Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Ten

Things were so confusing right now it was difficult to breathe. Warring emotions fought for the inward pedestal, one never triumphing over the other. Images arose in support of conflicting debates, dying without offering a half-hearted provocation. The air was desperately thin - her lungs, it seemed, had not struggled this much since her first death, and even that seemed too far in the past to be reality.

She had never felt so lost.

Coming to terms with her feelings for Spike was comparable to taking every exam she had ever studied for in the entirety of her life in ten minutes with the expectation to pass, only not as simple. Their relationship had presented more than an array of complications. Unlike those in the past, there was no way to summarize her feelings in one word. Angel seemed best defined by angst, Riley with over-reactive, (did that count as one word or two?), but Spike stood in a category by himself where no humanly syllables could apply.

Things would have been so much simpler had the cursed Initiative never put that chip in his head. He could have been dust years ago instead of a mooning vampire who followed her wherever she went. That, or, she could have been killed in turn. That was one of the exciting things about him. While she was an expert slayer, his own abilities were never outshone. They were each other's worst enemies. There was no one she enjoyed fighting more. Before him, no one else was worthy of killing her. If she were to be done in, by gum, she'd be done in by the best.

But no. Things don't work out the nice, smooth, easy way when one resided in Sunnydale. He had to get all chipped up. Chip's Ahoy, as she had often jested. Chipped up and progressing from an annoyance, to a colleague, to dare say a friend, and finally to a lover. Things were never pleasant between them, but there were the good times. The great times. Those two second-intervals she took to enjoy herself instead of focusing on the inward mantra of thisiswrongthisiswrongthisiswrong!

Stupid vampire had to go fall in love with her.

No, not love, she warned herself. It was far too dangerous to define anything a soulless demon could feel as love. She conjured the image of his fierceness, the way he had felt pushed against her that night. It worked to a degree - before her treacherous mind showed her the look of self-horror he had displayed before her biting though justified remark. He was never really... in-

That was what was commonly known as denial. Buffy heaved a sigh, slumping in stride as her hands found purchase in her pockets. Night cocooned, wrapping her in a protective embrace. What a night. What a long night.

Matters weren't made any simpler in knowing what feats awaited her tomorrow. A part of her welled with insatiable excitement - the end of a long three years. How often had she wished he would return - a hidden desire she kept in shame. Granted, it hadn't spawned immediately, rather growing in secret until it could no longer be tamed. And even then, Willow was the only one she could turn to. The only one who had ever looked at her and not judged with the hasty decisions made in her personal life. The only one to keep quiet if she found something objectionable, offering her opinion, of course, but never trying to actively interfere. She had been, she was, the only one to know of the hidden want for that nasty vampire.

Buffy had tried hate, but there was nothing to hate. Nothing but herself for such blind intolerance. Once upon a time, her hatred was justified. They were mortals enemies, to be sure. They had hated each other with the same drive that made them yearn, lust, and bleed. Then he had to be a prat and fall in love with her, and out of her outrage that the one demon she never wanted could love her so conversely than the one that had left her heartbroken, her hatred had doubled with frightening potency.

Then there was no hatred. As her feelings slipped from abhorrence to desire, her self-disgust established a violent persona. Maybe if she abused him often enough he would return to wanting her dead. To realizing his place and the absurdity of his claims. To not loving her with such steadfast dedication that he put mortal men to shame. That had backfired. His willingness to forgive and forget was overwhelming, so much more than hers. All for the impossible love of a woman who could never truly love him back.

Because, underneath all that, he was still a monster.

And beneath her well-guarded layers of self-scrutiny and disgust resided a monster lover who wanted to make things right.

Her words cut more deeply than any blade. She had led him to that moment of desperation. Playing with the fire meant you got burnt. Maybe not the first, second, or thousand times, but eventually the flame would flare and scorn your skin. Growing comfortable around a killer, even a neutered killer, was never a good idea. And yet, while she was hurt, it was more directed at herself for such a lack of insight.

He had been wrong, of course. There was no doubting that. He had been so wrong it hurt to consider. What's worse was, in all her actions, she had never been above it. What was wrong to her was similarly wrong to him. Hurt. Kick. Punch. Over and over. The tedium of endless cycles.

