Buffy's back but

beats me how. (This will be part of the series. Buckle up

kiddies, it's going to be a long night in L.A.).

Part 3

Buffy had laughed. There was something just a bit absurd in the world's most renowned Slayer killer standing on a granite headstone yelling his uncontained joy at her return. When Buffy had explained that Willow had brought her back, Spike had laughed again. "Red's one frighteningly awesome witch when she's wound up, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

No one would ever call Spike emotionally reticent. Buffy never needed to wonder what Spike was feeling. Most of the time he announced it, or, if by some miracle he wasn't in a chatty mood, what he felt was written in his eyes.

Buffy wondered when she had first noticed that Spike's eyes were blue. She didn't know when, just as she didn't know why she had ever thought they were dark and expressionless in the first place. Of course Spike was a vampire, and Buffy didn't make a habit of gazing deeply into a vampire's eyes looking for feelings. . .but maybe she should have.

Spike gave away his secrets with his eyes.

It figured that Buffy would discover this useful bit of information at this late date. It would have come in handy during the days when she and Spike had been trying to kill each other. . .only Buffy somehow doubted that in the old days she would have been allowed to see naked emotion laid bare in the shadowy blue depths. He'd had more defenses then.

"You're back," Spike had repeated and, oh yeah, he expressed stuff with his eyes. He expressed all over. "Do the Scoobs know? We've *got* to tell Niblet--"

"She knows. They all know."

Spike had paused, his black leather duster settling around him as he jumped to the ground. "Everyone?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Some of the light had died in his eyes.

It was that expressive thing again. As Spike's inner light dimmed, Buffy knew she had hurt him...which was weird and nuts and should have been impossible but wasn't.

When in the hell had she begun wondering whether Spike's feelings had been hurt? When had she begun thinking he *had* feelings?

Um...always, her inner evil voice noted.

Oh, not the part where she had worried about hurting his feelings just the part where she had known he had them. After all, when Spike had shown up asking for a truce to 'save the world' there had been a flash of something in his eyes that said Dru's actions had wounded him.

That wasn't supposed to be, right?

Nothing about Buffy had made an impact on Angelus--other making him hate her more violently--and that had been because Angelus was a soulless vamp. He had been incapable of feeling, but there had stood Spike, equally soulless, showing real pain over Dru's infidelity and talking about saving the world. Yes, Spike's motivations had been selfish, but even selfishness was a human emotion. It meant caring about something.

Yeah, so? Buffy's strident psyche mocked. She had always known Spike felt *something,* she just wasn't supposed to care what that something might be. His feelings weren't supposed to matter to Buffy any more than her feelings were supposed to matter to Spike.

"I couldn't live her bein' in that much pain. I'd let Glory kill me first."

Her. Buffy. And Spike had meant it. Buffy knew Spike had meant it. He had been willing to die for her.

Okay! Buffy had surrendered to the memory. Spike *did* care what she felt, and as she had stood in the cemetery, Buffy had found herself squirming at his kicked puppy expression even as he valiantly fought to hide it.

"So I'm last to know, eh." Spike had searched his pockets for a cigarette.

"Well, not last exactly," At Spike's arched brow Buffy had added, "I haven't called L.A. yet."

He had breathed out a thin cloud of gray smoke. "So that's what's wrong."

"Wrong? Did I say anything was wrong?"

"Didn't need to. You're standing here with me instead of out celebrating with your friends. Can't say wrong doesn't factor in there somewhere."

Buffy had crossed her arms over her chest. "For your information the 'Buffy is Back' bash is scheduled for tomorrow night." And oooh! See the pretty lifeline. It had hung right in front of her. "And I'm here to invite you."

It had been worth saying it just to see a look of shock cross Spike's face. "It's not nice to fool the Big Bad," he had warned.

"Who's fooling?"

Spike had closed his eyes. "Niblet must've forced you. I've been her project lately."

"This is a project-free offer. Nib...um...Dawn had nothing to do with it. I thought this one up all by myself." Right there on the spot as a matter of fact.

"Mmm-hmm."

"What?!"

"Slayer, just go ahead say what's wrong."

Damnit, how could Spike always see through her as if she was made of glass?

"Why does anything have to be wrong for me to show up--" Buffy had stopped as it hit. Something had to be wrong for her to show up looking for Spike because something was *always* wrong when she showed up looking for Spike. Dawn was missing, or she needed information, or she needed help stealing a RV for the big 'fraidy run away. It was always something.

Spike had dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his heel. "So what is it, Slayer? Why are you here rather than at home?"

"Alone," she had interjected. "If I was home, I'd be alone. Dawn's spending the night at a friend's. Willow and Tara are at some Wiccan lecture. And Anya has Xander picking out china."

Spike had frowned, and Buffy had been quick to explain, "I mean, we had the big hug and tears scene. Everyone was happy to see me. Dawn and I stayed up talking until sunrise last night. And there *will* be a big Buffy is Back bash tomorrow at the Bronze--and you *are* invited by the way. It's just that tonight everyone had previously arranged plans."

"'Cept me."

"Well, yeah, but that's not the reason I'm here."

