Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Eight

It was odd to think of Sunnydale as cold, but the autumn nights could get downright chilly. Perhaps it was the ambiance - the feel of an arctic front. Soon the cavalry would come rushing in. They always did. Prepared with crosses and holy water to give him another death. A pack of wolves, they were. Talk and conspire: preparations before the hunt and inevitable kill.

He hadn't been surprised by Dawn's reaction - just hurt. Like he lost his best friend in the world.

Yes, they would be coming soon. Giles would likely attempt to stop them but they wouldn't listen. Why should they? He was a monster. An untamed animal that committed a horrible crime. A beast that deserved to be put down.

Such knowledge, however, did little to convince his feet to stop their course and run hard in the other direction. She had reached them, he knew, and his time ran short. Every step signified furthering his own death warrant. But he had to do it. Just once. He had to see her.

Revello Drive was just as he remembered, the air dry and unwavering, teasing him remorselessly with her scent. It was difficult to breathe. He smiled wryly at the irony. A century spent without a need for oxygen, and a few years practice could make him miss the thrill. The feel - the necessity to just once be human.

William was unaccustomed to feeling cold, to shivering as it collided with his skin. When the house was in view, he stopped dutifully in his approach. The windows were dark and no sound escaped the walls. A car was parked in the driveway but he could tell without needing confirmation that no one was home. For a minute, he didn't know whether to feel relief or disappointment. The gap of emptiness filling his heart broadened to the point of intolerability.

What if she had seen him? What could he have said? What could possibly come out of his mouth to make petty justification for his misgivings?

Nervously, William reached for his cigarettes and flipped open his lighter. His feet commanded him to move, but he remained stationary. They weren't coming home anytime soon. It was Friday night, after all. Why come home when there was the Bronze as an alternative?

Especially with the information Giles had undoubtedly shared.

William exhaled a long puff of smoke. He hadn't needed a cigarette this bad since that first horrible guilt-filled morning. A few more years in London might have seen the end of the addiction altogether.

Right now, though, it was exactly what he required to keep from leaping out of his skin.

The air suddenly stirred with a hint of breeze, sending a familiar scent his direction. William froze; fag dangling between his lips, knowing whom it was without needing to see her. Amazing how sharp the senses had developed in recent years. There was no doubt in his mind.

Dimly, he understood this was likely to be a repeat of Dawn's hurtful onslaught. William's eyes fogged, but he refused himself the much-desired tears. Though he knew it was not possible, he had to contend the chance that he could do his promised help and leave without anyone becoming any more the wiser of his altered condition.

No - it wouldn't happen. Couldn't.

So they would come in turn. After Red would be Harris, then Peaches, and finally Buffy. Maybe Buffy and Peaches together, to make it all the more vengeful. A pain constricted in his chest and he cowered. Without taking his eyes off the approaching figure, he began to back away, slowly at first but with ongoing haste.

Red had other ideas. Without so much as a quirk of the eyebrow, she extended her hand and authorized a controlled, "Stay."

Then he couldn't move. His legs locked in place and held even as his torso attempted to keel forward. With guarded emphasis his feet plowed into the cement, sending a cloud dust and debris to battle wafting cigarette smoke. It was over. Over before it began. There was no point in arguing with a witch.

She was approaching slowly and he allowed himself a shiver of fear. The past few years had filled his head with unspeakables, things Giles told him about his Red - things he hadn't allowed himself to believe. Now, with that look in her eyes, he saw where her power had derived. Anger. Hatred. Emotions he used to feed on with such regularity. An enemy from all sides.

But he couldn't let her see his understanding. It was time to slip into character. Puffing a deep drag off his cigarette, he flashed the loudest grin he could manage and drawled a saucy, "'Evenin', Red. How-"

He realized too late that the spell on his legs was uplifted, and for the second time that evening, William found himself with a faceful of angry fist. The impact of the blow was more powerful than he would have expected from Willow - blunt with no magic behind it. Just the need for strong, old-fashioned retribution. He wondered absently if Anya were still lurking around. Without ceremony, he was sent harshly to the pavement, a loud, "Oh, bloody hell!" escaping his lips.