Loving her did not rationally constitute being physically abused every time he was near simply because she could not cope with her misplaced feelings. Nor being used for love when she knew reciprocation of any kind was impossible.

She had broken it off. Tried to do the right thing. It wasn't a clean break - she hadn't been nice about it, but that was how it had occurred, and virtually where her fault ended. What they had could never be pretty, but it had been real.

That was one thing she had never credited him with. The capacity for genuine human emotion. Down to the gritty. Ugly. True. Real.

She could admit it, now.

There had been heat. Passion. Need. Love? No. She always saw it in him, of course, but never offered kindness or concern in return. Even when he proved himself capable of authentic feeling. A year before their ill-fated coupling, he had saved her and her sister from Glory. Willingly. Even if she was not-so-pleasant. Even if the hell-god tortured him right into the earth.

That was real. It was all real, regardless of how fervently she wished to deny it.

It was real now, and to her grief, her ecstasy, her inward torment and utmost respite, he was back. The next few days promised hefty conversation: heart-breaking confessions, apologies, and conclusions. There wouldn't be kindness, just understanding.

Buffy stopped shortly outside Giles's motel room, her thoughts sharply perturbed by the thick emanation of a Cockney tenor. For the second time that evening, her heart stopped. Dull numbness tingled across her skin and she forced herself to draw in a heavy breath. He was there. Of course he was there. After all, he was in Sunnydale at the Watcher's request. It was only natural for him to visit.

Now, though? At this hour? What time was it, anyway? Buffy checked her watch, eyes darting quickly to the door, daring the fates to shove him through at that moment.

They didn't. When the better half of her motor abilities returned, she heaved a second breath, darting out of eyesight for the bushes while her eyes gazed fixatedly on the window visible beyond drawn curtains and two parked cars. There she stilled to perfection, close enough to hear. Close enough to gauge their conversation wasn't ending anytime soon.

He passed the window, and she saw him. She saw him! How little - or how much - he had changed. Instead of the confident sneer lacing his eyes and mouth, he was frowning, features taut with concern. Lips were in full motion, speaking intelligible words of prophecy, head buried in a book, of all things. His shoulders looked smaller without his duster. The duster she instinctively tightened around herself. She had seen him in much less, of course, but it looked different all the same. So different, and yet not. He was still Spike. Spike and not Spike. Spike never rubbed his chin in thoughtful speculation. Never spoke with understanding and patience. Never researched.

This was the Spike that left her three years before? He was. He wasn't.

He was speaking.

"Bloody weird evenin', Ripper." That was definite Spike-speak. Different? A breath shuddered passed her lips. "Harder than I thought it would be."

"Mmmm... yes." Giles suddenly crossed the scene, head also studiously delved in ancient text. "Dawn related that she had run into you. Her tone was... less than civil."

Spike flinched and rubbed his jaw again, though more out of pain than guesswork. A shadow of a punch sparkled in his eyes, and she saw it. "Yeah. Nibblet let me 'ave it. Never thought I'd see the day. Good fer 'er. Even if it does hurt." He wasn't referring to the blow. "Little tike really grew up."

"If facing Dawn was that hard for you, then I fear the coming days will not improve."

"Oh no; Rips, it wasn't that." He looked so human, a sigh rolling off his shoulders as he took a seat beside the windows, back facing her. Though she was in no danger of being spotted, Buffy instinctively slinked further into the shadows. "That I was expectin'. Bit's all loyal to her sis. The way it should be. I just..."

"What is it?" Odd to hear authentic concern in the Watcher's tone when Spike was implicated.

"Red. It was Red." Emotion choked in his voice, and she had to bite back a sharp jolt of pain. "She... found me. Went to go see Buffy." A pause, probably following an incredulous look. "Not to talk to her, mate. I'm not a bleedin' idiot. I... wanted to make sure she was all right. Mighty dark mojo about to start, after all." Another silence. "All right, you ponce. I wanted to see her. You knew it. I'm not fool enough to just walk up and say 'ello. Wouldn't, anyway. But stake me, I was just... pulled there."

