Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Seven

She loved this time of night. It was perfect - archetypal. The sort of evening she had discussed in English class time after time. The ground limber beneath her feet, breeze whispering sweet nothings through barren tree branches - oh, and yes class, a lovely graveyard to our left. Stop and take a picture. Keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times. Wouldn't want to be caught by a nasty vampire.

This time of night, things were quiet, and she could pretend, if only for a minute, that Sunnydale was a normal town. That the bruises lining her body were in ode to fights or something as juvenile as falling out of a tree. That she carried stakes wherever she went because it was the latest fashion trend. That her sister made a hobby of slaying demons and various creatures of the night out of boredom and not some ancient birthright.

Then, there was reality.

Thoughts drifted without direction. Friends were undoubtedly gathering at the mall, blowing cash - save those numbered few who cracked open the books in preparation for approaching exams. No one cared that she was meandering through a cemetery past dark, that any moment could be her last, that the harmless rustling over there behind the bushes was likely an immortal monster sent here to suck out her soul.

Of course, how could she hope to compete with the mall?

Even now, years later, it felt odd to be out here alone. Every grave she crossed was still, but at least two new fledglings were on the roster for rising tonight. Patrolling by herself didn't happen often unless there was something as completely mundane as research as the alternative. And with recent development, there was a lot of research. So she was out here by herself as the rest of the gang busied themselves with text and what-have-you from the Magic Box, hoping to crack some ancient jigsaw puzzle.

Alone. Alone, and trusted with her ability. It hadn't been that long since she was forbidden from watching rated R films, much less patrol these dangerous parts unaccompanied. Dawn was not a little girl anymore, but she knew society had kindly placed her as the permanent baby by big sister standards. She would likely be adhering sisterly advice until her teeth rotted out. But things were different. They really were. The world was hers now - unguarded, big, and nasty. And she knew how to fend. Dawn Summers.

She wasn't afraid. And why should she be? After all, she was the slayer's sister-well trained and most adept. Trusted now to walk these paths alone.

To fight that evil.

Dawn paused in stride, leering to peak over her shoulder. She would never master the art as Buffy had, but she was beginning to discern stomach growls from extra-sensory tinglies. Yes - she even had the tinglies. The past three years had molded her into a fighter none of the Scoobies could have fathomed or predicted. It was a rough start, of course. What wasn't nowadays? But she had proved them all wrong - she had bested enemy after enemy, not as quick but pretty damn close to Buffy's skilled speed.

She felt she was being followed.

Not that it was an unusual occurrence. Though such instances hadn't found need to rise to the occasion for the better part of the past year, she would often find herself sharing company with a concerned Xander or Willow. Never Buffy, though. The numbered patrol nights when she manned the field alone went undisturbed by the one person she thought would react with the most indignation. Assurance was given with no quandry. Dawn was trusted.

Most nights, patrolling was a sister thing. A way to squeeze in some real quality time. Right now, however, things were too muddled to really worry about the vampire population. Two days before, three children had been born with their eyes facing inward. A week preceding, a cat became the happy mother of a litter of snakes. These things had happened before, of course, but for all the prophecy the Scoobies investigated, a viable source could not be pinpointed. It was a mystery.

She was glad Giles was here. Aside from it having been an ungodly amount of time since his last visit, Dawn couldn't shake the little girl feeling of warm security when he was around. The past several years had been among the most difficult, and she always felt safe when he was around. She wasn't fool enough to believe he had arrived with all the answers... but he was Giles. Giles! He always had a theory. An idea. A thought.

He had arrived the previous night without even calling to alert his flight number, much less the scheduled landing time. Instead, they received a knock at the door near midnight, only to reveal a very worn but smiling Watcher. They shared hugs, reprimands for failing to keep in better contact, and thoughts about the uprising evil. Secrecy was a large issue - Giles was himself though distanced. His tales of the past few years abbreviated to a quick sentence or two. The old man rarely had motive to hide anything, which made Dawn all the more curious. Something was up, she knew. She just wished she knew what.

However, she didn't pry. Giles was here, and as far as she was concerned, that was all that mattered.

Still quiet. With a sigh, Dawn kicked a headstone and took a seat. Maybe things were going to be inactive tonight. Perhaps the vamps had already arisen and she'd missed it. Perhaps - but honestly, what were the odds?

She still felt like someone was following her. Watching her.

