Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Thirteen

The night passed slowly and brought with it a slower morning. Gratuitous activities satisfied fleeting curiosity, but there was no force great enough to drag her thoughts away from the heart of the crypt. Her encounter with Spike had rendered her evening sleepless, those aspects of normality filled with nightmares of mimicking nature. Whatever she did, her mind wandered to the words he had spoken, the looks he had issued. The familiar and yet oh-so-different feel of his lips against hers. Buffy's motivation for their kiss remained unexplained and mostly ignored. She thought it best not to think of it. A clumsy, spontaneous temptation. It hadn't made anything better.

Another rendezvous that afternoon at the Magic Box. Buffy arrived an hour early, strung on stress and kept from a depression of sleep only by the wonders of coffee and diet soda. Her personal life was too complex now to deal with another apocalypse, and with as much as her priorities should be settled, she couldn't stray from the peroxide vampire's presence.

He said he would leave after this was all over. It was what she wanted. It was best for everyone. It made her ache every time she considered what she would be losing - again.

Then of course, there was that debate of what exactly she would lose. After last night, she was anything but certain.

The Scoobies would arrive soon. It was still a while till sunset. Angel wouldn't show his face for some time, likely after everyone had gathered and discussed. Though he was just as capable of navigation during day lit hours, it was Spike's cold habit - not his.

One of their many distinctions.

If anything, Giles would be on time. And a vampire would be with him.

Buffy exhaled a trembling breath, ineffectually ignoring the wealth of questions that tightened her stomach into knots. How would she look at him? Who would she see? There was no denying that the vampire she knew was gone, leaving behind only a glimmer of his former confident swagger. How much had changed exactly? What had happened?

She was at a loss for what to think or feel. After everything passed between them, everything that had happened, she didn't know how to approach him. Talk to him. Their last exchange burned the need for reparation in her lungs, stronger than it had been before. Stronger than ever.

After seeing him like that, she needed to apologize with a thousand times the impact. Needed to let him know that there was no need for this hurtful self-punishment. Needed to forgive and be forgiven.

She needed him to know.

The bell over the door announced a new arrival, and she looked up in time to see two familiar faces push through the entry - both on either side of a human-shaped blanket. When all respective presences were acknowledged, the air thickened in tension. Giles cleared his throat and helped Spike further inside, murmuring a quiet hello. Buffy looked to Willow and her heart broke. Never before had she seen her friend so thoroughly torn. Loyalties were split in two, and she didn't know who possessed the larger half.

That thought terrified her.

As soon as the blanket was removed, she huffed a breath of release. Spike didn't so much as look at her - his frontage all business. Instead, he shook his head and glanced around, familiarizing himself with the layout though the reminder was likely unnecessary, and finally bolted for the books. "You think that's it, then?" he asked Giles, who traded uncomfortable glances between his vampiric colleague and the Slayer. No reply was issued or really expected.

"Makes sense, mate," Spike continued, moving back, flipping through a volume that hadn't seen clean air in several years. He didn't react to the dust. "That chap I saw attacking Nibblet the other night, the blood on 'im was as black as I've seen. Appears black in the moonlight an' all, but I know the difference. 'Sides, after so many years, this Master bloke has given so many bleedin' clues. We shoulda caught on back home." The Watcher and Willow regarded him oddly - uneasily. When he could no longer avoid her, Spike glanced up and nodded. "Buffy," he acknowledged before returning his attention to the matter at hand.

She nodded but didn't reply. There were no words.

"This wasn't impulsive," he went on, turning the text so Giles could see. "Black to start the darkness. The sodding beginning. This guy looks to be a fanatic for sigma hocus-pocus. He's been teasin' us these last years. Waitin' for us to catch on, all the while tossing random Revelation demons to distract you-" He tossed a fleeting glance in her direction, "-'an laughing about it all the way."

The Watcher frowned, flipping through the pages. Seeing him behind the game when any form of research was concerned did more than unnerve her. Giles was supposed to always have all the answers. "I don't see anything about black blood," he replied finally. "We've gone through this, Wi..." He looked up, a deer-caught-in-headlights glance that she didn't pay attention to. "Spike. We've been through every book prophecy has to offer."