"I hesitate to think how Buffy would have reacted if she'd seen you."

A third hefty pause. "Yeh, mate. Me, too. But she wasn't there. Red was. Tried to move away, but..." Hesitation. "She's... all right, innit she? No dark-"

"Perfectly."

"Thought so. Cor, she 'as a mean right hook." Buffy blinked. Willow had hit Spike? "Knocked me to the sodding ground twice."

Confused silence. "She seemed rather impassive at the Magic Box," Giles offered. "Buffy's reaction to your being back in town was not what I thought. Willow said little, but I didn't think-"

"Bugger, she wasn't vicious. After she hit me, she hugged me tighter than a bloody guitar string." A breath. Emphasized. "I never thought I'd feel rotten for leaving town. I've felt pretty rotten, Ripper. You've been there. Don't think I've felt it as badly as I did tonight."

"Why?"

"She's been hurtin'. I'm not talking little shards of guilt, neither. She knows what 'appened was beyond her control." A sigh. "Jus' like I know what 'appened 'ere was beyond mine. Doesn't take the burn away."

At that, Buffy's eyes darkened, a cold shudder trembling down her spine. It wasn't like him to pass off guilt like that - not if he was truly remorseful. He lied endlessly to save his hide, sure. But there in the company of a man he trusted, she was deadened with fleeting betrayal. To accept her share of the blame was harsh, but to haul it all was blunt and ghastly unfair. Her defenses flustered.

Giles said not a word.

"Still smarts like hell. She cried on my shoulder, I cried on hers. She bloody well forced me into that house." He shifted, demeanor changing. "She hasn't locked me out, Rips. The Slayer, I mean. Walked right through without needin' to doubly check the welcome mat."

"That ought to be reassuring."

"Yeh. Oughta." He lurched his platinum head into waiting hands. "Won't, though. It gets harder with every sodding step. Red forgave me, Ripper. Hardest thing... even harder then when you did."

"She forgave you because she's in need of forgiveness, herself," he said softly. "You've been there."

"Still am. Probably always be."

"No." Firm disagreement. Buffy knew that tone. "You'll always feel it, I know. Time has helped you progress this far." A sigh. Through the crack separating Spike from the curtain, she saw Giles roll his shoulders in ever-present concern. "You have an eternity to get over it. She only has this lifetime."

The platinum head dropped in acknowledgment, a hand coming up to caress his brow. "Don't I know it," he replied. "Poor Red. Too much for her to handle. If I can't bloody take it, I don't know how she can." He looked up then, catching Giles's eyes. "She's a fighter, Ripper. So much stronger than I am."

Buffy swallowed hard, eyes clouding with tears. The pure admiration in his voice touched every irritated nerve in her tired body. It was so honest, so true. For the life of her, she had never heard him so...

What had happened? Why was he back now? At Giles's discretion, perhaps, but something was undeniably different. And why did the Watcher trust him? What had concurred to initiate that sort of blind faith? Something was definitely different. Something had happened. There was no other explanation. The Spike she knew would never have waited this long. The Spike she knew would have either come around within days to express his remorse or never shown his face again. The Spike she knew didn't compliment people's strength unless he was trying to impress her with his nonexistent humanity.

"She has to be strong," Giles agreed. "This is all the time she has."

"Yeah." Spike drew in a sharp breath, picked up his discarded book and resumed flipping through it, though only half-hearted. "Not certain which one of us got the bad half of the deal. Live for bleedin' ever like this or eventually be put out of your misery... assuming the Slayer doesn't stab me with one of 'er pointy sticks before we blow this scene."

Buffy arched a brow in syncopation with her former Watcher. "You did not see her then?" he asked.

"I saw her." Her heart abruptly tore. "Saw her... Red dragged me to the Bronze. Saw her chattin' with Peaches." At last she saw his face. She didn't realize how much she needed to until his head turned in her direction. As he thought of her, his eyes turned upward, a wistfully sad smile on his lips. "She's beautiful, mate. A little... cor, I don't have words."

There was a chuckle. "You mean she silenced William the Blabbering Bloody? Impossible."

