Pilgrim Souls
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. I think that’s clear.
Summary: “Pilgrim—a traveler or wanderer, especially in a
strange land.” Buffy makes a journey to
A/N: arclevel asked for a Thanksgiving holiday fic with Wesley and Buffy meeting up again in S7/S4, with the prompt of “pilgrims,” historical and/or metaphorical. I’m a big fan of metaphors.
She was lost in a strange town.
Somehow she doubted heaven would open its gates to her again, not unless her next death also involved a heroic sacrifice. It was possible given the fact that she was the Slayer, of course, but there was no guarantee.
Buffy looked at the address she’d written down on the piece of paper. The shop was supposed to have the key ingredient for a spell to hold off the First, which seemed to be tormenting Spike and nearly everyone else with visions of the dead. The vampire had more dead to worry about, but when Joyce appeared to Dawn, Buffy had decided that it was time to do something.
And yes, there was some guilt over having not helped Spike out earlier. At least she’d gotten him out of the basement, which had been a difficult task in and of itself.
“Crap.” Buffy looked from the paper to the faded numbers on the door once again. She was certain that she was on the right street, and that she was on the right side of the street, but the building she was looking for didn’t seem to exist.
And this was the only shop purporting to sell Gnarkslik bile, which was the main ingredient in the one
spell that
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed her home number. When Dawn answered, Buffy asked, “Is Willow there?”
“Yeah. What do you need?”
Dawn didn’t sound happy, and she sighed. “I need the address to that shop again.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m standing in front of where it’s supposed to be, and it’s not here,” she replied. “Come on, Dawn. Pass the phone over.”
“
She put a hand to her head; there was no way she was going back to Sunnydale without what they needed. “Okay. I’ll figure it out.”
“I saw Spike today.”
“Where?”
“I went over to Xander’s.”
It had been the only place Buffy could think of to put him. She knew that Spike would be safe there, and although Xander hadn’t been thrilled at the idea, he had reluctantly agreed. “How was it?”
“Fine. He’s really quiet.”
“I know.” Buffy hesitated. “I think it’s the soul.”
“Do you think a soul really changes someone?”
“I think it could.”
“Yeah, I guess so. I’ll see you soon?”
“Tomorrow, probably,” Buffy replied. “I’ll likely be too tired to drive back tonight.”
“I’ll tell
“Thanks, Dawn.” Buffy cut the connection and looked up and down the street, trying to figure out what she was going to do next.
She blinked when she saw a person coming out of a door up the street. He looked familiar, but she wasn’t sure. Buffy quickened her pace, wanting to see if her instinct was correct. The clothing was all wrong, as was the set of the shoulders, but the shape of his body and head was familiar.
“Wes!”
The man stopped and turned to face her, and she saw that her suspicion had been on the mark. “Buffy?”
“Hey.” She paused, realizing that she didn’t know what to say. “Do you, um, know where this is?”
He took the piece of paper she held out and glanced at the address. “Of course.” Wesley gestured behind him. “That’s the shop I just came out of.”
She heaved a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to think that it didn’t exist.”
“And you need Gnarkslik bile?”
Buffy had asked
He shook his head. “No. When was this?”
“Just before you came to Sunnydale, I guess.” She shrugged. “I need to pick this up and find a place to stay for the night.”
“You’re welcome to my couch,” he offered.
She stared at him. “You don’t have to do that.”
Wesley raised an eyebrow. “No one else is sleeping on it, and I could use the company.” His face darkened. “And company would be a good excuse to avoid someone I’d rather not see right now.”
Buffy could relate. “As long as I’m not putting you out.”
“Not at all.” He paused. “Unless you’d rather stay at the hotel. Things are a little chaotic right now, but if you’d rather—”
“With Angel?” She shook her head vehemently. “No, thank you. The last thing I need to deal with is another ex right now.”
“Another ex?” Wesley inquired as he opened the door for her.
She shook her head. “It’s a long story.”
“Perhaps you’ll tell me about it tonight,” he suggested.
Meeting his eyes, Buffy could see that he’d aged, and that weariness lined his face. In the dim light of the street, she hadn’t been able to see him clearly. Now, she saw the scar that ran across his throat, and the stubble that lined his jaw, and she knew that he had changed. It was all in the eyes.
“If you’ll tell me what happened to your throat,” she replied.
He smiled, and it warmed his eyes. “It’s a deal.”
~~~~~
She was thinner than he remembered, and more care worn. Wesley found it odd that he’d attended her funeral, but was now ushering her inside his apartment. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.”