"Read between the sodding lines, Ripper." An aggravated vampire moved to look over his shoulder, pointing at a passage. "See. Looky. 'And the dark times will come with the second arising. And everything he touches will be tainted. And as the time grows nearer, those who fight will fall. Those who fall will die.'" Violently, he commanded Buffy's eyes. "Not all your vamps have bled blackness, have they?"

"No..." She was still too startled seeing Spike in research mode to absorb the potency of his words. A patient pause, and finally his gaze softened. She shook her head with a blink. "No. Just some."

That was all he said to her. Flashing his attention back to Giles, he indicated the text with another firm point. "There. You see? Prat's been feedin' for years. Gettin' his strength together. Everyone he sires is tainted. Makes 'em bleed his bloody blackness."

"Say that five times fast," Willow offered pointlessly. Everyone looked at her questioningly and she shrugged. "Sorry. Thought we could use some comic relief."

Spike grinned at her fondly, shaking his head before looking back to the book. "An' sounds like he's been a busy ponce - getting as many as possible," he said, unhampered in lecture. An indiscernible flash blazed through his eyes as the Watcher's face fell with comprehension. The vampire growled and began an aggressive pace from one wall to the other. "Been 'ere the whole bloody time. Here!" He indicated the Magic Box with expressively wide arms. "I'm such an idiot. Shoulda seen, shoulda-"

"It took knowing about the prophecy to understand," Giles said at last. His skin had paled and his body was quivering. "If we had seen it before, we never would have made the association. Not without the Council books." Spike slowed in stride as outrage calmed, nodding mutely.

"Either way," the Watcher continued, "you were right to pursue research. None of us would have known had..." With an emotional pause, he met Buffy's eyes. "And you would never have seen it coming. I..."

Everyone looked to Spike, who shuffled in discomfort. "Now," he said, tone considerably softer. "That's not fully right. You woulda seen it. It's what you do, Ripper. You-"

"I never would have gotten those books. That was you."

The vampire scoffed. It surprised Buffy to see him shy from praise, especially if it was deserved. He refused to meet her inquiring eyes. "They would've sent 'em along as soon as things started going wonky."

"The point-"

"Right. I got your point." He looked to Willow, who offered a slight smile. "Got it good."

"Spike to save the day!" she cheered humorlessly, earning another wry glance from every direction. "All right, all right. Enough with the comic relief. I give. Just a thought."

"Right, Red," he retorted with a snort. "I'm just... lucky shot, that's all it was. Bloody Council. I'm just annoying git who can't keep his mouth shut. After a hundred an' thirty some-odd years, it's certain to do me some good."

The Watcher nodded in agreement. "Can't argue with that. William the Blabbering Bloody."

Spike snickered. "William Ripper II."

"First one's better. More accurate."

"Ponce." He was grinning. "Who says you get to make up nicknames?"

There was familiarity between them. It was as though he was a different person altogether. Everything was there - pieced together for her. At her scrutiny, Spike became unwittingly self-conscious. Stripped and exposed. She saw...

Willow suddenly cleared her throat and moved forward, ushering the vampire with her into a protective corner. "Here they come," she warned. "Xander and Dawn. I don't think they'll... you know, give you too much trouble. Both Buffy and I laid down the law pretty well the last time."

"Yeah, you told me." The look on his face betrayed him. Buffy had never seen him so self-aware. "Don't want to see Nibblet. Harris I can handle, but-"

Willow was acting suspiciously delicate with him. With as much as they mentioned each other in passing conversation, it occurred to the Slayer that she had never played witness to one of their exchanges. One would assume they were life-long friends that shared sibling-related affection. "Don't worry about Dawnie," she assured him. "What she says, she doesn't mean. Like yesterday, she said something... bad. But I could tell - she cares so much for you."

"Shouldn't." It was barely a whisper. "Don't defend her, pet, or try to excuse her. Whatever she dishes can't 'urt me. Not-"

"Can't lie to me, Mister," Willow retorted with a stern 'yeah right' expression, stepping aside and silencing as the entryway opened. They shared a quick glance.

Perhaps it was the mood, but Buffy couldn't help a rush of the same anxiety, as well as the desire to preserve Spike's feelings. An odd sensation. It awed her that he could act like nothing had changed when she could not think of anything else. Their brief glances were sharp and painful. She had to bite her lip to keep from screaming her fill of unvoiced apology before he could stop her again.