Spike shot Giles a wry glance. "Don't want to use the wrong words and go all the way back to 'bloody awful', do I?" The smile on his face brightened a bit. "She has it. My book, I mean. Red showed me."

"Not surprising," Giles retorted as though unimpressed. "It's excellent work, Will. Probably speaks to her. It speaks to a lot of people."

"You'd think. It's all bloody about her." Buffy's eyes widened, her mouth running dry. It was one thing to hear it from Willow, but straight from the horse's mouth was almost more than she could bear. Her feet commanded her to turn and run home but her will would hear none of it. Spike shook his head, aghast. "Still such a sodding shock."

You have no idea, she answered dryly. As their conversation resumed, she toyed with idle thoughts of intervening, none of which she would follow through. Unanswered questions plagued her stubborn mind, replying to all with a steadfast I'm not ready. Neither was he. All they could do was watch each other from a distance, reaching but never touching.

It was so frustrating to be willingly at arms length and still lacking the punch to go through with action.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. A likely empty promise. The morning, after all, was only hours away. Did she really believe one sleep would energize her for the conversation looming ahead?

That arose a new foray of questions. What was she going to say? She promised Giles not to hurt him. Hah. Funny thought. It was Spike. She always ended up hurting Spike, even in those numbered instances where pain was not her motive. They hurt each other, over and over, eventually begging for a little more because it felt so good.

A surprisingly stern voice conflicting with the lighthearted conversation she had left drew her sharply back to the present.

"Did you tell her?" The gravity in Spike's voice was disconcerting, and a shiver raced down her spine.

"No," Giles replied with a sigh, equally serious. He removed his glasses for an undoubtedly unnecessary polish session at the hem of his shirt. The body language was indisputable. He was nervous about something. Long ago, she had deciphered that code of unspoken thought, and apparently Spike was as talented in Watcher-speak as she was. The look on his face was frustrated but not angered. Another oddity. To see him frustrated without the drive to kill sparkling behind his eyes. "I couldn't. Not with everyone there."

It was amazing to hear disapproval in the vampire's voice - genuine disapproval. Other than obvious components, she had never thought of Spike as old. He lacked the maturity typically gained with age. However, the moment he spoke, she blinked as though first seeing him. A man with considerable experience and more knowledge than she would ever verbally credit. A creature who had seen and created history. For the briefest second, he looked old, older than Giles, older than her great-uncle who had passed the year before. Hidden streaks of wisdom blazed behind those passion-filled eyes.

A different person...

His words were unremarkable, but spoken with such vehemence it made her shiver in affect. "You lost your nerve? Good God, Ripper, you can't put it off forever."

"I know." There was no emotion behind Giles's tone. Just dead understanding. "But think of what she's dealing with. You're suddenly back in town, and for reasons beyond her, I'm taking your side. That alone will be hard enough to cope with until you share your own little secret. It's hard, I understand. Lord, I've been there through it all. A lot longer than it seems. You're my friend, and I have yet to say otherwise, but she's like my daughter. You just can't-"

"Slayer's got bigger bads to worry about than how to deal with me." The venom in his voice sent ripples across her skin. "Can't be dainty because of outstanding circumstances. Best to tell her and get it out there."

"I can't... not until we-"

Buffy jumped as the vampire roared, demon emerging with sudden fury. The Watcher was visibly shaken but not surprised, nor frightened at the implication. Even Spike had to reach and feel his face in shock at his reaction, but he made no attempt to draw it back in. "I won't stand for it, Rips. This is bloody bad business. All bad. I won't let things fester while she sits there and doesn't know what's about to hit just because you got a case of the jitteries." Gradually, his face relaxed and faded back to human. "Sod it, then. If you won't tell her, I will."

Giles's brows arched incredulously. "What?"

"You dragged me to this bloody parade because you wanted me to watch out for her. Seems that's your job, but I'm ready and willin' if it means protecting her while she's punchin' me into the sodding earth."

The gaze reflecting the Watcher's eyes was firm and disbelieving. Buffy herself was beyond astonished. Reacting so violently, so authentically to whatever evil was arising was one thing - it was familiar in a way, but she had never seen him like this.

"You really think waltzing over there right now is your best option?" Giles asked softly. "Think she'll listen?"