"That's for what you did to her!" she snarled. Good Lord, he had never seen her so angry. He had never seen anyone so angry. His past was all anger - colorful, angry, and bloody. It was what he fed on once upon a time. Not now, though. Willow's eyes flashed with malicious intent, as though willing him one mistake. One reason beyond the list of misdemeanors she could derive to send him straight to hell. He didn't dare.

As he struggled to his feet, another merciless blow caught his jaw, sending him back with forthright insistence. He had seen that one coming but hadn't the will to protect himself.

"That's for running out of town!" she spat, circling him with predator's instinct.

The next would be the last, he knew. Sod the lot of them, Red was going to finish him off now, before Harris or Peaches got a say in the matter. She was welcome to it - it was fitting. A sort of poetic justice.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. Willow advanced again, eyes shooting daggers as the words came, harsh and ground through her teeth. "And this is for coming back." He drew in a quaking breath and waited for the final blow that never came. Instead, he was sent back to the pavement, body suddenly crushed against an armful of Rosenberg. She was still for only a minute, her hands coaxing his face to her neck, so trusting that he could not help the lump that grasped his throat, tears springing to his eyes before he could think of stopping himself. They were still for long moments - timid and quiet, as though he expected her to yet finish him off. When she felt his body stiffen and relax, she tightened her embrace, encouraging participation in a hug, chaste and comforting. "This is for coming back," she repeated soothingly.

It was too overwhelming to tolerate. William felt himself dissolve, no longer willing himself to hold back. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, arms drawing her as close as possible. In so many years, it had never occurred to him that what he needed was a good hug. He heaved his frustrated agony on to her, and was rewarded with a constricted cuddle. Never before had he experienced something that offered more reassurance.

But it was wrong. It was so wrong. Willow should have killed him. She should not be holding him, cradling his head with faith of his goodwill, hushing his tears and gently rocking him back and forth. There was no reason for civility.

Oh God.

With sudden force, William tore himself away, falling backward onto the pavement, eyes heavy with relentless sobs. "Oh Jesus," he gasped. "What did Ripper tell you?"

"Ripper?" Willow frowned in confusion, then brightened with a spark of memory. "Oh! Giles! Right. I knew that. He said that you've been working with him. That you helped him get those mega important books, and that you've been really mopey about what happened... no matter..." Suddenly, she stopped and her hand shot to her mouth, pupils going wide with awful comprehension. "Oh God..." she gasped, looking at him as though she had just seen him. "Oh God..." Timidly, she reached to him, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes, catching the brown roots he had missed from the hasty dye job. William flinched at the tenderness, insides screaming for release. "What did you do?"

He dropped his gaze with a sigh, pulling away from her touch. "Did it for her," he whispered. "Least that's what I tell myself, nowadays."

"H...how? A curse?"

"No. Got myself to Africa." His voice was so soft, so hesitant that he even had difficulty hearing himself in the dead of night. "Went there right after. Thought I'd deprogram myself. I was so... I'd buggered things up for everyone, and I knew it. Was hurtin' too much with knowin' what I did to her, knowin' that I shouldn't... it was so hard loving her when I knew I shouldn't. Wanted to chase the other puppies again. Thought so, anyway." His vision clouded with tears once more. "Bloody well nearly killed myself. Probably should've died there. Wish I had at times. Like now. But I passed. By George, I passed. Got told I could have what I wanted. Turns out I wanted this." He took her hand in his, marveling at her unquestioning trust and placed it over his heart, grimacing his pain. "It burns, Red."

She nodded as though she understood, feeling before retracting the touch quickly as though scathed. "Oh God," she murmured. "The pain... I can..."

"Y'aren't supposed to be workin' mojo," he berated softly, drawing back. "Ripper told me what happened. He-"

"It's just for show, this no magic policy." She offered a soft, sad smile. "Keeps the Scoobies from wigging out too much. It overpowers me, Spike. I don't use it much - I can't - but I also can't get rid of it. It lives in me."

"Like a demon. You're wicked powerful."