The graveyard was a lonely place to travel alone. Not frightening - just lonely. Sometimes her feet carried her to places she knew were empty, yet investigated just the same. She passed Spike's old crypt more often than she cared to admit. He wasn't there - he was never there. He had been gone for a long time, and everyone was comfortable with the notion that he was never coming back.

Time was the great healer, conflicting and teasing until she didn't know how she felt about what. There had been hatred - rage - for a long time. Toward herself. Toward Spike. Toward her sister. The thought that someone she admired so much, trusted so much had attempted to take such brutal advantage of the one person she was closer to than anyone angered her beyond comprehension. Sometimes she wished he would return just to have the satisfaction of ripping his head from his shoulders. However, once the fire withered, she was left empty. It was difficult to ignore the treacherous voice that whispered little nasty, "It wasn't all his fault, you know."

A very real part of her hated him. The rest just wished he would come back, or at least let her know that he was all right.

It was even more difficult to decipher her sister's thoughts on the matter. Spike wasn't mentioned often, but when he was, her expression drifted and her eyes cast away. She always seemed torn between tears and fury.

Perhaps she was.

Dawn froze suddenly, detecting some longstanding disturbance at last. Unhurriedly, she pushed herself to her feet, reaching into the lapels of her jacket and producing a stake with secondary reflexes.

Listen. Watch. Wait.

Two vamps were buried three spaces away. They were being considerate tonight; the first dust before the second had the time to battle through the dirt. Expertly, Dawn whirled to face her opponent - dead-set in method, adapted flawlessly from her trainer. The creature was a gangly thing - all fangs and leers. She was not nearly as agile as Buffy, but she was quick. Maneuvering with haste, she leapt atop a headstone, leaning out of clawing reach and throwing herself into the air to deliver a swift kick to the face. The vamp growled, backtracked, and lunged. It made it halfway over the tombstone, black blood dribbling from its nose. Dawn made the observation without alarm. That was one thing they never told Giles. Though the freaky demon insignia never found occasion to repeat itself, vamps that pumped oil for innards were now regular occurrences. She heaved a breath and rolled away, jumping to her feet as the creature recovered and made a mad leap for her.

The events that accumulated during the next few seconds happened too rapidly to make any logical sense. A familiar blond head suddenly lunged in front of her, grasping the offending vampire by the shirt collar and issuing three good face punches. Wiry strength - she had seen that before; worshipped it forever ago. It was all there. All in front her, and her eyes refused to believe it so. She watched numbly as the peroxide blond beat the newblood senseless and tossed him aside long enough to flash her a cocky smile.

"'Evenin', Bit," he said anticlimactically.

A second passed where all she could do was stare, then it was all business. She was too occupied and irritated to further acknowledge his presence. What had passed alone was danger enough. The discarded vampire had scrambled to his feet and was coming in for the kill. Her eyes widened and she wordlessly shoved Spike aside, wielding her stake until he was dust.

Heavy breaths escaped her heaving chest. She leaned over and rested her palms on her knees. It didn't seem she had moved enough to work up a sweat, but it was dripping off her in cups.

The moment of recovery didn't last. It was only then that she allowed herself to consider what had happened.

Just minutes before she had asked herself how she would react if she saw him again, and fist clenched, she had her answer. Dawn flexed her fingers and drew back to last Thursday, meeting his jaw with such blunt force it surprised them both. Her flesh stung but she didn't betray herself by shaking the hurt away. It was good hurt. Justified.

The look in his eyes when he faced her again was heart rendering. Gone was the smirk and characteristic self-assuredness, replaced now with the gaze of a broken man who had awoken to the worst sort of comprehension. A hand absently caressed the burning skin at his jaw line but he did not attempt to put distance between them. Instead, he stood passive, welcoming another blow.

Dawn's eyes narrowed as her convicted anger began to waver. She wanted to cling to her rage - to look at this... thing before her and see a monster. And yet, the more she looked at him, the less the fire burned within her. Dying, dying. After all, he was still Spike. Despite the hurt and the heartache, he was Spike. Her once crush and, for a long time, her best friend.

An animal. A vampire. A man.

A thing that had attempted to rape her sister.

"You bastard!" she spat venomously. "Fucking rat! How dare you show your face here!"

The creature's eyes softened with pain and her lower lip quivered in indecision. "You've grown quiet a mouth on you, pet," he replied, breaking eye contact with a sigh. "You out 'ere by yourself?"