"Hey guys!" Dawn said chirpily. She carried a shopping bag that dropped from her arms, though it was impossible to detect whether the display was in ode to the weight or the pair of eyes to which her gaze was magnetically drawn. Xander's hand came up to grasp her shoulder. "Spike," she acknowledged emotionlessly.

"Afternoon, Bit," he returned with a nod. "An' Harris."

"Spike." There was no front of feeling behind his tone. "Nice of you to show up."

"Yeh," the vampire agreed. "Figure'd it might be useful."

"Spike has discovered something rather disturbing," Giles interrupted, stepping forward. "This prophecy we researched evidently commenced some time ago. Your vampires that excreted black blood were sired by the uprising Master." The announcement stole whatever mocking retort had perched on Xander's lips. "He has been gaining power since after I brought Willow back from London. I fear he would have arisen without warning had we not decoded the books. It would have been far too late."

Spike sighed and backed further into his corner. If anyone noticed the chumminess between himself and Willow, they declined comment.

"This vampire is of an older order than time," the Watcher continued. "He makes endless ancient references and resorts to imitation of biblical text. It's mocking in that sense. A deity's act to throw you off his scent."

"I dreamed about him," Buffy said softly.

The room fell still.

Xander retracted his hand from Dawn's shoulder, stepping forward. "And we're just hearing about this now because...?"

She looked fleetingly to Spike, who regarded her with wide-eyed concern. "It slipped my mind."

"What happened?"

"Well... ummm..." She sighed. "It started off as... something else. Then everything switched to the Master... almost everything. It might not even be a Slayer dream. The entire thing was sorta inconsistent."

A frown creased Giles's brow. "Tell us. We should never take your visions for granted. You know that."

Buffy wasn't about to share all the details of her subconscious, but she knew Spike understood what it entailed for the way her eyes wouldn't leave his. Whether the result was intentional or not, she wasn't sure. But regardless, he knew. His features contorted in grief, but the affect was fleeting. He wasn't about to let Xander see his misplacement.

The Watcher was exhibiting several uncharacteristic signs of impatience. Emphatically, he stepped forward. "What did the Master do, Buffy?"

She shook her head clear, blinking furiously. "He killed... then he bit me. Said something... Latin, I think. 'Vae... vae puto deus fio.' That's it. And that was the end."

A beat passed before the vampire and Giles simultaneously came forward. It was impossible to decipher who first yelled, "Bloody hell!" but she was sure they weren't in unison.

"Not good," Spike grumbled. He was pacing again. "That's not bloody good!"

"What?!" Panic shot spurts up her insides. "I mean, I gathered it wasn't all birds chirping and daffodils, but what does it mean? Someone?"

The vampire exhaled vibrantly, stopped and looked at her. He would give her honesty, even when it pained her. Never did he shy from what she needed to hear. "It means the baddie's comin' for you, and he's lookin' to be a bloody god."

"W-well, we already knew that, right?" Dawn offered, bravado betrayed by a quaking voice. In seconds, her eyes had gone as wide as saucers. "I mean, no extra badness?"

"Oh, there's plenty of badness," Spike retorted, looking at her for the first time with indifference. "There's a whole walloping load. And it's just itchin' to hit." Fiercely, he turned his gaze to Buffy. "Chap's gonna get most of his power from you, I'm guessin'. That phrase, it means 'Bugger help me, I'm turning into a god,' only more poetic. Damnation an' all that in one package."

Xander's prejudice was vacating his esteem with every lingering beat. Studiously, he looked to the vampire, eyes wide and questioning. "But we've stopped this sort of thing before," he said. Buffy didn't know if he was trying to convince the group or himself, and at the minute, it didn't seem to matter. "And I don't just mean before, I mean like every other day."

"Master's different than all that," Spike replied. "Angelus knew more about the last one than I did. He was all about those soddin' prophecies and rituals. It was never my thing. Old git threw a bleedin' temper tantrum when the poor chap got his soul back." He paused meaningfully in offering of comment, continuing when no voice rose. "Hell god's a bitch to put up with, I know, but she's no brassed off vampire of the oldest order. What it boils down to is the order of what this time is set for. You lot have seen your fair share. More than you rightly should. And this one's been festerin' for some time now. What vamps you all 'ave killed won't 'mount to much in the long run. He'll have what he wants an' how much by the time he aims to strike."