"Instead of just wicked." With a huff, she pulled herself to her feet and helped him do the same, wiping dirt and pebbles from the creases in her clothing. "I was so upset when I came home and Buffy told me you had split." His brows perked in surprise. "Then she told me what happened."

William closed his eyes. "How?" he choked. "How can you be so... understanding? You're supposed to hate me, luv. I buggered things up so badly. I-"

"Yeah... but... this makes sense. Too much sense." Willow shook her head, looking mighty confused for someone who insisted she had it all worked out. "Maybe if things were different...but you have a soul. So it wasn't you. We've been through this once with Angel. Don't make me recite the whole vampire/soul logic."

He sighed, shaking his head. "No, you don't get it. It was me. Maybe not completely, but-"

"I came to find you, Spike. You - soul or no soul. Really thought it'd be no soul. You threw quite a curve at me. Regardless of what happened, it's in the past. I would be here with you even if you were all bumpy and saying you hated us, because I never believed that." When his brows perked dubiously, she rolled her eyes and continued, "Well, granted when you tried to bite me, I believed you. And when you sold us out to Adam. A-and when you wouldn't help us get Faith because...and..." She stopped when she saw his face, eyes going wide with the decency to look sheepish. "All right. You hated us. Big whup. You also loved us, you know. Not just Buffy. Don't think I don't know how many times you helped her. Even before you were all chips ahoy, you were like that... ultra-cool vamp you wouldn't wanna stake unless you were cornered. You've always been different from the other vamps. Like a buddy-vamp. A best friend vamp, in a way Angel never was. Even more still, a lot has happened since then." Willow shook her head. "Don't you get it? She's missed you."

Those three words nearly killed him. All at once, the world was spinning too fast for him to catch up, a nauseous growl rumbling from his stomach. He felt like sinking forward, like melting into the concrete, like setting himself aflame if only to forget the throbbing in his chest. The hot white ache that stretched the length of his body with the burden of guilt and the false hope of eventual release. Missed him. Missed him? How was that possible? After everything that had passed, everything she had put him through, ever said to him, everything he had done to her...

"Why?" he gasped at last. "Why would she ever have missed me? After what I did? After-"

"I don't know," Willow answered truthfully. "I honestly don't know. She doesn't, either. All I know is everything was fine when I got back. Normal - or as normal as it gets around here. Then I saw her wearing your duster. Well, I kinda noticed that it was yours. I mean, I'd never seen you without it or her wear it before...or anyone but you wear it. I asked her and she just started crying."

William's eyes watered again and he turned away before she could see. He had wept only a few minutes ago openly on her shoulders, but he couldn't let her see these tears. "God," he whispered. "Damn screwy world we live in. Things'd be so less confusing if everyone just hated me like they're supposed to." Desperately, he turned back to her, uncaring of the tears that glittered his eyes, and seized her by the shoulders. "Why doesn't she hate me? Why... how could she have ever missed me? Sod it all, Red. I can't do this."

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

"She's supposed to hate me! Understand? She's supposed to hate me forever for what I did."

"You'd think so. You'd also think that you'd hate her for what she did to you."

With a flash of anger, the vampire growled and retracted his grasp. The very insinuation almost provoked him to release his demon, just in raw frustration for her utterly blind misconception. "How can you say that?"

"Just as easy as you can say she should hate you." Red stepped back and allowed him space. "There's... we talked about this, Spike. A lot. Buffy was angry for a long time. With herself - not you. She wanted to be angry with you. I think she was hurt, sure, don't get me wrong. Wouldn't be human if she wasn't. But I don't think she was ever angry. Not with you."

A sob. "Why not?"

"You'll have to ask her." There was a long pause, wearing and traumatic. Never had he thought his return would initiate anything but further resentment. It hurt more than he could bear to think all this time she might have willfully forgiven him. Coping with Giles's pardon was difficult enough. In this state, hers might duly destroy what was left.

When Willow spoke again, her tone was low, perhaps soothing, perhaps impatient. He couldn't tell anymore. "Come on," she said, once more grasping his arm and pulling him toward the house. "I want to show you something."