"Yes." Dawn's resolve was breaking, but she would be damned if she let him see that. "Buffy's trained me well." Emphatically, she raised the stake to eye level, quirking a brow at him. There was no threat behind it. Both understood it was for show.

Spike eyed her weapon and nodded, stepping back. Was he trembling? She couldn't tell - and didn't care, of course. Why should she care? Instead, she shook her head, finding her voice yet again. "What are you doing here?"

"Got wind somethin' bad was cooking up," he replied, tone distorted and eyes unwilling to meet hers. He watched his foot draw lazy circles in the dirt. "Wanted to help."

Dawn snickered. "Then trying to save me probably isn't the best start."

The vampire blinked and looked up, dazzled in confusion. "What are you... oh. Oh, no, luv. You. I want to help you, and the rest of the merry band. Not sure how long I'm back fer... don't wanna-"

Coldly, she hammered in interruption, not wanting him the chance to explain. If he went all noble on her, she would forgive him, and that couldn't happen. "What? Like you helped the last time?"

Spike flinched and at last his eyes gave way, losing their confident swagger. For a second, she thought he might cry, but he didn't. The pain spawned from her remark said more than tears. She ached but was vindicated. It wasn't enough. Before she could form another stinging retort, he had turned; he had turned his back to her, stalking away. "I won't get in your way, Bit," he murmured, barely audible. "Like your hair."

Attentively, she reached to finger the strands where they had been cut to her ears. It was a style she had sported for over a year now. His attention took her by surprise.

He was far away by the time she found her voice. Small, minimal, and only partially heartfelt. "Thanks."

Then it was all business. Dawn was packing. She needed to get to Buffy. Fast.

*~*~*

It was quiet now.

The past few hours had traded space with silence and heated discussion. Long intervals at a time. Cut, slice, thrust and parry. A dance traded back and forth through fevered voices and warring opinions. And still, amongst the bickering, she was sure there were matters being evaded. Idle theories tossed back and forth, debated, researched, and retired.

He knew something - it was wrought with painful articulation across his features. He knew something and he wasn't sharing.

She would get it out of him soon.

It felt like old times in that really awkward sense. The Magic Box hadn't seen a meeting this high in attendance in what felt like a century. A sense of familiarity along with the tingly disappointment of foreign terrain. Though none of the furniture had been rearranged, Giles didn't seem comfortable with any position he attempted. He would stand, listen, nod, then fidget and move. No chair could hold him. Very suspicious. Very uncharacteristic - and she was the only one who seemed to notice.

A change of scenery and it would have felt like an honest-to-god time warp. Xander was examining books behind the register as Willow fumbled around with magic terms, producing spontaneous definitions but nothing of definitive use. Usual. Nearly years out of high school and they were still researching. Still the Scoobies. It amazed her to no end. In his customary corner was Angel. Angel. It was so weird seeing him now. He had arrived slightly before the Watcher, shaken by Giles's beseeching phone call. An uncomfortable rift was set between them, and try as she might, Buffy could not see a road to reconciliation, even of their tarnished friendship. She had long ago abandoned the girlish fantasy of her one true love coming to his belated senses and whisking her away to some fairytale where the Hellmouth didn't exist. Fate had placed her here, and inevitably when she did die - again and finally - it would be here. In the line of duty. For better or worse, Sunnydale was the only mate that hadn't run out on her. Surprised or disappointed her. It was always there, poking its ugly face around every catastrophe, sneering at her lack of insight and throwing her the tightest curve just before she saw what was coming.

No, she hadn't thought of Angel in that way for a long time. In the past few years, her thoughts had wandered to him with less and less frequency. There wasn't much to build on. Once they had shared something and now it was over. The tinglies she used to enjoy when enveloped in his presence had even faded to oblivion. She couldn't sense him like she used to. When she tried to feel anger at his leaving so long ago, all she could conjure was understanding and gratitude. Gratitude! Had someone told Buffy that six years before, she would have burst into tears. And there he was - standing in the corner. Always in corners. Watching her, perhaps with the same acknowledgements of loss. Loss of their bond. Loss of their love. Loss of anything that had once described the never-ending cycle of Buffy and Angel 4-Ever!

God, had she ever been so young?

Drawing in a breath, the tired slayer's eyes landed steadfast on Giles. He was staring off past her, hands ground into his pockets; gaze far and away, as though he were still in London. It wasn't often that he was caught so off guard, and the implications surrounding such slips were usually cause for alarm. She had seen that look before and didn't like it. Call it slayer instinct, quiet estimation, or sheer paranoia: something was up. Something big and bad and apocalyptic.