“It’s fine. Great.” She offered him a weary smile. “Thanks for interpreting for me. I had no idea the shopkeeper wouldn’t speak English.”
He shrugged. “The person there during the day does, but after dark, it’s harder to find someone to run it.”
“Makes sense.” She put her bag down on the floor and looked around the apartment. “It’s homey.”
“It’s nice enough.” Wesley didn’t think much of his apartment one way or another. It was home, but only because his things were there. “You know, if you’d rather take the bed—”
“No.” She waved off the suggestion. “The couch is great.”
He nodded, relieved. He hadn’t changed the sheets since the latest round of sex with Lilah—and that had been a while back. Things had been a little too busy lately for him to keep up to date on his laundry. “I’m afraid my housekeeping has left quite a bit to be desired lately.”
She laughed. “Mine isn’t much better, I promise.”
“So, tell me. The First has been bothering you?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Vaguely,” Wesley replied, trying to recall if Angel had been the one to tell him about it, or if he’d received his information from another source. “It takes the forms of the dead, correct?”
“And it really likes souled vampires,” Buffy confirmed.
Wesley frowned. “Souled vampires?”
Buffy winced, realizing that he wouldn’t know about Spike. “Spike got his soul. For me.”
His interest was piqued. “Was that the other ex that you mentioned?”
Her eyes were shadowed, and he noticed how much older she looked. Although years had passed since he’d seen her, Wesley knew that it was more than the passage of time. “We were together—if you can call it that. It was complicated.”
“Let me guess,” he said, sitting down next to her. “You felt guilty about dating him, but you couldn’t cut it off.”
“You, too?”
“The company I would rather avoid,” he confirmed. “To say that it’s been a difficult year would be an understatement.”
“Tell me about it.” Her tone was fervent, and at his questioning look, she asked, “Did Angel tell you that I was in heaven?”
His eyes went wide. Wesley had no idea how to respond to that. “I see. That must have been…difficult.”
“That’s one way to put it. Everything felt so wrong, you know? Too hard, too bright, too painful.”
“And he helped?”
“Spike made it less hard, less bright, and less painful. And more, at the same time.” She looked rueful. “It was pretty bad there at the end, and then he got his soul for me. It’s hard to know what to say to that.”
“Do you need to say anything?”
“What do you mean?”
Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you doing something now by being here? Taking steps to protect him?”
“It’s not just him,” Buffy admitted. “The First went after Dawn, too.” She shook her head. “But even if it had just gone after Spike, I’d probably still be here. What about you and your company?”
“There isn’t anything that would change Lilah, and she does not want to change.” The thought pained him; he could admit that to himself at least.
“Did she have anything to do with that scar?” Buffy asked, looking at the thin, red line Wesley knew was still visible.
“In a way. I made a bad call, and I left the group for a time. That’s when she and I became close.” He chose his words wisely, not wanting to tell her the whole story, and yet wanting to give a clear picture of events. It might have been closer to the truth to tell her that he had been forced out, but he didn’t know how much she knew about Connor, and he thought it might be wiser to keep quiet about that.
Buffy nodded. “I know how that works. But sometimes your friends don’t understand, you know? They expect you to be someone you’re not.”
“And the person you are told that you must despise is the one who is kindest to you, in their way.”
Understanding passed between them; Wesley could feel it thrum. Buffy might not know the whole story, but she understood him better than the others. Better than his friends.
“Do you think a person can change?”
Wesley thought of Lilah, and of Angel, and he thought about what Buffy really wanted to know. Can a soul alter the true nature of a vampire, and had Spike changed? Or, would she have to kill him in the end?
He had often wondered the same thing himself when it came to Angel, particularly now that he was researching the best way to cause him to lose his soul.
In the end, Wesley gave her the answer that he wanted to believe, the one he thought Buffy wanted as well. “Yes. I do. But only if you believe they can.”
“When did you get so smart?” she asked to break the tension that had risen.
He shrugged. “Probably in between getting shot and having my throat slit. You tend to learn quite a bit when your life flashes before your eyes.”
“Too bad I couldn’t have avoided dying,” Buffy said, attempting a smile; she was nearly successful. “I might have learned something myself.”
“What will you do when you go back?” he asked, changing the subject slightly.
Her expression turned determined. “I’m going to save him, and then I guess we’ll have to talk.”
He thought of Lilah. “Good luck,” he said, meaning it.
“Don’t give up,” Buffy replied, her voice intense. “Just—he surprised me. She might do the same.”
Wesley didn’t reply; he wasn’t sure that he believed in miracles anymore.
~~~~~
“You had company here last night.”