"It's the end of the world as we know it," Xander sang miserably.

"Nix the comic relief," Willow offered when he looked aghast at the irritated gazes aimed from all directions. "I've already tried that."

Voices mended into one magnanimous tenor, carrying on conversation that Buffy was no longer following. The breaths heaving from her body were becoming tight - constrictive, as though each was closer to her last. Her eyes met Spike's and held, whispering strands of unspoken understanding. It was too hard - too hard to focus on the very real prospect that her life might end - again - all the while trying to delve passed the complex layers of her personal life. In that, she realized Giles was likely wrong in bringing his working colleague with him for help. Spike's presence was distracting her. Briefly, she wished he had arrived the way she remembered him. At least she knew how to respond. Confident and ballsy, making barbs at her friend's inconsistencies and mocking goodwill while trying, however insincerely, to prove that he had it within him to do the same. This New and Improved Spike was too confusing, too complex. He researched and he cared and he was helping for the betterment of the world, not because of her. Not just because of her.

Exhaling deeply, she rose to her feet, eyes still trained on him. Talking continued around her, but she didn't care. Her question had one objective for its answer. "When will it happen?" she asked.

Everyone grew still, suddenly fixated on the exchange. She twitched uncomfortably but did not waver in resilience, refusing to look away. Their lives might as well be a soap opera - everyone had to see what happened.

"When it's the ten year birthday of the past Master's death," Spike replied, obviously shaken. "He'll come and he'll wait and he'll do really bad things. You'll fight, and if everythin' goes to prophecy, he'll best you and the world'll be his playground till the next one stops 'im. But even that might be in a hundred years or more."

Buffy pursed her lips and nodded. "Wow. A prophecy telling me I'm going to die. Knew it was that time of the month." A pause as she bit her lip, thinking. "Then I guess I got a date for the prom. Who says you can't go back to high school?"

"Prom's on a different day every year," Dawn reminded her.

"And the Master will likely attack you when you don't expect it," Giles added unhelpfully. He looked miserable.

Buffy snickered. "Yeah. Like I won't be going around all day not expecting him to pop around every corner?"

"I won't let it happen," Spike offered softly. "Not while I'm 'ere. He wants a bad to mess with, let it be me. One of us prats'll go into the soddin' earth, and I'll be bloody damned sure I'm not that prat." Then, before anyone could venture a word, he grabbed his blanket and raced out of the shop, not noticing the sun had set. He nearly knocked Angel aside in haste, ignoring the bewildered gazes burning into his back.

An uncomfortable silence was left in his place.

"I take it I missed something," the new arrival remarked.

No one voiced a reply. Buffy barely acknowledged his entrance. Thoughts were colliding in sorrow and confusion. The dream she had the other night clawed at her insides, and immediately she jittered in concern. He knew, of course. Even if the others didn't, he knew what she wasn't saying. Again, the horrible image flashed before her eyes, a visage of Spike combusting into dust. She fought her feet to obey and stay planted, allowing her better senses to convince her that he would be all right.

"He's just upset," Willow said softly, speaking to everyone though she was looking at Buffy. It was reassurance, cornered with the same conflict, and she was astonished at the veiled realization pouring through her friend's guise. The notion of acknowledged shared concern had shaken her in some way; the words she spoke now calming, but doing little to alleviate the twinge that whispered that the Slayer should follow the disturbed vampire. With a sigh and a sad smile of displacement, the Witch concluded, "Can't really do much damage tonight. Besides, the Master hasn't arisen yet."

"Is it just me," Xander said a beat later, "or has Spike gone uber creepy with being the new 'know-it-all' guy?" He then looked to the newest vampiric addition and waved when he saw no one else would. "Hey Angel. Guess what? The world's gonna end... again."

The Watcher groaned lightly and turned his attention back to the books.

Ignoring the welcome, Angel looked instead to Buffy and took several heady steps forward. "Why did Spike leave?" There was no hint of indictment, though she couldn't help but feel accused.