Demons always chose the most inconvenient times to attack, and that had been the moment the Lazuli demons had chosen.

It turned out the headless corpse at Spike's feet had buddies--three to be exact. Demon One had tackled Spike. Demon Two had launched himself at Buffy. And Demon Three had stood in the middle of the fray looking uncertain about who to attack first. Not that it mattered because the trio had bitten off far more than they could chop, chew, or kill.

The fight had taken less than four minutes and ended with Spike covered in yet more goo, Buffy examining the bottom of her shoes hoping that goo stuff could be easily scraped off, and Demon Three running screaming from the graveyard.

Buffy had looked down at her pants in dismay. "You know, I bet this stuff stains."

"Probably." Spike had shown a complete lack of concern for her outfit. "So why are you here?"

"I don't know. I thought I'd drop by and tell you I wasn't dead. For some reason I thought you might like to hear it."

"I do like to hear it," he had protested. "I could hear it all night, tomorrow night and the next day besides. You could repeat it for the next two bloody weeks and I wouldn't tire of hearin' it. But if you're standing there saying nothing is wrong, you're full of it. I can see it on you, Slayer."

"I've got blue goo on me."

"Slayer! What is it?"

Oh, Spike was so damn good at confrontation, at calling her out, at not allowing her to live in the land of denial. "I'm not dead!" Buffy had screamed.

Spike had blinked, and she had prepared herself for the next quip, the next witticism, the next barb. It didn't come. Instead he had quietly asked, "You're bothered by that, aren't you?"

"By the 'not being dead' or the 'dying' part? Because I'm having a hard time deciding which one bothers me more."

Spike had sighed and sat on a doublewide headstone. He had patted the place beside him and slowly, reluctantly Buffy had taken the offered seat.

"So talk," he had instructed.

"I died."

"I noticed."

"No, I mean I *died.* Not like that time with the Master. Not a few minutes and--wham--thank goodness someone invented mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I'm talking dead, buried, over and done."

"I got that part. Believe me. I was there, pet." Spike had tilted his head and watched her. "This bothers you. Guess I can see how it might."

"Oh yeah, I'm bothered."

"It's stressful, disorienting."

"As if you would know."

Spike had rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oh right, 'cause what would I know about dyin' what with being a vampire and all."

"Did they bury you?" Buffy had suddenly asked.

"Wha'?"

"You know, six feet under with dirt on top."

"Nah." At her glance he had clarified. "Family crypt."

"And now you live in one. That's...kind of creepy, actually."

"I *am* a vampire, pet."

But Buffy hadn't really heard Spike. Oh, she had heard him. She just hadn't listened very closely. "You guys buried me. She saved the world a lot."

"Hmm, yeah. Harris did the engraving. Thought it was appropriate."

Buffy had stared at the gravestone in front of her and tried to make out the letters in the darkness but couldn't. "I dug myself out of that grave. Just like. . ."

After seconds of silence Spike had finished the sentence for her. "Just like the blokes you dust in this graveyard night after night." He had cocked his head to the side and looked straight at her. "Is that what's bothering you? 'Cause if it is let me tell you, you aren't a vampire."

"Oh yeah, I just rose from the dead and that happens to so many people who aren't vampires."

"Well, we could ask a few zombies." She had punched him in the shoulder and he had chuckled. "Hey, watch it! The leather takes enough abuse as it is."

"I'm serious, Spike."

"I know you are, love, and I also know you aren't a vampire. And I'm not just talkin' about the fact that the night you died there was only one vampire around who could've done the job." Spike had suddenly looked away, his posture uncharacteristically stiff. "And I wouldn't have done that to you."

"This coming from the creature who threatened to kill me like a thousand times."

"Turning is different than killing," he had said seriously. "It's worse."

The silence between them had been tense and maybe even a bit profound. It had scared the crap out of her so Buffy had shaken herself and quipped, "I don't know why I even brought it up. I can walk in sunlight. I checked."

"There you go."

Buffy had shifted anxiously. "But not technically being a vampire doesn't mean I'm the same as before."

Spike had looked at Buffy with piercing blue eyes. "You're *you.*" He had pronounced it so distinctly that Buffy had hard time doubting him.

"Sure about that?" No way would she ever, *ever* admit how badly she had needed to hear Spike's answer.

"Dead sure. Do you feel like you?"

Buffy had shrugged. "Sort of, but what does that matter?"

"It matters." Spike had fished another cigarette out of his pocket and lit it.

"When you become a vampire parts of you go missing. You know it right off, from the moment you wake up with bloodlust screaming in your head. There's no debating with it. There's no ignoring it. All the rational thought in the world doesn't make it go away--" Spike had stopped and there was a bright speck of red in the darkness as he had taken a drag off his cigarette. When Spike had started to speak again, his voice had been low and deep and haunted. "You remember what you were. You think the same thoughts so you know those urges weren't there before."

At Buffy's questioning frown Spike had explained. "It's not like your memory is wiped clean. Up here--" he had pointed to his head "--you're the same person. Intellectually you can even be horrified by what you do, by what you *want* to do. But the urge is so strong, and...and parts of you are missing."

