FIC; Dio De Los Muertos(2/2)

[JDMeans@xxxxxxx]

Okay, here's part two, as promised.

Disclaimer; I don't own Buffy and crew, Joss, UPN and Paramount do. Cole 
Sear was created by M. Night Shyamalin, and is owned by him and Touchstone 
Pictures.

Archives; Just let me know, I have enough ego to say yes.

Spoilers; Season six in general, and some early season seven. Kinda AU after 
'Same Time, Same Place'. And in case you didn't figure it out, it's sort of 
a crossover with 'The Sixth Sense'.

Rating; PG-13 to R

Pairings; Buffy/Willow and Xander/Anya

Feedback; Oh you know I want it! JDMeans@xxxxxxx

Summary; In response to my own recent Day of the Dead challenge. Halloween 
night brings some unexpected visitors to Sunnydale…


Dio De Los Muertos
By Kirayoshi


<<>>

"Tara? B-but you're dead," Buffy said timidly. "Uh, don't get me wrong, you 
look great, but still…"

"Yeah, dead," Tara admitted, fidgeting on Buffy's porch. "I was there, 
remember?"

"Sorry," Buffy said. "I mean, I know that doesn't begin to cover it. But we 
miss you. Willow especially, but we all do."

"I know," Tara's smile was beatitude, a gesture of grace given happily to the 
Slayer. Buffy accepted her warm smile with thanks. "Look, I can't stay 
long, but I have to ask you one thing."

"Name it," Buffy answered.

"Do you love Willow?"

Buffy stood in shock, not expecting that question. "Uh, yeah, of course I 
do," she answered hesitantly. "She's my best friend and all…"

"No, Buffy," Tara insisted serenely. "I didn't ask you if you were still 
Willow's friend. I asked you if you love her."

Buffy breathed deeply, attempting to calm her nerves. She considered Tara's 
question, wondering if she could answer it easily. In a flash of 
realization, the truth came to her and had to be spoken.

"I do, Tara. In every way that one person can love another. I could not 
possibly live in a world which didn't contain her."

The light in Tara's eyes brightened, her smile suffused in joy. A faint 
spiral of light surrounded Tara, and her ghostly body shimmered, dissipating 
slowly. "Tell her, Buffy," she pleaded as her body began to fade. "Tell her 
she is loved, that she can be loved. She deserves it. And so do you, Buffy. 
So do you." In a twinkling, the ghost had disappeared, as gently as a sweet 
dream.

Buffy stared at the vacant porch, and then slowly closed the door. She stood 
at the door, considering Tara's request. I can't do it, Tara, she thought 
sadly. I can't tell her, no matter how deeply I have always loved her. I 
won't cause you any more pain, Willow. I can't force you further into my 
life than…

A memory came to her, unbidden. A memory of Willow, her sweet innocent 
Willow, happily announcing that she was going to remain in Sunnydale, to aid 
Buffy in her war against the darkness. "It's a good fight," Willow had said, 
"and I want in."

Epiphanies happen in a quiet manner, strong but not loudly. They aren't like 
explosions, they're like the sunrise. A steadily growing light, illuminating 
a truth, revealing the path that should be taken.

Willow had sacrificed so much to stay beside Buffy and fight the good fight.  
The least Buffy could do was sacrifice her pride, to let Willow know that she 
would do everything in her power to insure her happiness. She glanced at the 
clock, suddenly impatient for Willow to come home.

<<>>

"-and when I told Buffy that it was her destiny to fight vampires," Merrick 
began to chuckle as he related his anecdote to Giles, "she stared hard at me 
and asked, 'Does Elvis talk to you?'" The two men laughed heartily at the 
memory.

"Yes, that does sound like Buffy," Giles nodded, sipping his brandy. "Oh, 
would you care for a drink while you're here?"

"I can't," Merrick insisted. "I'm a ghost, remember?" Giles nodded, 
understanding. "Anyway, I can't stay long."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Giles asked his late mentor.

"Only live your life without regrets," Merrick answered solemnly. "I know 
you, Ripper. You're not content to sit back and let others do for you. You 
want to be in the thick of the fight."