And he wasn't talking.

Xander, predictably, was the first to break the silence. When he finished flipping through the latest text, he quietly looked up and cleared his throat. "I got nothing," he announced. "And I think that just about finishes off the last book in the place."

"Oh, don't worry," Willow retorted. "I'm sure Giles brought some of his personal collection to peruse. So don't take your study hat off, Mister."

Buffy grinned.

"No... I've already researched all my books," the Watcher replied unsteadily. "What I... found..." His eyes met hers with fleeting repose. There was something. It was as plain as black and white. He jittered uncomfortably when he read her gaze, turning away to rub the bridge of his nose. These minute reactions were beginning to worry. In all the years she had known him, the only time he had been shaken enough by an unfolding prophecy was the night she learned she had to face the Master and her imminent death. Clearing his throat, he broke his gaze. "How long have these... signs been appearing?"

"About a week," Willow replied, tightening her arms around her torso. "I tried to call you but your cell never picked up. Might be low on batteries or something."

The Watcher's eyes widened briefly before he nodded his understanding. "Yes - I... at the library. Researching the books the Council finally decided to let me see. Will... Fitzwilliam and I have been looking through the old texts and translating one language to another." He stopped, smiling fondly. "I still don't know how he pulled it off. These... books predate any sort of history. We dove headfirst into study. It's fascinating. Absolutely fascinating."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Xander said shortly. "How about backtracking for the slow people. Who's Fitzwilliam?"

"Giles's cousin," Buffy offered suddenly, speaking for the first time in over an hour. Her mistrustful gaze narrowed at the Watcher for confirmation. "I talked to him on the phone the night before you arrived. He knows his stuff."

"Sounds like a carbon copy of the G-Man," came an observant voice behind the registers, quiet but loud enough so all could hear him.

No one, however, was paying attention. Incredulous, Giles leaned forward and offered an ardent blink. "You spoke with him?" he repeated, surprising her with his disbelief. When she nodded, he shook his head and took a step back, attempting unsuccessfully to shake away the shock. "Oh. He didn't tell me." Secret comprehension was pouring behind his eyes, more of what he would not share. Buffy frowned. Something was definitely up.

A warm voice emanated from behind, warm and distant. Her reaction to hearing him speak was disappointing. Listening to Angel did little to reassure her. Rather, she found herself constantly agitated when he spoke. He was perhaps the only one present who sounded further away than the Watcher.

Again, she reflected how drastically her feelings had changed for him. Once inseparable and now barely even friends. There was no want of loss tugging at her heart. He was Angel, he would always be Angel, but that was it. She was proud of herself, having long grown tired of regressing to a swooning teenager every time he was nearby. The reaction she once idolized was nonexistent.

More so, she could tell he felt the same way. There was a wealth of nothingness where affection once resided. What was more disconcerting was the lack of grief at the loss. She would not wish things differently for anything.

"So we know a dark evil is arising," he said to the Watcher. "But you don't know what? Even with all this research you conducted with your cousin?"

Oh, but he did. How was she the only one who could see that? Buffy bit her lip and jumped to her feet. If he wouldn't tell her in front of them, she would get them out. There was no way he could keep something like this from her. "That doesn't matter," she observed. "What matters is he's back now, and-"

The bell above the Magic Box entryway announced another arrival, cutting her off in mid-sentence. Buffy arched a brow as a visibly shaken Dawn stormed inward, eyes strained and grieved. Her hair was rustled in the telltale sign of recent struggle; drying black blood stained her sweater. A stake was coiled in her grasp, beads of sweat rolling down rugged splinters. She only came in a few feet, commanding everyone's attention. When all eyes were on her, Dawn crossed her arms irately and sneered, "He's not the only one who's back," with a discreet nod toward the Watcher, who had suddenly gone pale. "Ran into an old friend on patrol. Spike's back in town."

All movement abruptly ceased and the air grew thick with manifest bewilderment. Buffy was at a loss. She stood there, motionless, her heart freezing before beginning a wild palpitation. Suddenly her lungs had to be reminded that they had a job, her hands growing clammy as her body begged to break down into tremors. She sensed angry, startled words from Xander and was too numb to speak out first. Cold confusion from behind. Angel knew nothing of the past indiscretions. Giles didn't speak.