"Doesn't matter if she listens," Spike replied gruffly. The motel door opened. "You hafta tell her sometime. Least now she'll be on the lookout." Buffy gasped and backed further into the darkness, her tinglies going mad as he passed. The simplest thing she could do right now was emerge and demand answers, yet her body would not cooperate. Instead, she watched him leave. He performed an involuntary spaz as he crossed her, as though similarly sensing her proximity. Not wasting the opportunity, he paused and turned around. "I can deal with her dyin' again, Rips. It'll bloody tear me apart, but at least I'll know she's at peace. But you're a sodding quack if you think I'll stand 'ere and do nothing to prevent it."

The Watcher's shadow darkened in the doorway, glasses caught again in the hem of his sweater. "Then you're a braver man than I am," he murmured to where only she could hear. "And you have so much more to lose." His voice rose again, although Spike was out of earshot. "And don't call me Rips! One overused nickname is bad enough."

"Giles." Buffy's breathing had regulated as she stepped into the light cast by a street lamp. It was safe now, the coast was clear. A part of her was torn but she would not follow. She hoped he would be gone by the time she was home.

The Watcher jumped in surprise, stumbling over himself as his eyes went as wide as saucers. "Bu..." A steadying breath as he tossed a panicked look down the path where Spike had disappeared. "Buffy, you just... ummm..."

"I know. Missed him." She followed his gaze fleetingly before drawing her eyes home. Giles's mouth thinned as he released a sigh and nodded. "I heard everything. And I think it's time we talked."

*~*~*

Every step weighed with less conviction as the space narrowed between him and Revello Drive. Fury at the Watcher's hesitance conflicted the ever-present sympathy. He understood he had no right to presume any part of Giles's role. Buffy was his responsibility even if no one admitted it. It had been years since she had an active watcher, needed one, but the bond developed between the two was impossible to break. This was his place. It had always been his place. And William had no right.

"Not supposed to interfere," he murmured with a flinch. "Badness comes from it. Can't make Ripper angry. Can't afford to lose his friendship."

For the second time that evening, William found himself standing outside her house. For the second time that evening, he received the chilling confirmation that she was not home. He could not feel her inside. Not like he had at the Bronze. Funny how that was - he could feel her now if he willed it so. It was a sixth sense. A special Buffy tingly. He had suspected it activated as he left Giles's, but credited it to his frustrated train of thoughts. What if...

His mind would not allow him access to that path. All he needed to know was that she was not home. The house buzzed with life, but not hers. Dawn was likely upstairs or in the living room. She was a responsible chit when she put her mind to it, and even so, things had changed.

Dawn. He ached at the thought of her. It was right, he knew, that she reacted as she had, despite how it stung. Forgiveness hurt more than spite. A pardon from Dawn might likely be the end of him.

Another shudder quaked through his body, and he wished Red were beside him.

No use lounging about here. He was willing to knock on the door but not wait for her to come home. She wouldn't listen if she thought he was stalking her.

"Call her then, Ripper," he growled as he turned, walking away with resignation. "Bloody well call her. Tell her what's going on."

Something rattled in his stomach and he found himself overwhelmed with familiarity. William froze in place, predator eyes shooting upward. No one was in sight, but he knew better than to trust elementary senses. Too much had happened in the past to suggest otherwise. Interior radar was shooting off the charts. He waited a beat for identification, relaxed, then tensed again. "I know you're there," he said finally. "No use lurking about."

"I could say the same to you." That voice! Once upon a time, he would have coiled with hatred so thick it would make the devil squirm, but the affect had abandoned itself to empty sorrow. "They might believe you, Spike, but I don't. They're mortals and they're quick to forgive, even quicker to forget, despite what's happened in the past." A pause. "I know what you are. How you gained Giles's trust, I'll never-"

"Oh, sod off, Peaches," William finally growled, glaring as Angel came into the light. The rage blazing behind his grand-sire's eyes did little to disturb him. They had hated each other far too long to start with retribution. As demons they were rivals, as men they were strung by jealousy. Now, as two souled vamps, little progress could be expected. However, he was family in that way both loathed to acknowledge. And oddly, the only family he think to begin to trust. "I came here to tell the lady what Ripper forgot to mention - that's all. No need to masquerade in your less-than-white armor. He called the cavalry for a reason. Do you really think I'd be 'ere otherwise?"

