The Worst Journey in the World Part Five
For rating, pairing etc see Part One
The Worst Journey in the World Part Five
"You should leave me."
Wesley's voice was weak - barely heard over the swish of the sled runners and the excited barking of dogs. He coughed - a harsh phlegm-y rattle.
Buffy glanced sidelong at him. The sled was going slowly to spare Wesley discomfort, but he still looked to be in agony with every bump in the ground they went over. On the plus side, at least the dogs seemed to have gotten over their dislike of him, pulling him without protest.
"Don't be stupid, Wes. We aren't gonna do that."
"But why not?" Wesley coughed again. "There's nothing you can do for me and you don't need me to find your way back to the portal. Spike can perfectly well follow the trail of magic, can't you, Spike?"
He glanced up and back, to where Spike stood on the sled runners, leaning forward over Wesley's head to yell encouragement to the dogs.
"Could," Spike agreed. "Magic has its own stink. Can't mistake it."
"Besides," Wesley went on. "I'm slowing you down, and you need to get back to the portal as soon as possible. Despite the fact that insinuating their army into this dimension must have depleted their magical energies enormously, Wolfram & Hart might find a way to trap you here. It could take even Ms Rosenberg a while to locate and retrieve you."
Buffy shook her head. "Not much concerned about that. Before we left home, Willow gave me this magical tracking doodad. She’ll find us, no problem. "
"Ah." Wesley sounded surprised. “And you’ve had that all this time, and never mentioned it?”
"Yeah." She tried to smile at him. "You're not the only one with secrets."
"So it seems." He coughed again. "Even so, you still have to get to the portal, and the sooner, the better. You're mentally and physically exhausted and supplies are getting low."
Buffy kept moving, but she could feel both men's eyes boring into her this time. She knew if she looked at them, they'd be doing that British thing again. When she turned back, Spike flinched slightly and looked away. He pretended to be busy with the dogs.
"Easy!" he shouted. "Easy, you bastards!"
As the dogs slowed yet again to negotiate another ripple in the smooth ground, Buffy said, "No way in hell are we leaving you, Wes. We don't abandon our friends. No man left behind, remember?"
Spike looked back at her as she said it, and it was her turn to flinch. She licked her chapped lips.
"S'okay, Slayer," Spike said. "Was my choice."
"And this is mine," Wesley said, in a more forceful tone. "There's nothing for me, back in our world. And even if there were, I'm dying in the worst way possible. Please - just let me go."
She ignored him again. After a moment, he went on, "I'm really not worth it, you know. If it's not enough that I tricked you into helping me, knowing full well Wolfram & Hart would come after us with ultimate force once they discovered the theft of the crystal, think of all the terrible things I did - the lives ruined - the innocent people dead - all to make them trust me. I don't deserve your pity. Best to just leave me."
This time, she rounded on him. "We're not having this conversation again, Wes. That's between you and your conscience - none of my business. My business is to look after my people and get them home."
Taking a deep breath, she tried to quell her anger. She was so damn tired!
"And I have had it up to here with all the doom and gloom. You're not dead yet, and while there's life, there's hope - and I bet your precious Captain Scott would say the same."
He met her eyes steadily. His were deep sunken in his face, on which the flesh seemed to be falling away, leaving his features skull-like and exposed, mouth a rictus grin.
"My point exactly."
*
"Give him to me, Slayer."
"It's okay. I can manage." Buffy glared at Spike, who stood below her on the precarious path down the ice-fall. Wesley's raspy breathing was loud in her ear, his weight on her back heavy as lead.
"I know you can." Spike's voice was gentle. "But come on, love. You're exhausted and he's too tall for you. His feet're draggin' on the ground, and state he's in, they'll come right off if you're not careful."
"Eww!" She tried to shift Wesley higher, then gritted her teeth not to scream out loud when he slid back down again.
"You could…" Wesley began, but she interrupted him.
"For the last time, Wes, we are not leaving you, so don't even say it."
"All right." Wesley gusted a sigh, and she wrinkled her nose at the mouldering smell of him, which was growing worse by the day. "I could walk for a bit," he said. "I'm not a complete invalid."
She almost said yes, but then her eye was caught by the deep shadow just to their left. They were still a long way up.
"I don't think so."