Slowly, Buffy became aware of a hand at her shoulder. Warm and supportive. It was Willow. As though the touch engulfed a need for air, she finally drew in a quaking gasp, hand shooting to her mouth.

Back? How...

"He is a dead man!" Xander finally erupted, then paused. "Again. Wait'll I get my hands-"

His invective was interrupted by Buffy's sudden burst of tears. Thick breaths heaved from her chest, air constricting tightly as Willow guided her to the corner, making no attempt to calm her. She was aware of people staring and didn't care. There was no room for thoughts or rationality - nothing but the sobs racking her body and the inward mantra that screamed, He came back he came back he came back...

Then her friend started again, voice coated in outrage even she couldn't suppress. He was behind her, trying unsuccessfully to compensate neglected caresses on her other shoulder, convinced without suggestion that her tears were the product of similar fury and betrayal. "Don't worry, Buf," he murmured reassuringly. "We'll get him. We'll stake him so dead, he-"

"No!" she cried, surprising him with her insistence before realizing that her voice rivaled another in swift protest. It was Giles. For the life of her, he looked so panicked at Xander's anger that she thought he might hogtie him to keep him from doing anything drastic.

As her body began to calm, all eyes fell dubiously on the Watcher. He offered no comment.

"No?" Xander repeated in disbelief. "No? Hello? Has everyone forgotten what that bastard did, cause I sure haven't. I swear, the next time I see that bleached head, I'm gonna-"

"Tried," Buffy corrected miserably, taking him aback. She was still sniveling. "Tried. He didn't actually get anything done."

"I remember." Dawn's tone was cold but torn. Inconsolable.

"What did he do?" Angel stepped forward in concern, attempting to intervene and comfort his former love, but she pulled away with fervor. The only person allowed to touch her was Willow. She was the only one who understood.

"Tried to rape Buffy," Xander snarled through gritted teeth, nodding victoriously as the vampire's eyes went yellow with rage. "That's right! I'll stake that evil dead sonofabitch so fast, he-"

"Perhaps you didn't hear me." The Watcher was speaking with definitive albeit low force. "If anyone attempts to harm Spike, they must answer to me."

A long beat of astonished silence engulfed the room.

"What the hell is this?!" Xander screeched. "You're defending that-"

"Shut up!" Buffy's voice had the most authority of all, and the room fell still. When she had all eyes on her, she sighed as the last of her tears dried to her cheeks. Three years and still no one but Willow had realized whose coat adorned her shoulders. Time was a hefty wearer, but on good days, the leather still smelled like him. It was bittersweet. Buffy had acknowledged her injustice long ago, even if she could never admit her love. Over time, the hole in her heart had grown too broad to deny she missed him. She missed him a lot.

Still her feelings were muddled. Old sparks of rekindled war fired within her. It was the same tune to the dance she had performed over and over in the duration of the past few years. She missed him - it had taken her long to admit even that. Long after she started wearing his coat, long after she started flicking her head in shrouded hope that the cigarette smoke wafting from a distance was him lighting up, long after she could enter her bathroom without flinching. Missing him was one thing; forgiveness was another.

It hurt her to think that forgiveness was not tipping the scale in just his direction. She had done her world of wrong. She had hurt him more than he ever hurt her.

And now...

Steadfast, Buffy pulled away from Willow's protective presence and approached Giles, stopping before him and burning her eyes into his. "All right. What's going on?"

The Watcher traded gazes with her for long minutes, his pupils contracting in apology but obstinacy. Slowly, a sad grin spread over his lips and he heaved a breath of rugged displacement. "My words were misleading," he said softly. "I would have told you sooner... but we agreed that everything was best left as it was. He never believed he would be back here again."

"Giles..." Her voice was trained and patient, but she didn't know how long that would last.

Releasing another sigh, he shook his head and closed his eyes, as though wishing himself away. "I have no cousin Fitzwilliam," he confessed, looking to her sharply as comprehension dawned. "But an annoying coworker who occasionally assumes the alias William Ripper II. It was before I brought Willow back from England. I met Spike outside a café. He was... a little worse for the wear."

"So instead of plunging a righteous stake through his chest, you took him in?" Xander yelled sharply. "How could you? You know what he did! He-"

Giles smiled wearily, not offended by the accusation. "I didn't understand, either. For a long time... he never attempted to deny his fault. I-"

"But you hate Spike!" Dawn interjected violently. "You've never given him the single benefit of a doubt! Why start then?"