"It isn't my place, Merrick," Giles answered sadly. "I'm just the Watcher."

"You're hardly 'just' anything, old friend," Merrick chuckled. "And I never 
knew you to back away from a fight. Something large is happening in 
Sunnydale. It's going to be one hell of a fight, Ripper. Don't regret 
missing it. Your place is there, old friend."

"Is it, Merrick?" Giles began to ask, but as swiftly and silently as the 
ending of a dream, Merrick disappeared.

Giles sat in his living room, brandy glass in hand, not speaking or moving 
for nearly forty-five minutes. He rolled Merrick's words around in his mind, 
weighing and measuring them over and over again. Once again the Slayer would 
face a threat to the world. Once again the bravest, strongest people he had 
ever had the privilege of knowing would place their lives on the line for all 
that was good.

And in the end, only one question remained in Giles' mind;

What the bloody hell am I doing here?

Giles began making arrangements to move back to Sunnydale.

<<>>

Taylor's Storage was located three blocks west of Xander's apartment, and 
luckily for him, the premises were open late at night. The night-manager, 
Mr. Pabst, was a robust balding man, who cheerfully directed Xander to 
Storage Unit #22, matching the number on the key to the number on the door.  
"Whoever rented this locker kept it paid up for a few years," Mr. Pabst 
commented. "But the lease is due to run out in a few months, so I guess you 
got lucky."

"Thanks," Xander smiled as he held the key in his trembling hand. Pabst left 
Xander alone and headed back to the front office. Swallowing hard, Xander 
looked at the key, and slid it slowly into the lock. As he turned the key, 
it stuck for a moment, but with gentle persistence on Xander's part, the 
latch clicked open. "Okay, here goes," Xander whispered, as he turned the 
doorknob and opened the door.

He felt along the wall by the doorframe, locating a light switch. A 
fluorescent fixture on the ceiling flooded the room with light. The room was 
larger than a walk-in closet, and nearly empty, except for a stack of 
cardboard boxes in the corner. Xander approached the boxes, blew the dust 
off of the top one, and lifted the lid. When he realized what he was looking 
at, Xander dropped his jaw in amazement; 

Years before his death, Jesse had bragged about his late uncle's comic book 
collection. Jesse claimed that he had inherited enough Golden and Early 
Silver Age titles from his uncle to pay for his college education if he was 
to liquidate the collection. Xander and Willow had always teased Jesse about 
the collection, denying its existence. Now, staring at the cases of comics 
before him, Xander was never happier to eat his words.  

They stood inside the box, neatly sorted and filed, each one sealed in a 
mylar bag. Xander took one title out at random; an early Detective Comic 
title, one of the earliest appearances of Batman. His pulse raced as he 
thumbed through the books in each case; the first issues of the X-Men. World 
War II issues of Superman, Captain America and Wonder Woman. A near-mint 
condition Amazing Fantasy #15, the very first appearance of Spider-Man. A 
huge grin nearly split Xander's face from ear to ear as he held these 
treasures in his hands.  

"Hey, Xander."

The familiar voice shook Xander out of his reverie. Turning toward the door, 
Xander was greeted by the vision of a young woman with chestnut hair. The 
deferential attitude was new. "Hey, Anya," Xander waved slightly as he 
greeted his ex-fiancée.  

"I, uh, was passing by," she said feebly as she entered the storage space, 
"and I thought I'd see how you were doing." Xander smirked at her, causing 
Anya to sag her shoulders in defeat. "Okay, I was following you out of the 
Espresso Pump. I guess I needed to talk to you."

Xander's gaze softened, and he nodded toward her. "Sit down, Ahn," he patted 
the floor next to him. Anya took the seat next to Xander and looked at the 
comic in his hands. "What are all these?"

"Comics," Xander announced. "My childhood friend Jesse owned all these. He 
kept them in this locker, and I guess he wanted me to have them."

"Really?" Anya's eyes lit up like a movie marquee. "Let me see." She rifled 
through the box, lifting a few titles. "Oh my God," she whispered, 
"Detective Comics #17. The very first Batman! Whoa, do know the selling 
price on this?"