"I wouldn't jump," he insisted, but she shook her head. "No."
Spike shifted slightly, glancing back over his shoulder down the path, which zig-zagged out of sight just below them. At the edge of hearing, far below, Buffy could hear the dogs barking, while overhead the red moon and the blue were rapidly disappearing in a blanket of thick grey cloud.
"Come on, love," Spike said, again. "Another storm's comin' and we've spent all bloody day man-handling the dogs and sledge down here. You're absolutely bloody knackered, anyone can see that, but I still have a bit of juice in me, thanks to you. Give him to me."
She almost said no again, but then she glanced up at the sky. A storm was coming, no doubt, and it probably said a lot about how she was feeling right now that she was glad of it.
Right now, she couldn't think of anything she wanted more than to curl up inside the tent and sleep until the storm blew itself out, except maybe to not have to pee into a plastic funnel stuck inside her pants ever again.
Her shoulders sagged. "Okay."
The manoeuvre to transfer Wesley from her shoulders to Spike's without slipping and falling into the abyss was tricky, but at last they were on the move again, Buffy in front and Spike behind her, moving as sure-footedly on the ice as one of the dogs.
The shadow at the base of the ice-fall loomed up, swallowing them. Buffy looked up and back, beyond Spike, to where the crest of the highest wave was blackly outlined against a lavender-grey sky. It was still beautiful, but she was glad to see the back of it all the same.
Spike was humming under his breath. Suddenly, he burst into song.
"The road is lo-on-gg, with ma-ny a wi-inding turn!"
Wesley groaned. "Please, Spike. It's bad enough being jolted around like this without you singing as well."
Spike laughed. "Dunno what you mean, Percy. Nothin' wrong with my voice." He hummed for a bit, then burst out again, "He ain't heav-yy! He's my brotherrr!"
"Oh lord!" Wesley groaned again. "I wish I was dead already."
Spike huffed through his nose. "Watch it, Percy. You're not careful, we'll go back up the ice-fall and go the long way round, just to see how many of your bits have fallen off by the time we get to the portal."
"Charming!" But Wesley laughed too.
"Great!" Buffy couldn't help joining in the laughter. "You two snap and snarl your way around this dimension like bears with sore heads, and now, when we're nearly home, you decide to make nice with each other. Why wait so long?"
Wesley stifled another groan, but this time of pain. "In my defence, please remember that I was a minion of evil when I said those things. Besides, I can't help it if he's incorrigible. Oh, and bloody annoying to boot."
"And I can't help it if he's a poncy, lying git," Spike chimed in, but without malice. "And just for that 'incorrigible' crack, Percy, you get this." This time his voice was more bellowing than singing. "I am an antichrist-a, I am an anarchist-a!"
Buffy winced. That Scott guy might have been a loser, but at least he never had to put up with Spike's singing.
The sound of it echoed off the frozen cliffs, reverberating back to them, until the ice world rang like a discordant bell. Down below, the dogs joined in, yet their joyful chorus couldn't quite hide the rising whine of the wind or Wesley's stifled groans.
*
They'd barely set up camp at the bottom of the ice-fall before the storm hit. The red moon had set and the world had sunk gradually into a lightless, grey gloom. It was never completely dark - the ice seemed to retain some ghostly reflection of moonlight, even when there was no moon to be seen - but they pitched the tent in a sullen twilight, filled with a bitter swirling of snow.
Soon, the whine of the wind had risen to an insistent howl that numbed the senses and made sleep impossible.
Buffy lay in her sleeping bag. She'd gone beyond exhaustion now, into a weird place where she was too tired to sleep. Instead, she watched the eerie shadows the flickering lamplight cast on the underside of Wesley’s face and on the tent wall behind him.
Wesley was reading - the same book he’d been reading for the entire trip - the one about the dead British guys and their stupid, pointless journey.
Spike’s cool breath gusted on the back of Buffy’s neck, making her shiver. He was curled up around her, inside his own sleeping bag, arm thrown across her waist. She thought she’d gotten used to the smell of dogs, but this close to him, it was pretty overpowering. Even so, the feel of him - the weight of his arm - was comforting.
“It’s not gonna happen to us, Wes,” Spike said, suddenly.