"Presumably to get himself killed," Dawn replied. "Won't have any luck tonight, though." The previously harsh coldness had vacated her tone, perhaps permanently, and she was back to sounding beaten and torn between loyalties. She looked desperately to her sister. "E-even so, you won't let him, will you?"

"Don't worry," Willow said softly. "He's just going to vent. You know how he gets." The last rang unconvincingly. As of the late, no one, save Giles, really knew how he got when he was upset. "Probably kill a few vamps then hit the hay. Or go to Willie's for some blood."

The Watcher looked up and frowned. "Did he eat what I gave you last night?"

"Yeah. Fell asleep then woke up and scarfed it down, then fell back asleep." She made a face. "It was kinda gross."

There was a chuckle, familiar and reassured. "That sounds about right."

"You stayed with him last night?" Buffy asked. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or invidious. Their growing closeness was an area of relief and jealousy. Though she had Spike had had a fair share of heart-to-hearts in the past, she received the notion that he had never opened up to anyone as he did with Willow.

Closeness with Spike was something she told herself she never wanted. Now it was what she craved more than ever.

"Yeah. Well, not all night. Just until I knew he was... you know..." The Witch looked down. "Okay."

"Buffy," Angel said softly, advancing a few more paces. "Can we talk in private?"

For the briefest instant, she thought he might have regressed to the mindset displayed the other night, but his eyes told a different story. With a hesitant nod, she heaved a breath and followed him into the back, leaving everyone to bask in uncertain aftermath.

When she caught up with him, the dimness of the room took her by surprise. She had never before noticed how quickly the sun set. He did not seem impartial to the darkness, so she did not offer to abolish it. Light was not needed here.

"What has Giles found out?" he asked softly. Small talk. He hadn't brought her back here to discuss matters that were of everyone's concern.

"Spike found out, not Giles," she answered dutifully. "You woulda been surprised. He saw beyond the text. It's bad... this thing. The Master."

"I take it you found Spike last night?"

A notable pause. "Yes."

"And?"

She shrugged. "And we talked."

Angel smiled lightly at her evasiveness. "Buf-"

"Is there a point to my being back here, or are you just going to jump start another lecture?" When his eyes widened in invitation, she growled her annoyance and turned away. "I'm so tired of this! Everyone is being secretive! I mean, what you told me at the Bronze the other night... it was wrong but rational. It was what I expected from you. I'm used to it. But now..."

He frowned and stepped forward. "You're upset because I'm not lecturing you?"

Buffy stopped, frustrated, shaking her head sternly. "No. I'm upset because Spike's back in town. It's finally getting to me. You want God's truth - there it is. I'm upset because everyone I trusted suddenly has this colossal secret that no one is sharing. Everyone he's talked to... even you! Especially you! You went on and on... and on and on about how demons never change. How Spike never changes. Then what? One chat with him put your entire belief system out of whack and suddenly he's not such a bad guy?"

The way he looked at her suggested that she had finally lost it. A sort of 'stop and listen to yourself' regard. But Buffy was lost in her spiel, insides reaping of secreted knowledge, denied in logicality again and again. Something scratched beneath her subconscious. Something known.

And Angel understood. Blinking in recognition, he nodded and stepped back, excreting an uncharacteristic breath. It almost went unnoticed until she remembered whom she was with, and she immediately regretted the lack of illumination. She knew he could see her eyes and hated being rendering read when she was so far behind, herself.

At that minute, he looked at a loss for words, at a complete loss at what to say. Though she couldn't see much, there was definite disguise in the works. Taunting. And despite how she tried, she wouldn't get it out of them. Any of them.

"I think," he said finally, "that I was wrong about something."

"Someone alert the press," Buffy stingingly retorted.

He ignored her, stepping forward. "I saw Spike going to your house, and I think I was ready to kill him, despite what you said. Or at least thrash him around a bit. My demon was itching for a fight. I know him, much better than you or Giles or anyone can claim to. You didn't spend a century with his annoying antics. What stopped me was something sincere. I've never seen Spike express a sincere feeling before. With him, it was always about killing, eating, and screwing. You know that enough." When she nodded her reluctant confirmation, he continued. "He did change. He... wanted something that was impossible for him to want, even more impossible for him to have."

"Me?"