He didn’t turn from the stove; Wesley knew what they said about watched pots, but he had no desire to face Lilah now. He and Buffy had talked until the wee hours of the morning, and he’d come to a decision: it was time to end it.
“An old friend,” he finally said, knowing that she was waiting to hear his explanation. “I ran into her at one of the magic stores in town.”
“The Slayer from Sunnydale.”
“You had her checked out.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Wesley finally faced her, seeing the faint signs of jealousy, and he knew that she cared for him in her way. Strange, but he cared for her, as well. “I think that this needs to end.”
“I’m in your blood,” she objected. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“No, I can’t,” he agreed pleasantly. “But you and I are never going to find that middle ground, Lilah.”
“You’ve gone back to Angel,” she accused.
He nodded. “I have. There’s a battle coming up, and we’re going to be on opposite sides.”
“You don’t know that.”
It could just be his imagination, but she sounded a little desperate. “Unless something changes drastically, I do.”
“Fine.” She drew herself up. “But when you’ve lost, you’ll regret not joining me when you had the chance.”
“And if you ever want to change sides, you know where to find me.”
He stared into her eyes and saw her waver slightly before she shook her head, looking rueful. “I like winning too much.”
But as she left, Wesley knew that he’d won something; he had planted a seed, and there was yet a chance that she might change. Not for him, but maybe for herself.
It was only a sliver of hope, but it was there nonetheless, and it was something to be thankful for.
~~~~~
Buffy rested her head on the steering wheel, bracing herself
for what she knew was coming.
Spike should be safe now; she’d done that much.
She thought back to her conversation with Wesley the night before. They were both strangers to their own lives, no longer quite fitting with the families they had carved out for themselves. In another time and place, perhaps they might have taken comfort in each other.
It had been a relief to know that straight-laced, uptight Wesley was in a relationship with someone who was not lily-white. Buffy had faced condemnation and disapproval from nearly everyone else she knew, but he understood what it was to be torn, to want what you shouldn’t.
To be lost in your own life.
There was a soft knock on the window, and Buffy glanced up to see Spike standing there, looking both concerned and a lot saner than the last time she’d seen him.
Feeling more than a little embarrassed, she climbed out of her mother’s vehicle.
It was hers now, but that’s not how she thought of it.
“Hey.”
“H’lo.” He cocked his head. “What are you doin’ out here? Is anythin’ wrong?”
“I just came to tell you that
“Oh. Good.” Spike looked up the street. “I’ll, uh, let you get goin’ then.”
“Where are you off to?” She asked to keep him there, to keep him talking, so she could work up the courage to say what she needed to say.
He shrugged. “Thought I’d get a drink. Not much else to do, other than watch Harris lie about an’ watch the telly.”
“And he doesn’t like any of the same shows you do,” Buffy supplied, knowing that it was the truth.
Spike shook his head. “It’s his TV.” He hesitated. “’Preciate you getting me out of the basement, but I’ll probably try to find my own place soon. No sense in me hangin’ about.”
It was time. She had to say it, had to tell him that she did want him around, that it was important to her, that she knew they could both find their way out of the wilderness. If she didn’t, Spike would likely leave, and it would be her fault.
But she couldn’t force the words out.
“I’ll just be going then.”
He started to walk away, and Buffy knew that it was now or never. This gulf that had opened up between them yawned, and if she didn’t find a way to bridge it, she would have ended all possibilities.
She might not want the responsibility, but there was no way Spike would make the first move; not after what had happened in the bathroom, not after what he’d nearly done.
“Wait!” she called, knowing that she sounded desperate. He turned, his expression quizzical and gentle and fearful, all at once. Buffy had no idea how Spike always managed to fit so many emotions into one facial expression. “People can change, right?”
“What?”
“You believe people can change?”
“Yeah, sure. What’s this about, Buffy?”
“I know you’ve changed.” She grasped for the words. “I know how hard it was to do what you did.”
Some of the fear and wariness left his face. “Yeah?”
“Can I come with you?”
“You can go wherever you want,” he replied, sounding puzzled again.
She shook her head. “I want you to want me there.”
“Sure, you can come.” He smiled a little crookedly. “If you want.”
“I do. I just want to talk.”
“We can do whatever you like.”
It was his way of telling her—again—that he was sorry, that she was the one in control. “Okay. And then maybe we can patrol?”
“If you like.” He looked at the car. “Do you want to drive?”
Buffy looked up at the November sky, and the stars twinkling
overhead; she could see a lot more of them here than she had in
“No,” she said, meeting his eyes, for the first time
thinking that they might actually have a chance. “It’s a nice night. Let’s just
walk.”