“I beg your pardon?” Wesley looked up from his book, and Buffy felt her stomach begin to churn. Wesley’s good looks were long gone. More and more, he looked like what he was -a living, breathing corpse. His fingernails had fallen off, and the tips of his fingers had a greenish tinge, while his nose was - kind of lop-sided and weird looking, like it was in danger of imminent collapse.
“I said, it’s not gonna happen to us. We aren’t going to die like that wanker Scott.”
Wesley put his book down, very carefully. “I believe you, Spike.” He coughed again - a horrible, wet sound, like he was about to cough up his lungs - literally. “However, yet again, I wish you would reconsider my request.”
“Stop it!” Buffy sat up suddenly. “Like I keep saying, Wes, once we get home, Willow and Giles will find a way to help you.”
“Buffy -" Spike began, but she shook her head. Whatever happened to Wesley in the end wouldn't happen from lack of trying on her part to keep him alive.
“Don’t say anything, Spike. We don’t kill our own. You know that.”
“I-" For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then his shoulders slumped.
“Right you are, Slayer.”
Wesley coughed yet again. “Thank you for considering me one of your own, Buffy. I appreciate that more than I can say.”
“You’re welcome.” She tried to smile at him.
“Spike,” Wesley said, suddenly, “if you don’t mind telling me - you implied that you’d met Captain Scott in person and formed a rather poor opinion of him. Is that true?”
Spike pursed his lips. Then he sighed and lay down again, arms folded behind his head.
“S’true all right. Hero-worshipped him, if you must know. Me and Dru crashed some stuck-up society bash just to meet him, and he and his snobby wife cut us dead. Couldn’t have my Dru disrespected, could I? Told the bastard to come outside and settle it man to man. Waited for him, he didn’t come. A few days later, he sailed on the Terra Nova.”
Wesley was smiling his rictus smile. “I see.”
There was a short, irritable silence. Then Spike sat up again. “I know it sounds stupid now. But it meant something back then. And it wasn't like he had any excuse. We even had a proper introduction, courtesy of some stupid toff we killed. Was bloody insulted, if you must know, especially for Dru's sake.”
His voice had changed while he was speaking, Buffy realised - grown softer, more cultured, like Wesley’s. She looked from one man to the other. They were staring at each other in that way she didn’t understand, but in the end Spike’s gaze dropped.
“All right, all right,” he muttered sullenly. “Maybe I’ve been a bit harsh on Scott. Maybe he wasn’t so much a wanker as just blinkered and out of his depth.”
“More likely,” Wesley agreed. “And Huntford is undoubtedly right when he says that what killed Scott was his lack of faith in sled dogs.”
“Speaking of which -" Spike wormed his way out of his sleeping bag and began to put on his boots. “I’d better make sure ours are okay before the storm gets any worse.”
“Don’t be long.” Buffy couldn’t help smiling as she watched him leave the tent. It was pretty clear the blue-eyed dog had wormed its way thoroughly into his affections.
Wesley half-laughed, half-coughed. "I suspect you'll be lucky to get my deposit back."
"Yeah," Buffy grimaced. "It's love all right. This goes on, I may have to move my whole operation to Alaska."
Wesley picked up his book again, but he didn't open it, just held it close to him. "You'd do that - for him?"
"I would, if it keeps him happy."
"Astonishing." Wesley shook his head. "I had no idea he could inspire such - devotion."
She scowled. "Just don't tell him, huh, Wes?"
Wesley set the book to one side and lay down. He closed his eyes and breathed out a long, sighing breath. "Wouldn't dream of it."
She huddled back down into her sleeping bag. Wesley was quiet, and it wasn’t long before she began to feel sleepy at last despite the roar of the wind. Her eyelids fluttered closed and then open again, closed, open, closed.
A voice spoke. She thought she knew it, but it was so far away, like in a dream.
“I am just going outside,” it said, “and may be some time.”
The next thing she knew, Spike was back, stamping snow off his boots and pulling off his gloves. He grinned at her, but then he looked beyond where she lay and frowned.
“Where’s Wes?”
At the words, a cold hand seemed to grip her heart. She sat upright with a jerk. Wesley’s sleeping bag was empty. “You haven’t seen him?”
Spike had half-turned back towards the tent flap. “Should I have?”