"No. Well, yes, but not just you." Angel was edging dangerously close to revealing the secret of the century, and unfortunately, he recognized it the minute she did. With an aggravating step of retreat, he shook his head, forcing himself down another pathway. "Do you love him?"

Buffy drew in a sharp breath and looked down, shaken and surprised. The question mockingly echoed a similar inquiry he made years ago, though with implications she never thought could exist. There was no time to make up excuses, or tell herself any thought of love was impossible. Straightforward honesty was what he expected, what he would read her even if her mouth told him otherwise. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't hate him. I don't... I don't know. He's so different now. And too much has happened. What he did to me... can I trust him? I want to, but..." Her eyes were drawn home. "Love doesn't work without trust."

"That's not what you told me."

"When?"

"Long time ago. Back when you were in high school. When you-"

"Asked you about Drusilla," she finished for him. "I remember."

"So you can answer my question, now that trust is out of the way." Stubborn as always. She wanted to kick Angel and run but remained stationary, daring him to ask again. "Do you love him?"

"I don't know. How can I love something like that? We hurt each other. So many times. How can I love the hurt? What does it make me?"

"A sadistic monster lover." The words would have stung had she not noted the lack of maliciousness behind his smile. "And human, Buffy. I've seen a lot. In my experience, humans love the wrong people for the wrong reasons."

The passiveness in his voice was so thoroughly Angel that it sent ripples of aggravated adoration through her body, reluctant and most certainly unwanted. "Why are you so level-headed? I thought you hated him."

He shrugged. "I do. But I love you, and I... I don't want you to deal with more than what's necessary. You have too much going on right now to worry about Spike." A long, reverent pause. "What are you going to do now?"

Buffy huffed out a breath and brought her hands over her eyes, drawing her hair back tightly in thought. The answer wasn't long forming - they both knew her intentions long before it was voiced. "What I do best," she conceded as she turned and paraded for the door. "Follow the vampire."

Surprisingly, the Magic Box was vacant when she reentered the main room. Again, she took time to note that it was unexpectedly dark for being so early in the evening. However, the sky remained clear; she could see through the windows. No storm clouds on the horizon - just the impending threat of a big awakening.

Buffy sighed and instinctively tightened the duster around her. Though she had no way of knowing for certain which path the peroxide vampire had taken, she was nearly convinced he would be at the graveyard. The feral look in his eyes as he left suggested more than the need for protection; it had all happened too rapidly. One minute he was there and the next he wasn't.

"When in doubt," she murmured to the silence, "follow your tingly." Doubly checking to make sure she still had a stake or two on her, Buffy sighed once more and started for the entryway.

"It got dark fast," a small voice came from the shadows, stopping her with a start just before she could make her exit. It was Willow, seated near the cash registers, shrouded in darkness.

Buffy frowned and turned, heart leaping with surprise. "Good God, Will! Trying to give me a stroke?"

"Oh. Sorry." Familiar sheepishness inevitably set in. "I just... I wanted to say someth... where are you going?"

She snickered and rolled her eyes. "To find Spike, where else? I need to talk to him."

"Yeah," the Witch agreed. "I don't mean to keep you-"

"No. It can wait. Go ahead."

There was a heavy intake of breath and she moved from the counter, still not coming entirely into view. "I just like... realized it after he left. I saw your face, and I realized what a bum I've been lately. It's not like I've been angry with you or anything, but it's felt like it." A heady pause and another sharp breath. "I was doing all right, Buffy. I mean, I'm not peachy-keen, no, but I was doing all right. Better and stuff."

"Willow, if this-"

"No, no. Let me finish. When I found him the other night, he was like... everything I am, you know? Only Spike doesn't hold back when he's feeling oogie. The whole world knows." She chuckled dryly. "Even when the world doesn't care. I never thought that... I've felt pain. I mean really hard-core pain. Pain that's not even mine. I felt him as soon as he got here. Like a... a leftover. He was screaming for someone, Buffy. And I've been really protective of him ever since." With another sigh, Willow looked down, escaping her friend's confused gaze. "So protective that it's started to cloud my judgment. Tonight was kinda the eye-opener. That I was being protective for the wrong reasons when I saw how worried about him you were after he left. And don't you deny it, Missy."

There was no want of denial. "It was the dream," Buffy whispered. "I dreamt the Master killed him."