"He has helped me tremendously over the past few years," he retorted, eyes growing dark with agitation. "And-"

"So you lied to us. All this time. Working for-"

"He asked - begged me not to let his intervention be known." Giles sighed, turning to Buffy to avoid further interruption. "He didn't want you to stop hating him, no matter what he set himself to do to make reparations. Whether or not you believe him is your regard. I will hear no more of it. Wi...Spike wanted to avoid returning for this very reason." He took a throaty pause when he saw she was again close to tears. "He begged me to come without him, but I couldn't. I need... we will need all the help we can get."

Truth fell to deaf ears. With swift irritation, Xander stalked forward and nodded vehemently. "Yeah... didn't wanna be staked. Knew what would happen to him, that ass! And you believed this? How-"

"It's been three years," Giles retorted shortly. "For God's sake, don't you think I realize what occurred? I know perfectly well. I nearly killed him when I first saw him in London, but I was able to see past that. You must trust my judgment on this. I've worked side-by-side with him, hours on end. I've taken naps while he researched and he's done the same. He's had to endure the knowledge of his crimes this long; he fell to his knees sobbing when I told him we had to come back. So you see, Xander, I don't give a bloody damn what your motives are. Spike is here as a favor to me, and he leaves when I do."

A sensical voice rose again, dark with anger and the promise of vengeance. As though he had tuned himself out of the room for the past five minutes and was still focused on the heartland of duplicity. "You forget," Angel growled. "You all somehow forget that he's a demon. He-"

"He won't hurt Buffy any more than you would."

"Hurt? Hello?" Xander was pacing now, firmly ignoring the expression coloring the Slayer's face or the way Willow had wormed her way back to her side to continue the reassuring pats to her shoulder. "He tried to rape her!"

"That's enough!" Buffy screamed. "If anyone's to decide what happens to Spike, it should be me. Not Giles, not Xander, and definitely not Angel. Not like this." Willow squeezed her shoulder as she ignored the questioning looks being fired from all angles. "I... no one's going to do anything. I want..." Breathing harshly, she turned to her former watcher. "I spoke with him, then. That was him on the phone when I called?"

A resolved nod. "Yes. I was wondering why he was so gutted when I arrived that evening."

Buffy pursed her lips and nodded, tears welling again. "How could you not tell me?"

"It was for the best. He was consumed with..." The word 'guilt' formed effortlessly, but he did not want that association. Not yet. "Wi...Spike has been extremely helpful to me. He will not bother you if you don't seek him out. Once this is over, we will return to London and resume our studies. You won't see him if you don't want to."

Pain engulfed her at the thought, but she could not allow herself to express such emotion. Not here. Not in front of the scrupulous eyes of her former love and best friend. Excreting a breath, she nodded, tightening the duster around her torso. "All right," she agreed.

Xander opened his mouth and was silenced before he could speak. "All. Right," she repeated with force. "No more discussion. I'll... I can't deal with this right now. I'll see him tomorrow."

"Please." Giles seized her arm with such raw insistence it sent a shudder up her spine. "If you're thinking of hurting him... leave it be. It took him three years to progress this much. I-"

"Hurting him?!" Xander shrilled, unable to help himself. "But-"

"All right." With as often as that phrase had escaped her lips within the past two minutes, one might think it could not continue to elicit such a response from the peanut gallery. However, she didn't pay attention. Something screamed behind Giles's eyes that implored her to obey. "Where is he?"

"Staying in the graveyard. Not his old crypt - something temporary." He sighed. "I was worried... I tried to put him up in a motel. He hasn't had to sleep somewhere so... vampiric in quite a while. He declined, of course. He has the most insufferable pride."

"You were going to give him money?" Xander repeated in disbelief. "Was he living with you?"

"Whether you like it or not, Spike is a friend. He has helped me efficiently for some time now. I would not have those books without his assistance." Another pause. "No. I wasn't offering him money. He has enough of that on his own. And please - some credit. He is a terrible pain sometimes. I couldn't stand to live with him. The very notion offends him. 'Won't look like a sodding poof' is what directly comes to mind." Angel flinched, angry but immotile. "No, he has his own flat."

"An apartment?"

"Comes with the job." Giles sighed, shaking his head in the mocking imitation of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "That's all. I'm not breathing another word. I've said too much as it is. Good night, everyone." Then he was gone, just like that, disappearing in a blaze before the bell above the door could signal his departure.