She half-crawled half-fell out of her own sleeping bag in her haste to get up.
“I fell asleep. I thought I was dreaming. He said he was going outside and might be a while, but I don’t know how long ago that was. What?” She stared at the look of horror on his face, then yelped as he grabbed her shoulders.
“What exactly did he say? What were his exact words?”
She shook off his grip. “Let go of me. It was something about going outside and being some time. What’s the big deal?”
But he was gone, across the tent, and out through the open flap.
She heard him shouting. “Wes, you bastard! Come back. Don’t do this.”
She put on her boots in a hurry, jammed on her hat and gloves and joined him outside. The wind cut like a knife. Curtains of snow, like ghosts, blew past, obscuring their vision in every direction. There was no sign of Wesley.
She put her mouth close to Spike's ear. "We have to find him - quickly!"
But as she made to go back to the tent for - she wasn't sure what. Ropes? Torches? Spike grabbed her arm.
"Let him go."
She wasn't sure she'd heard him properly. "What did you say?"
For answer, he pulled her in the direction of the tent. Once they were back inside, he said, "He's made his choice, and I can't say I blame him. What’s happening to him -not a nice way to go."
She gestured towards the blizzard. "And that is?"
He gave her a sombre look. "Better than the other."
"This is crazy!" She shook his hand off again and began to scrabble in her pack, unsure what she was looking for. Her eyes prickled. It was her fault. She should never have fallen asleep.
"Buffy -" Spike spoke again. "Don't blame yourself. It was his decision."
She paused in her frantic search for she didn’t know what and looked up at his gaunt face.
"And you're telling me you approve of what he’s done?"
"Maybe. I dunno. He was a right bastard, but a brave one." He picked up Wesley's book and leafed through it. Then, he shut it with a snap and stowed it away in his pocket. "Seems he wasn’t Scott after all. Instead, he was Captain Oates."
“You’re not making any sense,” she protested. Outside, the wind howled and moaned, like a hundred lost souls in mourning.
*
The storm blew itself out on the third day. When Buffy looked outside, snow was piled high around the tent on the windward side, almost burying it.
Above her head, the sky was lavender coloured, the blue moon and the red close together. There was nothing to be seen in any direction except a pristine blanket of white, smooth as the surface of a millpond.
She stared, searching for any sign of Wesley - a dark shape half-buried in snow. But there was nothing. In her mind's eye, she saw him trudging onwards into the storm while his body deteriorated beyond hope, like the guy in the story, Captain Oates, going further and further away from all help until he lay down in the snow and died, alone.
She hoped it had been quick. She wished she didn't feel like a failure.
Spike had come up behind her. He put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. His bearded lips still felt strange, though now he'd gotten past the stubble stage, at least he wasn't quite so scratchy.
"You can't save everyone, love." He nuzzled her again.
She turned in his arms, pulled his head down and kissed him hard on the mouth.
"I know that. Doesn’t stop me trying, though."
"And that," he said, "is why I love you so much."
She rested against him a moment, eyes closed, but then he said, "Bloody hell!" in a tone of wonder and she opened her eyes again - to find that she had to shade them with her hand.
"Will you look at that?"
She gazed up at the sky in astonishment, at where the third moon, the silver one, had risen to join the other two, bathing the ice-world in an eerie lilac-tinted glow, almost as bright as daylight.
"It's beautiful!"
Spike nodded, seemingly lost for words. Then he shrugged and smiled at her.
"It is at that, but our world's better.”
"Oh yeah. No contest."
The land flowed away in a southerly direction, the curling crest of the ever-breaking wave behind them black and stark. Due south, the land was gentler, sloping down towards the portal.
Spike put his hand over his eyes, squinting into the bright moonlight. She heard him inhale.
"Portal's close," he said. "Weather holds, another day and we should see it."
Buffy felt a ripple of excitement run down her spine, while from behind the tent, the sled dogs put their heads back as one and bayed at the moons. She glanced at Spike, almost expecting him to join in, and he grinned at her.
She smiled back. "Let's go home," she said.
THE END
Author's Note: Anyone interested in reading more about Captain Scott's doomed expedition to the South Pole can start on Wikipedia, where there are lots of useful links. Captain Lawrence Oates gets his own entry here. The real The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard is a terrific read and highly recommended.