William's eyes widened and he attempted in vain to jerk back. "No, no!" he cried pathetically. "I can't go in there."

"Don't make me force you." There was danger behind her voice. "Don't be a coward. You don't deserve her if you're a coward."

"I don't want to deserve her, pet. I don't deserve to deserve her."

A sudden flash. He sits up, wincing in pain, looking his reward in the eyes. "So you'll give me what I want. Make me what I was, so Buffy gets what she deserves."

The vampire exhaled deeply, shaking his head. He tried unsuccessfully to push his fear aside, but it came back and in greater numbers. And yet there would be no turning back. Part of braving the world was facing what one didn't want to. This was what he asked for, regardless of consequences. What he deserved.

"Then you won't," Willow replied, releasing him. "And she won't deserve you. You'll go through time just... not deserving each other. What a waste. Don't you get it? She hurt you, too. You hurt each other. Seems to me if you've been this miserable so long, and if she's missed you - whether she admits it or not, neither one of you will ever get what you want."

"And what do I want, Red? You seem to know a bloody lot."

"You want forgiveness and love. You came to the right place. Forgiveness And Love Central." She beamed proudly, then frowned. "Unless you're you and the welcoming committee is Xander. But you do... it's what you want. Forgiveness and love. And her."

"How can you be sure? I'm not Spike, luv. I don't know who I am."

Willow snickered and rolled her eyes. "Oh please. Like anyone couldn't look at you and know how much you love her? Geez, you're worse than Angel." Wrong thing to say. When she saw the look on his face, she stumbled over herself, stuttering a quick recovery. "I mean... your lovey-doveyness. You did things for her he never did. Things Riley couldn't do. Besides, you're not as secretive as you might think, Buster." She stepped forward again and placed her hand over his chest. They both winced. "I can feel you. I can feel your love for her, and the torment you put yourself through. It wouldn't hurt you like this if you didn't love her." A thoughtful pause. "You understand what... you killed people, Spike. I killed people. We're the same." She stopped again, trailing off. "I needed you here so much when I came back. Someone who'd been there, who could understand what I was going through."

William smiled softly, running his hand across her cheek. "We're not the same, Red. You might have been a bad dog, but we're not the same. Never think that. We're not the same." He sighed and cast his eyes to his feet. "I'm sorry, pet," he whispered. "I'd've been here if I wasn't so bleeding selfish. I mean, looky. Went to fix myself up because of what I'd done. To me, it was always about her."

Red sighed and returned his grin, just as humorlessly. "It still is." She took his hand once more, then dropped it, nudging him toward the house. "Come on. I want you to see this."

Reluctance clamored under every step, but he followed - hands free and stuffed tightly into his pockets. It was a path he could have taken with his eyes closed. The sensations welling in his chest were enough to make him burst.

Willow no longer lived there, he knew, but she still possessed a key. When the door was open, she disappeared inside, leaving him to himself. When she came back and saw his indifference, she frowned and crossed her arms. "Well... what are yah waiting for?"

"You don't live here any more, pet."

"So?"

"I need an invite from someone who-"

"Spike." Firm insistence flashed behind her eyes. "Try it."

His eyes narrowed skeptically, unwilling to admit that had it been beating, his heart would have leapt at the implication. With precision he stepped forward, wanting to prolong this moment of faith before willing it to be shot down. At the doorway he paused, looked up once more, and placed one foot inside, waiting to be thrown back by the ever-present invisible barrier.

It never came. Astonishment filled him whole. Then he was inside - inside the house he had not seen since that night. The air was so overwhelmingly her that he had to stop and breathe in appreciatively. Besides filling every last dead nerve in his body with agonized guilt, her scent brought him bittersweet pleasure. He had missed this.

With all his remorse, at times he forgot how much he missed her.

His eyes traveled to Red, not masking his touched surprise. "She never hoaxed the house? Never took my name off the guest list?"

"Never."

A growl lodged in his throat, coming out with smaller force than he intended. It sounded like a plea. However, he read her answer before he could croak the redundant question, resigning grudgingly to rugged acceptance. "I'll never understand, will I?"

