to his feet and then offering his hand to pull her up.
“Yeah,” she agreed softly. Almost too softly for Spike to hear.
The house was silent. Spike had never seen Buffy’s house this quiet before. All the lights were on, but nobody was stirring. Nobody was out in the yard training. Nobody had the radio blasting—which was actually a small blessing. Spike sat outside the house for several seconds, Andrew clutching him.
“Uh, Andrew? We’re not moving, you can loosen up a bit.”
“Right, sorry. Spike? Why is everything so quiet?”
“I don’t know. I’m going in. You stay here.”
“Ok. But what if the Bringers come for me? Or Jonathon-Slash-The First?”
“I won’t be long, you’ll be fine.”
Andrew nodded and Spike got off the bike and headed towards the house. He turned around half way there, “If something happens, you know how to drive that thing. Get the hell away from here.”
“Ok, Spike,” Andrew replied, his voice shaky but resolute.
Spike tried to push all the dark images out of his mind, but all he could think of us was that Caleb and came back to finish what he started. And he wasn’t there to protect the girls or help Buffy because Giles sent him away. Spike clenched his fist. He sorely wanted to hit the ex-watcher in his smug face.
He pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked. A quick glance confirmed that nothing was broken or removed. Probably not a fight then. What the hell had happened? Where was everybody?
“Willow? Harris?” Spike called, moving from room to room. There wasn’t a sign of anybody. Had Buffy taken them out? Were they all patrolling? No, something didn’t feel right about that. Spike’s senses were tell him that something was very, very wrong at Casa de Summers.
“Watcher? Slayer?”
No answer.
Spike ran up the stairs, but all the rooms there were empty too. Afraid and growing more worried by the second, he raced down to the basement. “Dammit! Answer me!”
Spike hurried down the basement stairs and then froze. His eyes wide, he tentatively went down the final few steps. “Red? Harris?”
Everybody lay on the ground, eyes open but unseeing. The potentials, Giles, Anya, Faith, all of them. He bent down and shook each one of them, trying to get a response but nobody reacted. They were all alive though; their pulses were present, if weak. It wasn’t until he had checked each one of them that he realized someone was missing.
Buffy.
Fuck.
“Andrew!” Spike bellowed. He had to figure out what was wrong with all of them, and he had to look for Buffy, and the only one who could help him was the little boy. Great, just great.
“Where is everybody?” Andrew asked, rushing into the house.
“Downstairs.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. But I have to find the Slayer.”
“Buffy’s not down there?”
“No. You stay here while I…”
“I can’t stay here!” Andrew protested. “What if whatever did that to them comes back for me?”
“Nobody is going to come back to finish you off.”
“You don’t know that Spike. The First is after both of us.”
Spike sighed. “Call 911, then we’ll go look for Buffy.”
“What should I tell them?”
Spike sighed. “I don’t know! Make something up. Just hurry.”
While Andrew fumbled his way through the call, Spike went outside and sniffed the air. It wasn’t telling him anything except the direction Buffy went. That was a start at least. In the distance he could already hear the sirens. He wanted to be gone before the ambulance and police arrived.
“Come on kid,” Spike yelled, “we don’t have all night.”
“I’m coming. Where we going?”
“The cemetery district.”
Spike flew down the streets of Sunnydale. He hadn’t pushed the bike to these speeds since the night Buffy came back, when he was looking for Dawn. The town was empty now, and Spike didn’t see a single person or demon on the streets.
After what seemed like hours, Spike saw a lone figure in the distance walking slowly down the street. Her head was down, shoulders bent, and she was shuffling more than walking. She seemed completely dejected and smaller than any person had a right to be. But despite all of this, Spike instantly recognized her.
“Slayer!” He shouted about the sound of the bike’s engine, but she didn’t turn around. Maybe she was ignoring him, or simply didn’t hear him. She looked like she was lost in her own world. Had she been hurt somehow?
Spike pulled up even with her, but she didn’t even look up. He pulled a head a few feet and got off the bike. “Stay here,” he flung over his shoulder and he hurried towards Buffy.
“Slayer? Buffy?” She still didn’t respond, just kept walking.