The flame died into barren nothingness, a black pit deepening enraged pupils. "Yes," he accused softly. "Because you're Spike, and against every rational fiber of your being, you never know when to quit. When enough is enough. Even if it means befriending the slayer's watcher to gain everyone's undeserved trust. Do you honestly conceive that you have any right to be here, after what you pulled?"

Pain shot through every numb limb, tingling across dead skin and tickling useless arteries to further useless sparks. "No," came the barking reply. "O'course not. Bloody hell, I told Ripper the same. Got on my sodding knees and begged the old git not to bring me along. But he told me something true - what she needs now is more important than that. 'S why I could understand him calling you 'ere. Because she needs you, too." William's voice was low and menacing, lips curled in an animalesque snarl. "But sod it all to bloody hell. If you hurt her, Peaches, I'll kill you."

"Hurt her?" Angel drawled. "More or less than you hurt her, Spike? Where, in your consensus, do you draw the line of reasonability?"

That was it. All he could take. In an instant he was two seconds away from ripping the poofter's head off or sinking to his knees in tears. Somehow, however, he managed to restrain himself, instead biting back and swallowing strangled sobs by offering a gracious nod. He could not help the wealth of feeling that poured through his eyes. "Right then," he replied hoarsely. "I'll be on my way. Be a good chap and don't tell Buffy I came by. Better off not knowing." Without awaiting a response, ignoring the blunt surprise with which he was regarded, William turned and began an unhurried walk toward the cemetery.

He heard Peaches following within seconds and made no attempt to quicken his pace. He knew he was found out. One by one they would all find out, either until he was dust or until there was no one left to surprise. When his arm was grasped, he was astonished at the lack of force - direct counterpoint to the fierceness of their brief exchange. Likewise, the fire had quenched behind Angel's eyes, replaced by reverent light. For a minute, all he could do was stare.

"What did you do?" he demanded a raspy beat later. "I... I can..."

"See it? Yeah. Figured you would if you got close enough," William retorted, voice low and plagued. "Never should have mocked you, Peaches. Never should have doubted your stability. Takes a mighty strong bloke to endure it." His eyes closed his tightly. "To take all this..."

"Pain?" The venom had disappeared from Angel's voice, instead laced with sympathy and understanding, though never quite releasing his patronizing superiority. It didn't surprise William as the others had. After all, the vampire had lived this. Was living it. He had seen both sides to evil and walked away.

There was a moment's pause. "The pain is unbearable," Peaches finally acknowledged.

"Demon doesn't bother me," he retorted, and was rewarded with a curiously arched eyebrow. With a shrug, he conceded. "All right. Doesn't bother me much. Wasn't me, mate. Learned that by watchin' you brood all those years. It hurts like hell, but I gotta face facts. Angelus carried your face, but he wasn't Peaches." A sigh rolled off his shoulders. "Though it's there, all right. Sometimes it screams. Sometimes it screams louder than I can bear."

"You learn to accept," Angel replied softly.

"Yeh." William snickered and backed away, voice climbing an octave and tainted with bitterness. "Now, answer me honestly - aren't you proud? After so many years makin' you squirm, I finally got mine." He huffed ineffectually. "Went out and got it myself, in fact. Got what I asked for. Got what she deserves." The other vampire's eyes went wide with comprehension, taken aback by a violent affirming nod. "That's right, ponce. Fought for it. Earned it. No curse. Not given to me as a punishment, though by God, it feels like it. Went out and fought for it. Defeated the baddies. And this is my sodding reward."

"You... asked for this?"

"Must have. Does it hurt, Peaches? I was a better demon than you. Knew who I loved and just what I needed to make her hurt go away. To make sure I never..." His eyes watered and he looked down. "Hurt her so much. Never... never meant to..." William drew an angry arm across his face and wiped the tears away. "Don't be offended, mate. You're a prat when you're bad, sure, but you're a better man than I am. You would never-"

"You didn't." Angel's tone was soft but assertive. Astonishment had not quite run its course. He was staring off, the sidewalk suddenly the epitome of fascination. "And everything I said tonight was wrong. Everything I told her..."