The Worst Journey in the World Part Five
"You should leave me."
Wesley's voice was weak - barely heard over the swish of the sled runners and the excited barking of dogs. He coughed - a harsh phlegm-y rattle.
Buffy glanced sidelong at him. The sled was going slowly to spare Wesley discomfort, but he still looked to be in agony with every bump in the ground they went over. On the plus side, at least the dogs seemed to have gotten over their dislike of him, pulling him without protest.
"Don't be stupid, Wes. We aren't gonna do that."
"But why not?" Wesley coughed again. "There's nothing you can do for me and you don't need me to find your way back to the portal. Spike can perfectly well follow the trail of magic, can't you, Spike?"
He glanced up and back, to where Spike stood on the sled runners, leaning forward over Wesley's head to yell encouragement to the dogs.
"Could," Spike agreed. "Magic has its own stink. Can't mistake it."
"Besides," Wesley went on. "I'm slowing you down, and you need to get back to the portal as soon as possible. Despite the fact that insinuating their army into this dimension must have depleted their magical energies enormously, Wolfram & Hart might find a way to trap you here. It could take even Ms Rosenberg a while to locate and retrieve you."
Buffy shook her head. "Not much concerned about that. Before we left home, Willow gave me this magical tracking doodad. She’ll find us, no problem. "
"Ah." Wesley sounded surprised. “And you’ve had that all this time, and never mentioned it?”
"Yeah." She tried to smile at him. "You're not the only one with secrets."
"So it seems." He coughed again. "Even so, you still have to get to the portal, and the sooner, the better. You're mentally and physically exhausted and supplies are getting low."
Buffy kept moving, but she could feel both men's eyes boring into her this time. She knew if she looked at them, they'd be doing that British thing again. When she turned back, Spike flinched slightly and looked away. He pretended to be busy with the dogs.
"Easy!" he shouted. "Easy, you bastards!"
As the dogs slowed yet again to negotiate another ripple in the smooth ground, Buffy said, "No way in hell are we leaving you, Wes. We don't abandon our friends. No man left behind, remember?"
Spike looked back at her as she said it, and it was her turn to flinch. She licked her chapped lips.
"S'okay, Slayer," Spike said. "Was my choice."
"And this is mine," Wesley said, in a more forceful tone. "There's nothing for me, back in our world. And even if there were, I'm dying in the worst way possible. Please - just let me go."
She ignored him again. After a moment, he went on, "I'm really not worth it, you know. If it's not enough that I tricked you into helping me, knowing full well Wolfram & Hart would come after us with ultimate force once they discovered the theft of the crystal, think of all the terrible things I did - the lives ruined - the innocent people dead - all to make them trust me. I don't deserve your pity. Best to just leave me."
This time, she rounded on him. "We're not having this conversation again, Wes. That's between you and your conscience - none of my business. My business is to look after my people and get them home."
Taking a deep breath, she tried to quell her anger. She was so damn tired!
"And I have had it up to here with all the doom and gloom. You're not dead yet, and while there's life, there's hope - and I bet your precious Captain Scott would say the same."
He met her eyes steadily. His were deep sunken in his face, on which the flesh seemed to be falling away, leaving his features skull-like and exposed, mouth a rictus grin.
"My point exactly."
*
"Give him to me, Slayer."
"It's okay. I can manage." Buffy glared at Spike, who stood below her on the precarious path down the ice-fall. Wesley's raspy breathing was loud in her ear, his weight on her back heavy as lead.
"I know you can." Spike's voice was gentle. "But come on, love. You're exhausted and he's too tall for you. His feet're draggin' on the ground, and state he's in, they'll come right off if you're not careful."
"Eww!" She tried to shift Wesley higher, then gritted her teeth not to scream out loud when he slid back down again.
"You could…" Wesley began, but she interrupted him.
"For the last time, Wes, we are not leaving you, so don't even say it."
"All right." Wesley gusted a sigh, and she wrinkled her nose at the mouldering smell of him, which was growing worse by the day. "I could walk for a bit," he said. "I'm not a complete invalid."
She almost said yes, but then her eye was caught by the deep shadow just to their left. They were still a long way up.
"I don't think so."
"I wouldn't jump," he insisted, but she shook her head. "No."