"Anya," Xander said, but the young demoness wouldn't be interrupted. "I'm 
serious, Xander. Nicholas Cage sold his collection for 1.6 million a few 
weeks ago. You know how much you could get for these books on E-Bay?" She 
glanced at Xander's hooded eyes for a moment. "Uh, not as much as the 
memories of your childhood friend, so I'll shut up now."

Xander started to chuckle, then silenced himself as Anya lowered her head in 
sorrow. "Hey, Anya, you okay?"

Anya shook her head, answering, "I saw this kid today. He and his mom were 
passing through Sunnydale. The kid can speak to ghosts, and I heard his mom 
wish that the ghosts would leave him alone for one day. So I said 'done', 
and now ghosts are speaking directly to the living. I guess you must have 
seen Jesse." She sat silently for a few minutes, and Xander didn't say 
anything, knowing that she had to unburden. "I saw a few ghosts of people who 
I took vengeance against. People who didn't deserve it." Anya lifted her 
head, and Xander could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. "I don't want to 
do this anymore, Xand. I went back to D'Hoffryn because I was mad at you for 
leaving me at the altar, but I can't stay that mad anymore. I miss you, 
Xand. You, Buffy, Willow, you were the first real friends I ever had."

"Hey, I'm sorry," Xander answered, leaning toward Anya and letting her head 
rest on his shoulder. "I never meant to hurt you, honey, you gotta believe 
that. I just didn't want to end up like my old man, and that other me who 
showed me the future-"

"Was working for D'Hoffryn," Anya announced. "I just found that out; he was 
a demon on D'Hoffryn's payroll, and he sent him to turn you against me, so 
I'd go back to my old vengeance demon gig." She tugged at her sleeve and 
sniffled into the fabric. "Xander, do you really think you could end up like 
your father?"

"Believe me, Ahn," Xander admitted, "I pray every night that I don't. I just 
didn't want to end up hurting you, the way Dad always hurt Mom and me. Jeez, 
I wish I could explain it to you better."

Anya regarded Xander with a slight smile. "Done."

Xander blinked briefly. "You can do that? Just because I said 'I wish'?"

"No," Anya giggled. "But I do understand, a little. I've seen so much of 
the worst of humanity as a vengeance demon. And I contributed to it, that's 
for sure. I was an immature eighteen year old girl for nearly a millennium, 
and when I became human again, I just grew older. Maybe after a thousand 
years, it's finally time for me to grow up." She reached around her neck and 
unclasped the necklace that D'Hoffryn gave her so many years ago, and 
returned to her a few months ago. "This," she stated, dropping the necklace 
to the ground, "is all that I was." Standing up, she looked passively at the 
necklace, then lifted her foot and stamped hard on it, grinding it into tiny 
pieces on the floor.

Xander stood up next to Anya, and took her hand in his. "So, Ahn, what 
happens to you now?"

"I go back to being human," she answered. "Maybe this time I'll be better at 
it. Uh, do you think you could help me there, Xand? Help me be more human, 
I mean?"

Xander smiled broadly, taking Anya into his arms in a warm and welcoming hug. 
"Done," he answered.

<<>>

Willow ran until her legs started to give way. She ran until her lungs 
threatened to burst. And still she ran, away from the unholy specter that 
stalked her. She collapsed in pain and exhaustion beside a gnarled oak, 
praying to the Goddess that she had lost the thing that was chasing her.

"You naughty girl, Willow," Warren's voice creaked through a lipless mouth.  
Willow shuddered as the skinless figure shambled toward her. "You caused me 
a great deal of pain, you bitch. And I'm going to take it all out on you."

Willow wanted to struggle, but her muscles were weak from the exertions of 
her flight from Warren's ghost. The undead thing glared at Willow with 
unblinking eyes. "You called me a killer, but after what you did to me, I'm 
just an amateur." He grabbed Willow by the hair, and yanked hard. "But I 
learn quickly." Willow felt a knife being pressed slowly against her neck.  
"Don't worry, Willow," Warren cackled, "this will hurt a lot."

"Back off, you monster!"