"Was right, if it was to stay away from me." He wasn't sure when they started walking, but somehow his legs were carrying him, every step a comfortable pace away from Revello drive. Almost as though they were old chums instead of two souled vampires who had spent the better part of the past century hating each other. "Still don't fully know why Ripper made me come. I get it, sure, but I'll likely cause more damage 'ere... just bein' around her."

For a minute, he thought he had heard Angel take a breath. No. The vampire rarely breathed. It had never been second nature with him. He rejected all association with humanism - steadfast in his unworthy demonhood. "He trusts you," he observed. William didn't have to look at him to verify an inward replay churning through the grand-sire's mind. He hadn't been there when redemption was granted, but he knew there had to be a point in time when Giles forgave him to his face for everything he did as Angelus. The Watcher had almost seen the worst part of that year. It hurt to think about now. He hated the thought of anything of that magnitude happening to his friend. "This makes sense. Why didn't he tell us?"

"Didn't want him to. Wanted no one to know." A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Too late for that. Red knew right away. So did you. Saw me, you did."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Angel replied. Their walk slowed as the graveyard came into view. "You ran into the two people most likely to notice. I don't think Buffy will come to that conclusion consciously unless every other option is retired. She won't want to." He sighed and indicated their stop with a nod. "You're still staying here?"

"Feels wrong to be anywhere else." William shrugged simply and reached for his smokes. "'Sides, me in a bleedin' hotel room? Dead giveaway. Ol' Spike'd never stand for that." There was a long pause, the tenor of the conversation melting into further seriousness. "I don't expect you to like me, Peaches. Hell, I still can't bloody stand you." He shuffled uneasily as he lit the cigarette, drawing an exaggerated puff. "I've been a right stupid git through most of my life... undeath, or whatever. But I won't hurt her. Didn't mean to in the first place." He tapped his chest. "Sodding demon an' all. Didn't know when... I didn't realize I was hurtin' her. Sick prat." There was nothing behind the other vampire's gaze. Emptiness could be construed in whichever fashion the beholder wished to see it. Understanding or further outrage. Whatever the case, it wasn't important enough to worry with now. "Right. Well, wanted you to know that. Don't know why. Don't expect you to believe me."

"It's hard." There was no elaboration, nor any alleviation on the deadness behind his gaze.

"Yeah. Fuckin' hard. It'll get worse, too." William blew out a long stream of smoke. "I don't need to ask you not to tell her. You know better, right?"

He blinked and nodded absently. "I won't. It's your place." A beat as he took a dramatic step forward, eyes flaring with intent. "But you should tell her. You owe her that."

"With the cat out of the bag all over the soddin' place, she'll eventually figure it out." William sighed. "Red said she's comin' to find me tomorrow. She'll know, Peaches." They waited in unmoving silence until the cigarette butt was flicked to the ground and smothered under a large boot. "Still love her?"

Another silence. Shorter - speculative. "I'll always love her," Angel answered honestly. "But there are others. She doesn't love me." His brows perked. "Do you still love her?"

The words reassured him in the secreted implication of his demon-feelings. William smiled. Yes, Peaches knew. If he were standing here soulless, the admission would not come with near as much ease, but it was still tangible. There was no denying it. "I'll never love anyone else."

Angel smiled softly and nodded, turning wordlessly and leaving him standing alone. And that was it. Three encounters in one evening. Three different faces. A secret twice revealed. William sighed and turned inward. Had he always taken for granted how people could surprise him? He supposed so. For all the indiscretions committed in the past, he had been forgiven time and time again. Remained unstaked. It hurt now. It would likely hurt forever, but he was coping.

And Angel. Most astonishing though correspondingly oddly expected. Their conversation soothed him with reassurance. The road ahead was long but not unknown. Others had traveled its course before him, and come out on top. With all his time with Giles, he had never fully grasped that he was no longer alone.

He understood that now.

Never know how I'll thank the bloody poof, he reflected as he was devoured in shadows. Still hate him, though.

Continue