"You make it sound like you're at war with yourself."

"Then I'm sounding wrong 'cause you're not." Spike's words had been little more than breath in the night. "*That's* the scary part."

"I don't understand."

"It's complicated."

They had sat watching the ash of his cigarette grow to a gravity-defying length. Buffy had waited for it to break and fall to the ground, but Spike had sat so perfectly still that the ash had continued to grow with the silence. Buffy had wanted to say something, anything to break the quiet, to bring the conversation to a close or to at least open a new one. However, it had been Spike who had spoken.

"You know those blokes who lose a limb," he had murmured. "They talk about phantom pain. Part of them was severed, cut away, but they remember how it felt when it was there. Sometimes it feels like it's *still* there--even though it's not. I feel like that sometimes." He had faced Buffy.

Buffy had asked breathlessly, "Is there a hole inside you? I mean...um...where the parts used to be."

Spike had shrugged. "I don't feel empty if that's what you're asking. Never have."

"So what fills you up?" They both knew they were talking about his soul, or rather his lack thereof. "What takes the missing part's place?"

"Don't know, love. Whatever is handy I 'spose. Rage, obsession, despair, whatever is our personal raison d'etre."

Spike had dropped his cigarette to the ground. "And none of this has anything to do with you. *You've* got your parts." Spike had shot her a leering, wolfish smile. "I checked."

Buffy had rolled her eyes, but to her own surprise she had also returned his smile.

Spike had reached out then, had lifted his hand and almost touched her hair, had almost touched *her.* But even as his hand had hovered close to her Spike must have seen something reflected in her face because he had a abandoned the telling gesture to rise to his feet. Shoving his hands into his pockets Spike had said gruffly, "You may be confused, pet, but you're whole. You believe that, don't you?"

"Maybe, I do."

"Right then. Glad we cleared that up." He must have sensed her hesitation. "What's the rest, love?"

Buffy had heard herself blurting, "Dawn is spending the night at a friend's. Willow and Tara are at some Wiccan lecture. And Anya has Xander picking out china."

"Pshaw! Is that all?"

"First, no, that's not 'all,' and second, no one born after 1850 says 'pshaw!'"

"1854 actually, and if that's not all, what's the rest?"

"They had plans for tonight! Plans they made last week. I wasn't here last week. I didn't make plans."

"Yeah, that would've been difficult." Again Buffy had punched Spike in the shoulder. "Ow!" He had glowered at her. "What was that for?"

"I don't know, I..." Buffy had looked around. Nope. Trees and gravestones didn't have answers. "I just need to hit something and you're convenient."

"Maybe I should be *inconvenient* then."

"They made plans without me." It was irrational. Buffy had known it even as she said it, but there it had been. "They did things without me. I died and the world didn't end."

"That was sort of the point, wasn't it?"

Buffy's unfocused anger had dissipated, and suddenly she had felt very small and very lost. "They went on without me."

"They missed you, Buffy. You weren't forgotten."

Her head had felt fuzzy. "They didn't forget me, but they went on without me." Her gaze had snapped to meet Spike's. "You said I haven't changed, and I haven't. *They* have though. Willow is stronger than ever. Tara isn't brain-sucked. Xander and Anya are getting married. Giles moved to London, and Dawn is now an inch taller than I am!"

Spike's eyes had become a shadowed, darker blue and his sharply sculpted features had seemed to soften. "They're only human, Buffy. Besides, the Scoobs are young. Lots of changes at that age."

"It's not fair," she had whispered.

"No. It's not. I can quote the cliché if you'd like--the one about life." The corner of his mouth had quirked. "I can even bring up the one about it being a bitch, but I'd have to add an addenda after the 'then you die' bit." At her unwavering stare Spike had added, "No, it isn't fair. You die and the world doesn't stop. Everyone goes on without you."

"Is that what it was like for you?"

Spike had blinked. "Why are you asking that, pet?"

She had shrugged. "I'm curious. Did they go on without you like nothing had happened? I mean before you returned and killed them all."

Spike had staggered backward. "Where in the bloody hell did you hatch that idea?" He had even managed to look offended. "What? Do you think after Dru killed me in that stable I returned home late one night and murdered my Mum and kid sis?"

Buffy hadn't nodded but her answer must have been clear in her eyes.

A muscle had jumped in Spike's jaw. "You know just because Angelus had some weird hang-up about his father and decided to get his jollies by chopping down his family tree doesn't mean I did the same. Mum wasn't perfect, but she didn't deserve to die."

"Neither did a lot of your victims."

Spike's indignation had seemed to dissipate. "Maybe," At her arched brow he had conceded, "Okay, no they didn't, but they also weren't my Mum."

For some reason, Buffy hadn't questioned Spike's sincere horror at the thought. Maybe some people--maybe a lot of people--would say she was naïve to believe him. Spike was a proven liar. He was a vampire and made no effort to hide that fact. Maybe it was *because* he had never made an effort to hide his sins that Buffy was inclined to believe him. "So life went on without William the Bloody," she had concluded softly.

Spike had sniffed. "Life didn't even pause to notice William the Bloody got off the soddin' ride."