Willow fell as Warren's hand let go of her hair, as the fiend backed away.  
The second ghostly figure stepped out of the shadows and confronted Warren 
with a cold and unforgiving glare. "How dare you attack my family?" She 
grabbed Warren's arm and threw him to the ground. "You have heaped enough 
misery on this girl, you bastard. No more, do you hear me? No more!"  
Warren cowered before the avenging angel above him, and then he faded to 
nothingness.  

The other ghost stooped beside Willow, lifting her to her feet with gentle 
arms. "Are you all right, Willow?"

"Yeah, I guess, I-" Willow glanced at her rescuer, and stopped, her mouth 
hanging open. The warm and loving face of Joyce Summers smiled back at her.  
"Mrs. Summers?" Willow gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"What else should I be doing?" Joyce answered. "I'm not going to let a thing 
like my death stop me from keeping an eye on my family."

Willow bowed her head, unable to show Joyce her shame. "I don't know if I 
qualify there anymore," she lamented. "Not after all I put Buffy through."  
It didn't occur to Willow to question why her best friend's late mother was 
comforting her. She simply chalked it up to a typical Sunnydale Halloween.

"Oh, Willow," Joyce consoled the sad young woman. "Buffy has always called 
you family. And so have I." She turned Willow's face upward with a kind 
hand. "Go to her, Willow. She needs you in her life." She backed away from 
Willow, and started to fade. "You have my blessing, Willow. Go to her." A 
shimmer of light and she was gone.

Willow blinked repeatedly, staring at the spot where Joyce Summers had stood. 
She could still feel the phantom sensation of Joyce's arm on her shoulder, 
her hand wiping away a tear.

You have my blessing…

The final tumbler fell into place, unlocking a secret long since hidden from 
her heart. For the first time since a bullet struck down Tara McClay, Willow 
felt a lightness in her soul. And there was only one place in the world 
where she could even think of being right now. With wings at her feet, she 
ran directly toward Buffy's house.

Toward home.

<<>>

For the fifth time in as many minutes, Buffy checked her appearance in the 
mirror. The cream-colored silk dress hung off her body perfectly, flattering 
her natural curves. She was amazed that it still fit as well as it did; she 
hadn't worn this particular garment since her last actual date with Riley 
Finn a lifetime ago.

Suddenly she heard the front door open. "Buffy?" She exhaled deeply; her 
Willow was safe. Buffy emerged from her bedroom and headed down the stairs.  
"Hey, Willow," she greeted her, looking at her best friend as though for the 
first time. "How did the wicca meeting go?"

"It was good," Willow answered, fidgeting slightly. She found her eyes 
traveling along the length of Buffy's body, appraising the swell of her 
breasts, the curve of her belly. "Uh, I like the dress. It hangs nice on 
you."

"Thanks," Buffy felt her cheeks warm at Willow's compliment. "I just felt 
like putting on something pretty, you know?"

"Oh?" Willow's voice took on a teasing tone. "Were you expecting anyone in 
particular?"

"Oh, no," Buffy said suddenly, then caught herself staring hard into Willow's 
sea-green eyes. "Only you, Willow." Buffy tentatively reached out to 
Willow, taking the young witch's hand in hers. The contact was electric, 
sending a thrill of desire through both their bodies. The spell thus broken, 
Buffy immediately closed the gap between them, molded her body to Willow's 
and kissed her fully on the lips. Willow didn't allow herself to analyze her 
feelings, she simply flowed with them, wrapping her arms around Buffy's body 
and leaning into the kiss.

For a full minute, they allowed their mouths to travel along each other, 
savoring the building heat between them. Finally, Buffy broke her head away 
from Willow, but still remained in her embrace. "Oh, Willow," she breathed, 
"I've wanted to do that since you came back from England."

"What kept you?" Willow asked, flashing a canary-eating smile.

"You were still mourning Tara," Buffy admitted. "I didn't want to risk 
losing you."

"You'll never lose me, Buffy," Willow promised, leaning forward for another 
kiss. "I love you so much."