Spike shifted slightly, glancing back over his shoulder down the path, which zig-zagged out of sight just below them. At the edge of hearing, far below, Buffy could hear the dogs barking, while overhead the red moon and the blue were rapidly disappearing in a blanket of thick grey cloud.
"Come on, love," Spike said, again. "Another storm's comin' and we've spent all bloody day man-handling the dogs and sledge down here. You're absolutely bloody knackered, anyone can see that, but I still have a bit of juice in me, thanks to you. Give him to me."
She almost said no again, but then she glanced up at the sky. A storm was coming, no doubt, and it probably said a lot about how she was feeling right now that she was glad of it.
Right now, she couldn't think of anything she wanted more than to curl up inside the tent and sleep until the storm blew itself out, except maybe to not have to pee into a plastic funnel stuck inside her pants ever again.
Her shoulders sagged. "Okay."
The manoeuvre to transfer Wesley from her shoulders to Spike's without slipping and falling into the abyss was tricky, but at last they were on the move again, Buffy in front and Spike behind her, moving as sure-footedly on the ice as one of the dogs.
The shadow at the base of the ice-fall loomed up, swallowing them. Buffy looked up and back, beyond Spike, to where the crest of the highest wave was blackly outlined against a lavender-grey sky. It was still beautiful, but she was glad to see the back of it all the same.
Spike was humming under his breath. Suddenly, he burst into song.
"The road is lo-on-gg, with ma-ny a wi-inding turn!"
Wesley groaned. "Please, Spike. It's bad enough being jolted around like this without you singing as well."
Spike laughed. "Dunno what you mean, Percy. Nothin' wrong with my voice." He hummed for a bit, then burst out again, "He ain't heav-yy! He's my brotherrr!"
"Oh lord!" Wesley groaned again. "I wish I was dead already."
Spike huffed through his nose. "Watch it, Percy. You're not careful, we'll go back up the ice-fall and go the long way round, just to see how many of your bits have fallen off by the time we get to the portal."
"Charming!" But Wesley laughed too.
"Great!" Buffy couldn't help joining in the laughter. "You two snap and snarl your way around this dimension like bears with sore heads, and now, when we're nearly home, you decide to make nice with each other. Why wait so long?"
Wesley stifled another groan, but this time of pain. "In my defence, please remember that I was a minion of evil when I said those things. Besides, I can't help it if he's incorrigible. Oh, and bloody annoying to boot."
"And I can't help it if he's a poncy, lying git," Spike chimed in, but without malice. "And just for that 'incorrigible' crack, Percy, you get this." This time his voice was more bellowing than singing. "I am an antichrist-a, I am an anarchist-a!"
Buffy winced. That Scott guy might have been a loser, but at least he never had to put up with Spike's singing.
The sound of it echoed off the frozen cliffs, reverberating back to them, until the ice world rang like a discordant bell. Down below, the dogs joined in, yet their joyful chorus couldn't quite hide the rising whine of the wind or Wesley's stifled groans.
*
They'd barely set up camp at the bottom of the ice-fall before the storm hit. The red moon had set and the world had sunk gradually into a lightless, grey gloom. It was never completely dark - the ice seemed to retain some ghostly reflection of moonlight, even when there was no moon to be seen - but they pitched the tent in a sullen twilight, filled with a bitter swirling of snow.
Soon, the whine of the wind had risen to an insistent howl that numbed the senses and made sleep impossible.
Buffy lay in her sleeping bag. She'd gone beyond exhaustion now, into a weird place where she was too tired to sleep. Instead, she watched the eerie shadows the flickering lamplight cast on the underside of Wesley’s face and on the tent wall behind him.
Wesley was reading - the same book he’d been reading for the entire trip - the one about the dead British guys and their stupid, pointless journey.
Spike’s cool breath gusted on the back of Buffy’s neck, making her shiver. He was curled up around her, inside his own sleeping bag, arm thrown across her waist. She thought she’d gotten used to the smell of dogs, but this close to him, it was pretty overpowering. Even so, the feel of him - the weight of his arm - was comforting.
“It’s not gonna happen to us, Wes,” Spike said, suddenly.