Immediate panic beset her friend's eyes, ineffectually tempered in some attempt for calm. "Oh... but, you've had dreams like that before, right? Where you thought someone might die but they didn't?"

"Yeah," she replied softly. "That's what I keep telling myself."

"And the dream... made you react like that? I mean, it's not like everyone and their cousin could see, but you..."

"I do care about him, Will!" Buffy snapped. "I don't know why, or how, but-"

"But you do, you see, and that's my point. I couldn't. I couldn't see it. All of it. I mean, I knew, but I didn't know." She looked confused, but shook her head and continued. "These past few days have been more about me. Me feeling better about what happened. Me trying to make amends. I know what he did was awful. I mean, really awful, and I don't mean to push you to... you know... not love him but, get to the point where you can tell him that everything's all right."

"You weren't pushing me."

The Witch chuckled again humorlessly. "I was. Just not very well. I just thought... if someone like Spike could be forgiven for everything, why not me?"

There was a pregnant pause. Long, teetering, then Buffy came forward and took her friend into a hug, holding her calm in the darkness. "You were forgiven," she assured her. "I know that-"

"No. No, you don't." Willow pulled away, drawing an arm to wipe tears from her eyes. "Forgiveness is a two-way street. You guys forgave me, sure. And it hurts like hell because I haven't forgiven myself. It hurts so much it... I did..." She paused to catch her breath, holding a hand up to signify her need for space. "I guess it hurts because I didn't really realize until I came home how fortunate I was. Here, I'd done this really, really bad thing... and you guys were a little weird at first - sure - but things gradually started going back. We got things fixed. And here we are. It takes special people to do that. To love and forgive like that." She sniffed. "And it hurts to think I almost, that I could have..."

"You didn't," the Slayer said firmly. "We're here now and everything's all right."

"No, not everything. Not anything. Nothing's ever all right around us, Buffy. You're confused, hell I'm confused... worried more about making things all right for a vampire because of some serious inner reflection. And I have miles to go before I've recovered. But I'm getting there... one step at a time." Another sigh and her tension finally started to dissipate. "Oh, wow. I feel better. Needed to get that off my chest."

Their hush was reflective and brief, and it occurred to Buffy in those few precious minutes that there was a very real part of Willow that she would never understand. A part of her where they had once shared everything. Where the silence lived. And while her dealings with Spike could be construed as impossible to fully grasp, lest she cast herself down that path of self-destruction, she was relieved there was someone who understood. Someone for Willow who could touch the part of her that died three years ago. Someone who might someday be able to bring her back to the space so long ago abandoned.

"Things got crazy last night," Buffy admitted after a trying pause, knowing instinctively that she would get nothing more from her friend, and it was too painful to press. "Or at least... hard. With Spike, I mean. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't what I got. I don't know who I'm talking to anymore, Will. He's so..."

Willow's eyes widened. "Oh... he didn't? I mean, you don't? ...and you still...?" A wave of compassionate understanding washed over her, and when the Slayer flashed a look of undermining confusion, she stepped back and gasped. "And you still were... oh, wow. That little worm! Go. Go, Buffy. Find him. He can't keep avoiding you."

A surge of discovery charged through her trembling form, and she neared, eyes burning with intent. "What do you know?" she demanded, all sense of reserve vacating her without authority. "What happened to him?"

"Find him," she replied quickly, a haunting mimic of her intonation the day before. Only now her irritation had curbed, angled more toward the bleached vampire. It was a look and tenor Buffy knew well, identifying immediately with one of Willow's top five pet peeves: procrastination. "He's trying to dodge the issue. Or you. You deserve to know - and he needs to be the one to tell you."

Buffy's heart raced, mind unwittingly expanding to dangerous, unexplored terrain. She was on the edge of something but her will forbade an unguided tour. A portrait of Blanche Dubois-backing away from the moments of significant recognition for the chance to happily thrive in her fantasy world. However, she couldn't stay there forever, and the Witch saw. With a quaking gasp, the Slayer found herself hastily steered to the door. An unspoken compromise. Whatever had to be discovered tonight would be with him. Not here. Not like this.

"Go," Willow said urgently.

And before either could offer another word, Buffy was gone. Tearing through the exit, running toward the pivotal point of her instincts.

All secrets would be revealed tonight.

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