"And I love you," Buffy answered, her lips moving against Willow's mouth.  
Their kiss grew more passionate, more urgent as the two lovers fell onto the 
sofa, their bodies never losing their sweet contact. Buffy's hands began to 
roam against Willow's back, almost instinctively knowing where to apply 
pressure to heighten Willow's arousal, as Willow's fingers were deftly 
stoking Buffy's fires.

"Hey, Buffy," Dawn slammed the door behind her as she rushed into the living 
room, "You won't believe who I ran into-Oh…my…God!" Dawn stood silently, 
watching her sister and her best friend making out in front of her.  

Buffy and Willow turned their eyes toward Dawn, and clumsily tried to 
disengage their embrace. "Oh, hey, Dawnie," Willow greeted Buffy's sister, 
blushing a furious crimson. "Uh, I know that this must look weird-"

"I'll say," Dawn grinned. "I don't remember the last time I saw Buffy 
looking this happy." Willow looked at Buffy, who was apparently biting her 
lip to keep from laughing. "Hey, I've seen the way you two were scoping each 
other out since you came back from England, Willow. Buffy, Willow, I think 
it's great that you two finally hooked up. It just surprised me, is all."

"Oh," Buffy sighed, relieved that Dawn so understood the situation. "Good, 
because I'm planning on hanging onto Willow for a good long time."

"Darn tootin'," Willow answered happily. She snuggled back into Buffy's 
arms, and kissed her nose.

"Okay," Dawn answered. "That's great." Seeing her sister's impatient eyes 
looking at Willow, Dawn added, "Uh, I'm gonna go upstairs, and, uh, not be 
here. Okay?" If Buffy had heard her sister, she didn't give any indication, 
as she found herself engrossed with Willow's lips, which she resumed kissing. 
"Uh, yeah. Just keep it down, okay?" She tiptoed out of the living room 
and left the two older women alone.

Slowly, Buffy and Willow relaxed from their intense kissing, and Willow lay 
her head on Buffy's lap, content to luxuriate in their newfound closeness.  
"Hey," Buffy whispered in her ear as she stroked her red hair, "You think 
it'll be safe to move this upstairs and continue where we left off?"

"Yeah," Willow purred happily. "When Tara and I first moved in, we had a 
soundproofing spell placed around our bedroom. I think it still works."

"Good," Buffy grinned evilly, lifting Willow's body in her arms and making 
her way upstairs. "Let's make some noise." Willow chuckled throatily, her 
body trembling with desire. As Buffy carried her up the stairs and into her 
bedroom, Willow offered a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess, and another 
prayer to Joyce Summers.  

A prayer that she would always be worthy of the blessing of Buffy Summers.

<<>>

The voices finally stopped. But they would never fade.

Spike slowly lifted his body from the crypt floor, looking around him. The 
ghosts were gone. He had survived their onslaught.

He could feel the laugh welling up within his gut, and slowly work its way 
out of his throat. It was a cold laugh, a laugh of triumph against his 
conscience. He reflected back on the ghosts that tormented him, both on the 
previous night and since he returned from Africa. The guilt, the underlying 
self-loathing that he had experienced since he had his soul restored, it was 
gone. He clapped his hands giddily. His soul was gone.

He found himself thinking about Buffy. The Slayer. He cursed himself for 
having allowed her into his heart before, for being fool enough to think he 
loved her. He was a monster. He didn't love. He couldn't love. And now, 
he realized, he didn't need to love.

"I'll bet you're laying in your bed right now," Spike whispered to himself, 
"thinking that you've finally neutered me at last. Well, I got news for you. 
I'm back." He paced his crypt like a panther pacing his cave, anticipating 
the hunt. "This is your last night on Earth, Slayer! I'm going to tie you 
down and force you to watch, while I drain the blood from your sister and 
your friends! Yeah, baby, Spike is back!" He shouted to the walls of his 
crypt. "DO YOU HEAR ME, SLAYER? I'M BACK!"

He pushed aside the door of his crypt and ran out, violence in his heart, 
blood in his eyes…

And faced the first rays of the rising sun.

"Oh, shi-" he murmured his final words as his body converted to ash.

FINIS