“I beg your pardon?” Wesley looked up from his book, and Buffy felt her stomach begin to churn. Wesley’s good looks were long gone. More and more, he looked like what he was -a living, breathing corpse. His fingernails had fallen off, and the tips of his fingers had a greenish tinge, while his nose was - kind of lop-sided and weird looking, like it was in danger of imminent collapse.
“I said, it’s not gonna happen to us. We aren’t going to die like that wanker Scott.”
Wesley put his book down, very carefully. “I believe you, Spike.” He coughed again - a horrible, wet sound, like he was about to cough up his lungs - literally. “However, yet again, I wish you would reconsider my request.”
“Stop it!” Buffy sat up suddenly. “Like I keep saying, Wes, once we get home, Willow and Giles will find a way to help you.”
“Buffy -" Spike began, but she shook her head. Whatever happened to Wesley in the end wouldn't happen from lack of trying on her part to keep him alive.
“Don’t say anything, Spike. We don’t kill our own. You know that.”
“I-" For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then his shoulders slumped.
“Right you are, Slayer.”
Wesley coughed yet again. “Thank you for considering me one of your own, Buffy. I appreciate that more than I can say.”
“You’re welcome.” She tried to smile at him.
“Spike,” Wesley said, suddenly, “if you don’t mind telling me - you implied that you’d met Captain Scott in person and formed a rather poor opinion of him. Is that true?”
Spike pursed his lips. Then he sighed and lay down again, arms folded behind his head.
“S’true all right. Hero-worshipped him, if you must know. Me and Dru crashed some stuck-up society bash just to meet him, and he and his snobby wife cut us dead. Couldn’t have my Dru disrespected, could I? Told the bastard to come outside and settle it man to man. Waited for him, he didn’t come. A few days later, he sailed on the Terra Nova.”
Wesley was smiling his rictus smile. “I see.”
There was a short, irritable silence. Then Spike sat up again. “I know it sounds stupid now. But it meant something back then. And it wasn't like he had any excuse. We even had a proper introduction, courtesy of some stupid toff we killed. Was bloody insulted, if you must know, especially for Dru's sake.”
His voice had changed while he was speaking, Buffy realised - grown softer, more cultured, like Wesley’s. She looked from one man to the other. They were staring at each other in that way she didn’t understand, but in the end Spike’s gaze dropped.
“All right, all right,” he muttered sullenly. “Maybe I’ve been a bit harsh on Scott. Maybe he wasn’t so much a wanker as just blinkered and out of his depth.”
“More likely,” Wesley agreed. “And Huntford is undoubtedly right when he says that what killed Scott was his lack of faith in sled dogs.”
“Speaking of which -" Spike wormed his way out of his sleeping bag and began to put on his boots. “I’d better make sure ours are okay before the storm gets any worse.”
“Don’t be long.” Buffy couldn’t help smiling as she watched him leave the tent. It was pretty clear the blue-eyed dog had wormed its way thoroughly into his affections.
Wesley half-laughed, half-coughed. "I suspect you'll be lucky to get my deposit back."
"Yeah," Buffy grimaced. "It's love all right. This goes on, I may have to move my whole operation to Alaska."
Wesley picked up his book again, but he didn't open it, just held it close to him. "You'd do that - for him?"
"I would, if it keeps him happy."
"Astonishing." Wesley shook his head. "I had no idea he could inspire such - devotion."
She scowled. "Just don't tell him, huh, Wes?"
Wesley set the book to one side and lay down. He closed his eyes and breathed out a long, sighing breath. "Wouldn't dream of it."
She huddled back down into her sleeping bag. Wesley was quiet, and it wasn’t long before she began to feel sleepy at last despite the roar of the wind. Her eyelids fluttered closed and then open again, closed, open, closed.
A voice spoke. She thought she knew it, but it was so far away, like in a dream.
“I am just going outside,” it said, “and may be some time.”
The next thing she knew, Spike was back, stamping snow off his boots and pulling off his gloves. He grinned at her, but then he looked beyond where she lay and frowned.
“Where’s Wes?”
At the words, a cold hand seemed to grip her heart. She sat upright with a jerk. Wesley’s sleeping bag was empty. “You haven’t seen him?”
Spike had half-turned back towards the tent flap. “Should I have?”
She half-crawled half-fell out of her own sleeping bag in her haste to get up.
