"Moving On"

By Quoshara

"You can't stay here," she looked down at the bleached blond stretched out before her. "Really, this is simply NOT acceptable. You're not supposed to be here."

Spike opened one eye, then gave a unneeded gasp, his hand going towards his chest as if searching for something.

"It's gone, and you should be too." She crossed her arms and glared down at the man lying at her feet.

Spike regained his composure very quickly for someone who had thought they would wake up dead...er...deader, and in Hell, "Where the bloody Hell am I then?"

"In the wrong place, obviously," her voice simply dripped with annoyance.

"Really, things simply are NOT as organized here as they were in Arashmahaar. You should already be on your way to where you belong, not lounging around here."

Then again, maybe he was in Hell... why else would Demon-girl be standing over him, scowling as if he'd pissed in her corn flakes?

"'m not loungin'... some bint is towerin' over me like a bleedin' monolith," Yes, it was her fault that he was still lying on the ground... not his own disorientation.

Anya rolled her eyes and stepped back, "There... now get up! We've got to get you on your way."

He cautiously climbed to his feet, quickly checking himself over to make sure he had all his bits: arms - 2, legs - 2, head - firmly attached. He reached lower, scratching and rearranging. Yup, everything right where it belonged.

"Now... lets go," Anya turned on her heel, stopping after 5 paces when she realized that Spike wasn't following her. "What are you waiting for?"

Spike patted down the pockets of his duster until he found his Zippo and his cigarettes, refusing to answer until he drew the first puff of nicotine deep into his lungs, "Don't know I want to go, do I? Not until you answer some questions for me."

Again the eyes rolled and Anya crossed her arms, "What do you want to know?"

Spike looked around at the vast emptiness around them, "Where are we... exactly?"

"Dead. Hadn't you guessed?" She smirked at him, "Deader, in your case, I suppose."

"Figured out that bit, didn't I?" He frowned. There had been no thought of reprieve in his mind when the amulet had started to burn. "When did you get yours?"

"The same day as you," her expression was perturbed. "I heard Andrew whimper and turned to check on him and that was that. Stupid human body... couldn't stand up to a sword through the chest."

"But they're so good for other things, pet." and there it was, that trademark smirk, double entendres drifting out of it like breath did for most people.

He dropped the butt of his cigarette on the...floor?... and crushed it under the heel of his Doc, "And where is...?"

A vague wave of his hand took in the vacant landscape, as Anya answered, "A reception room..."

"Antechamber..."

"Foyer..."

"Yeah, a bleedin' vestibule. I got the idea after reception room," He cut her off. "But a reception room for what?"

"Well, usually, it would be where they lead you on to your final destination," she breezed on ahead, taking a few steps in the direction she wished to lead him, then coming back when he still didn't follow. "All right, that would be usually... But in your case, well, that doesn't count really."

He raised an eyebrow, "And why would that be, pet?"

"They're sending you back," she stepped out again, then growled with frustration as Spike still made no effort to follow. "Come on! You're not messing this up for me! If I do this right there is every chance that I'll make Oracle by the end of the century!"

"'m not going back," his voice was low and deadly calm. "I did my bit. Saved the world, didn't I? Was a hero and all. A bit of an anticlimax if I show back up on the doorstep."

"Oh, please, save me from vampires that think they know better than The Powers That Be," she muttered it under her breath. "Look, Spike, not that I wouldn't want to spend the rest of Eternity watching you parade your perfect ass around the cosmos in those painted-on jeans, but you HAVE to go back."

"You can't fool me, luv. If I didn't have a choice, I'd already be where you want to send me, instead of here for you to oogle at," he pulled out another cigarette, but didn't light it.

"Oh, dang. I was hoping he wouldn't figure that one out." Anya sighed.

"Well, of course you have a choice. The Powers That Be insist on such things," her mind skittered around looking for something that might convince him. "But just think about it - Lots of chances for redemption if you go back. Chances to make up for all those things you did that you still feel guilty about."

He didn't fall for it, "Let m'self be bloody well immolated, didn't I? How much more can you ask?"

"You have to go!" Her jaw tightened, "My next promotion is riding on it!"

Spike just lit his cigarette, and looked at her blankly.

"There's still so much good work you could be doing."

Deep drag off the cigarette, and the clicking sound of black nail polish being chipped at, as Spike blatantly ignored her.

"They need you. Spike," giving up easily was not in her nature. "The 'slayer has so much to--"

"The Slayer?" he looked up at that. Yeah... just because this apocalypse had been diverted didn't mean there wouldn't be more. There were always more..

"Yes. There are rough times ahead... And no help from the Council." she nodded solemnly.

"Bastards..." Spike growled, "Right then... I'm ready. Send me back."

"DONE," Anya clapped her hands over her head and in a flash, Spike was gone.

"Hmmmm... I wonder just how mad Spike will be when he figures out I meant the Dragonslayer and not the Vampire Slayer?" her lips quirked up in a smile. Not that any dragons would be slain for quite some time... but still, the title was apt.

She shrugged and started making her way through the antechamber. If she was lucky she'd still have time to get her hair color changed before her next "client" arrived. "White blonde, I think. Afterall, it's worked so well for Spike all these years..."

**