He caught up with her and grabbed her arm, spinning her around. “Buffy, look at me.” Slowly she raised her tear-stained face and gazed at him with large, wet, red eyes. He had never, ever seen her look so forlorn.
“Buffy, what’s wrong?” He asked gently. “What happened?”
She didn’t answer, and she seemed to be looking right through him. He shook her slightly. “Buffy, please. What’s going on?”
Her lower lip trembled but she didn’t speak, only shook her head. “Are you hurt? Do we need to take you to the hospital too? Was it Caleb?”
“Hospital?” She said the word as if it was completely foreign to her. “Who is that the hospital?”
“Everybody Buffy. I came home and they were all…passed out or something. We called the ambulance.”
“What happened?” Her voice was dazed as her eyes.
“I don’t know Buffy. Weren’t you there?”
As Spike talked, he led her to the front lawn of an abandoned house and helped her sit down.
“No, I—they asked me to leave.”
“What?”
Buffy looked away. “It was my fault.”
“Buffy, none of this is making sense. They kicked you out of your own house?”
“It was my fault that Xander lost his eye. They said I’m under too much stress. Maybe they’re right.”
“He blames you for what happened to him?” Spike kept his voice even though his rage was reawakened.
“They all do. They told me that it’s all my fault and they’re right.”
“No, Buffy, it’s not your fault. They just…”
“It’s my fault!” She shouted, and they all jumped in response. Andrew looked as though he wanted to check on them, but Spike shook his head slightly, and he backed off. “They’re right,” she said, softer. “It’s my fault Xander’s eye is gone, and all those girls are dead, and Jenny died.”
Spike frowned. Jenny? He wracked his memory. Was that the watcher’s bird Angelus killed? “Did Giles tell you that?”
“Buffy.” Spike’s voice was firm and the tone demanded her attention. “They are wrong.”
“But…”
“Buffy, you have saved them all several times, more times than they’re worth. They are all in the hospital now, and I ‘spect that’s because they kicked you out and played right into Caleb’s hands.”
“We have to go help them.” She was more resolute, though her voice was still weak with tears. “If we can…”
“What’s that? What do you mean if? Buffy, you always get it done.”
“Do I?”
He lifted her chin and looked her in the eyes, waiting to speak until he knew that she had her complete attention. “You always get the job done, Buffy. I believe in you, Slayer, and I always will.”
Spike didn’t know what exactly he expected her response to be, but he was not expecting another rush of tears. She was sobbing openly now, and for a moment, Spike was completely thrown and didn’t know how to react. He finally wrapped his arms around her as she continued to cry.
“Don’t cry, pet,” he murmured against her hair, “you’re ok.”
She shook her head, unable to catch her breath in order to speak. “It’s ok, luv. Go ahead and cry it out if you need to. It’s ok.” He stroked her back and met Andrew’s questioning gaze over Buffy’s head. “Hey, Andrew, go to the hospital and make sure everybody’s ok. We’ll catch up later.”
“I don’t know….”
“Just go.”
Andrew didn’t protest again, just jumped on the still idling bike and sped off towards the center of town and the hospital. Buffy’s sobs slowed and she started gulping in air and trying to compose herself.
“Sorry,” she finally mumbled.
“Why are you sorry, luv?”
“For falling apart on you like that. I don’t know what got into me,” she smiled, but it was a sad facsimile of one.
He returned her smile with a genuine one of his own. “You’re allowed to cry once in awhile, Slayer. It’s not a crime.”
“It’s just that you’re always…and I’m always…and here you are…” She floundered and looked at him helplessly.
“You don’t need to say anything, Buffy.” He caressed the side of her face, wetting his finger with her salty tears. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently.
“Yes, I do,” she protested. “I have lots of things I need to say. A world of things I need to say.”
“We also need to go to the hospital and find out what’s wrong with your…” He caught himself before he finished the sentence. Were they really her friends anymore?
She sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes with the heal of her hand. She lifted her chin resolutely and her lower lip only held a small tremble. “Let’s do it then.”
“That’s my girl,” Spike said, rising to his feet and then offering his hand to pull her up.
“Yeah,” she agreed softly. Almost too softly for Spike to hear.
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Haha. Eaten up by Xander.
Great story! Thanks!