“I fell asleep. I thought I was dreaming. He said he was going outside and might be a while, but I don’t know how long ago that was. What?” She stared at the look of horror on his face, then yelped as he grabbed her shoulders.
“What exactly did he say? What were his exact words?”
She shook off his grip. “Let go of me. It was something about going outside and being some time. What’s the big deal?”
But he was gone, across the tent, and out through the open flap.
She heard him shouting. “Wes, you bastard! Come back. Don’t do this.”
She put on her boots in a hurry, jammed on her hat and gloves and joined him outside. The wind cut like a knife. Curtains of snow, like ghosts, blew past, obscuring their vision in every direction. There was no sign of Wesley.
She put her mouth close to Spike's ear. "We have to find him - quickly!"
But as she made to go back to the tent for - she wasn't sure what. Ropes? Torches? Spike grabbed her arm.
"Let him go."
She wasn't sure she'd heard him properly. "What did you say?"
For answer, he pulled her in the direction of the tent. Once they were back inside, he said, "He's made his choice, and I can't say I blame him. What’s happening to him -not a nice way to go."
She gestured towards the blizzard. "And that is?"
He gave her a sombre look. "Better than the other."
"This is crazy!" She shook his hand off again and began to scrabble in her pack, unsure what she was looking for. Her eyes prickled. It was her fault. She should never have fallen asleep.
"Buffy -" Spike spoke again. "Don't blame yourself. It was his decision."
She paused in her frantic search for she didn’t know what and looked up at his gaunt face.
"And you're telling me you approve of what he’s done?"
"Maybe. I dunno. He was a right bastard, but a brave one." He picked up Wesley's book and leafed through it. Then, he shut it with a snap and stowed it away in his pocket. "Seems he wasn’t Scott after all. Instead, he was Captain Oates."
“You’re not making any sense,” she protested. Outside, the wind howled and moaned, like a hundred lost souls in mourning.
*
The storm blew itself out on the third day. When Buffy looked outside, snow was piled high around the tent on the windward side, almost burying it.
Above her head, the sky was lavender coloured, the blue moon and the red close together. There was nothing to be seen in any direction except a pristine blanket of white, smooth as the surface of a millpond.
She stared, searching for any sign of Wesley - a dark shape half-buried in snow. But there was nothing. In her mind's eye, she saw him trudging onwards into the storm while his body deteriorated beyond hope, like the guy in the story, Captain Oates, going further and further away from all help until he lay down in the snow and died, alone.
She hoped it had been quick. She wished she didn't feel like a failure.
Spike had come up behind her. He put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. His bearded lips still felt strange, though now he'd gotten past the stubble stage, at least he wasn't quite so scratchy.
"You can't save everyone, love." He nuzzled her again.
She turned in his arms, pulled his head down and kissed him hard on the mouth.
"I know that. Doesn’t stop me trying, though."
"And that," he said, "is why I love you so much."
She rested against him a moment, eyes closed, but then he said, "Bloody hell!" in a tone of wonder and she opened her eyes again - to find that she had to shade them with her hand.
"Will you look at that?"
She gazed up at the sky in astonishment, at where the third moon, the silver one, had risen to join the other two, bathing the ice-world in an eerie lilac-tinted glow, almost as bright as daylight.
"It's beautiful!"
Spike nodded, seemingly lost for words. Then he shrugged and smiled at her.
"It is at that, but our world's better.”
"Oh yeah. No contest."
The land flowed away in a southerly direction, the curling crest of the ever-breaking wave behind them black and stark. Due south, the land was gentler, sloping down towards the portal.
Spike put his hand over his eyes, squinting into the bright moonlight. She heard him inhale.
"Portal's close," he said. "Weather holds, another day and we should see it."
Buffy felt a ripple of excitement run down her spine, while from behind the tent, the sled dogs put their heads back as one and bayed at the moons. She glanced at Spike, almost expecting him to join in, and he grinned at her.
She smiled back. "Let's go home," she said.
THE END
Author's Note: Anyone interested in reading more about Captain Scott's doomed expedition to the South Pole can start on Wikipedia, where there are lots of useful links. Captain Lawrence Oates gets his own entry here. The real The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard is a terrific read and highly recommended.