For long seconds, all she could do was stare at the place her Watcher had vacated, cold and empty. An eternity could have passed and she would not have noticed. The ridges tears had carved into her face felt deep, slightly swollen eyes shutting once with pain and opening with resolution. Willow was to her left, watching her carefully. Thank God there was someone there to turn to. Someone who had long ago bore into her protective psyche to scare out what was infinitely bothering her.

It would be Willow. She was the only one to trust with such dark secrets.

Buffy dimly expected Xander or Angel to begin another onslaught of accusations, but neither moved - too stunned or angry to do much of anything but stand and stare at her. Perhaps at another juncture, such blatant ignorance would have annoyed her had she not remembered that her own viewpoint differed little when Spike was around.

A night in an alleyway meant many things to them. Heat or rage, resentment and desire.

"You don't have a soul!" Punch. Hit. Punch. That's it. That's a good slayer. Make the nasty, evil, adorable vampire bleed. "There is nothing good or clean in you. You are dead inside! You can't feel anything real! I could never be your girl."

Was she really beyond that?

A flinch coiled inwardly at the revival of another memory.

His body, so heavy on hers, hands prying at her bathrobe, ignoring her throes and cries of protest. Something terrifyingly feral sparked in his eyes. He has lost control. "I'm gonna make you feel it!" And he doesn't hear her, doesn't realize what he's doing until she's pushed him off, kicking him to the far side of the room, watching unsympathetically as realization dawns and self-implied horror seizes command. "Oh God, Buffy. I-"

She had never feared him, truly feared him, until that night.

Buffy released a quaking breath and tried desperately to summon some form of anger. Violation. Betrayal. She had only cried over it once, after he left, sat there in dim confusion and hurt until Xander found her. How long had it taken? But after all was said and done, after Willow lost herself to magic, after the world had nearly ended at the hands of her best friend, the one thing she couldn't make herself feel was hate.

She had waited so long for him to return and grew each minute with that horrible understanding that the day would never arrive. And why should she mourn his loss?

To say 'I'm sorry.' To admit I was no more right than you were.

But to love him? That day was even further away. While Spike, against all probability and forbidden hope had defeated logicality, admittance of love might never come.

He's evil. I can hate evil, kill evil, toy with evil, kiss evil, even sleep with evil. But I can never love evil. If I love evil, it makes me evil. And I am not evil.

That argument sounded less convincing every time she rehearsed it.

Willow had moved next to her, surrounding her in the protective silent sheath, guarding her from prying eyes. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." Buffy heaved a sigh and turned at last, a cold space following her with every step. They were watching her; Xander and the vampire, but she didn't care. The sparks flying behind Angel's eyes were as outraged as she had ever seen, with or without a soul. It frightened her: the sort of look that delivered the vague conception that he would finish off his childe regardless of her will. And he would, because he was Angel and that was what he did. Protected her to a fault while claiming that a slayer should attempt to have a normal life, masking the knowledge that such would never be. A normal man simply wasn't... man enough.

"I have to get out of here," she announced suddenly. "I have to-"

"I'll walk you home," Angel offered. There was fire in his voice. He was just itching to run into the peroxide vampire along the way.

"No. I'm going to the Bronze. Anya said she was going to meet us there later, anyway. I...I can't be home tonight." The implications sounded horrible, and she paused, coming back with a swift rejoinder. "Listen to me. No one touches him. Understand? I'll find him tomorrow and talk to him. I've earned that... no one else."

Xander scoffed, features twisted with rage. "What? Gonna let him-"

"That's enough!" Buffy turned to him violently, accompanied by Willow's glare. "Listen. I know you hate him. I know you never understood why. I know you felt he took Anya away from you. I know everything is my fault. All right? I get that. You can't guilt me into not seeing him, Xan. He won't hurt me. You know he won't hurt me."

"No, I don't," he replied impatiently. "And - PLEASE! - this has nothing to do with Anya. So over that. It's you. Don't you get it? It's always been you. I saw what happened to you. I was there, remember? I...I can't stand the thought of you like that again. You actually trust him? After everything?"

She swallowed hard, provoked to tears again. Xander was stubborn and critical, duplicitous in every sense, but still... Xander. Xander was Xander in a way separate from Angel was Angel. Xander in a wonderful way. Xander in a best friend way. Xander in an I'll-Always-Be-Here way.

"No," she replied at last, sighing heavily as relief seeped through his gaze. "But I trust Giles. He wouldn't have brought Spike along if he thought there was the slightest chance-"

"There's always a chance," Angel growled, his tone contorting her insides with a flash of disgust. Here it came. The 'I've been there and you haven't so shut the hell up and listen to the expert' speech. "He's a demon, Buffy. No matter how good he may seem to be, he can't deny his nature too long. And if it's been three years, I'd say the animal is ready for a break."

Eyes glittering with conviction, she clocked her heel and spun to face him, teeth grinding with impervious resolve. "He. Won't. Hurt. Me."

"How can you be this blind? After everything..."

"What? Just because you're a prick when you're without a soul, every vampire has to follow that?" The hurt that flashed across his eyes was almost worth the stab her heart took in turn. "You weren't here, Angel. You weren't here when he endured torture to protect Dawn, or cleaned me up after I clawed through my grave. Or was there to hang on to when life became so hard that I felt like killing myself." Little good it did, she added inwardly. "I was the only one who was there when he tried...the only one who saw his face. I'm the only one he hurt, so I get to talk to him. End of discussion." The only one who knows he hurt himself more than he hurt me.

But those words wouldn't come.

Instead, she brushed passed the two warring alpha males, tossed a concerned look to a confused Dawn - visibly ripped between loathing and sorrow - before approaching Willow and guiding her into the corner.

"Do me a favor," she whispered. "Find him. Talk to him. I need someone to-"

"It's done," her friend replied with a smile. "Now shoo. Off to the Bronze with you. No more thinking allowed tonight."

Buffy nodded and forced a smile. "Right." She turned to the rest of the gang, noting Xander and Angel exchanging a few words while her sister continued her relentless stare, engaged in deep, bellicose thoughts.

"Now," she said, commanding attention with her completely altered tone. Everyone stared at her, unnecessarily dumbfound that she could regress with such ease. They should know better by now. "We're going to party. Really. I need to get a good night out before the apocalypse. No more mention of Spike... is that understood? I'll cross that bridge when I get there."

Reluctance sheathed Xander's eyes as he muttered his agreement, but she knew not to get the same promise from Angel. He was hurt and he sensed something. The conversation she always dreaded having with him began to fester and would soon be unavoidable. How much he understood already was in the eye of the beholder.

He pressed his hand dictatorially against the small of her back, guiding her outdoors as they fell into pace - the walk long ago etched in their memories. Magic Box to the Bronze. Truly like old times. "You will explain all this to me someday, won't you?" he whispered.

Damn him. Damn that sotto voce of his. Damn that sensory that warmed up by instinct rather than reaction. Damn the tugging at her heart that led her not to this vamp, but to another. Damn the knowledge that she couldn't hide her past forever. Nope. Tried that with Riley. Didn't work out too well. "It's none of your business," she retorted.

"Oh no. I don't think so. I believe I am entitled to know what my childe did to my former girlfriend, and why she insists so firmly on defending his goodwill when she knows just as well as I do what he is, and what he will never be."

Buffy shuddered, pausing alongside Angel, pushing more space between them and the two ahead, talking quietly. When Willow had slipped away, she did not know. She was glad, so glad to have a friend who understood.

"Because," she continued a second later, "he loves me. And whatever he did that night... I'm not sure I hadn't hurt him more than that."

To that, her vampire companion hardened but did not reply. She read his silence glumly - familiar and unwanted heartache setting in. The confirmation she never wanted, never needed. Demons weren't supposed to love - sure. The year Angel had spent as Angelus had proved that in the worst approach. However, he knew Spike better than anyone, and understood his capacity for love. He had witnessed his loving care when Drusilla needed him, his harsh dedication and surprising monogamy. He had endured a lot where love was concerned. No one could ever rebuke Spike's permanent stature as love's bitch.

But that wasn't enough. It didn't excuse anything.

"You're saying by avoiding him you hurt him enough to deserve what he did to you?"

"No." Buffy paused in stride. "I'm saying by using him the way I did... selfishly, like I did, I hurt him worse than he could have ever attempted to hurt me."

Then she walked away, leaving Angel to stand in the dawn of comprehension, horror and disappointment. She expected to feel cold, but didn't. The good opinion of her former lover was something she no longer craved.

You see... now that was evil.

But it had to be said. No one could understand.

No one except the two people who had been there.

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