"Who can say?" Willow sighed. "Listen, I don't wanna get your hopes up. Buffy missed you - right. But she's Buffy. She may never admit it. She may say she hates you long after she's in the ground." A slight pause. "Permanently, that is. But she doesn't. I know. She's my best friend - she couldn't hide anything from me if she wanted to. I just wanted to show you this. The invitation thingy and something upstairs. Just so you know that she...she feels for you, Spike. You're going to get it rough. Xan and Angel looked ready to kill when Dawnie told us that you were back. So... yeah... things for you are going to get pissy. Especially with the soul and all... that's a bummer. But at least know that she..."

"Don't." God, after so many years, one would think he was beyond crying over it. "Don't say she...cause she doesn't. We both know it."

"Yeah. But there is something."

"I get that."

Willow nodded to the stairs. "Seriously, I gotta show you this. Buffy has this book. Well, I got it for her... but... ah, you're just gonna have to see it. It's mega weird!"

He grinned. "Ah... creepy old book? Someone's singing my song."

"Not so much old as... not even really creepy. Just weird. And it proves my point." She was in Buffy's room before she realized he had stopped again at the doorway, familiar pangs shooting behind his eyes. "You know... once you're in the house, I don't think they can disinvited you from specific rooms."

"Oh, they can, luv," William replied. The jest was out of his voice. "Garlic and all that."

"There isn't any-"

"I know. I can't go in there. It's..."

"Big baby, good god!" Willow turned and outstretched her hand to him. "I know you're not Spike anymore. Don't make me wish you were. But golly, I never thought I'd see the day when you're timid to look into rooms because of something someone who wasn't technically you did." She frowned at her logic, then straightened, convinced of her argument. "Come in here before I have to go resort to-"

There was danger shooting behind her gaze, and he took the warning well. Without further ado, he stepped inside, flinching as Buffy's scent intensified. It was so thorough, so completely her that he nearly curled up. He wanted to lose himself. "What is it?" he choked, stepping forward. "Whaddya want me to see?"

"This." Red held up a thick navy book, one he had seen a thousand times. His mouth went dry and something seized hold of his insides, wrenching them into a tight knot. "Xander and I took Buffy to the mall for her birthday. After so many years, we finally took your advice and decided not to celebrate, you know? Avoid the calamity? Anyway, we hit the usual places before remembering Dawn needed some book for her class. We were there for like... a half hour. Lost Buffy in the poetry section, if you can believe it. I found her looking at this." She handed it to him. "She wasn't crying or anything... just looking at it in an all funny, I-wish-things-were-different kinda way."

William was at a loss for words as he stood there, cradling the book of poetry he had spent hours pouring himself in to, the very one Giles had published without his knowledge. Every verse in there was an inspiration of his past dealings, all involving her in one variation or another. He traced the place his name was embroidered in gold lettering, voice hoarse as he held back another outburst of emotional release. "She likes it?" he whispered.

"Likes it? Hell, I can't get her to read anything else." Willow beamed proudly, flipping the front cover open. "See? The pages are all worn and stuff. We'll have to get her another one before long. She was short on cash and decided that's what she wanted for her birthday. Even made me take back the pumps I'd gotten her at Payless so I'd have enough money."

Buffy returned shoes for a book? This was serious.

William smiled sadly, a genuine smile, releasing a quivering breath. Eyes shining, he turned to her, a look of odd complacency overcoming his features. "They're all about her, you know," he muttered. "Every single one. In one way or another. Granted, some are about endless guilt an' self-punishment, but even then, she has a say." The look on Willow's face had dropped from victorious to stunned. He didn't notice. "I don't think I've ever written anything but her."

"Wait... wait a sec." The volume was snatched from his grasp quickly, tossed to the bed and forgotten. Her gaze commanded him. "You... you wrote that?"

"Bloody right I did. You think there's another ponce calling himself 'William the Bloody' waltzing around London?" His eyes narrowed at her skeptically. "Wait a tick... you thought I didn't? Why'd she want it if you thought I hadn't-"

"Well, Spike... yah gotta admit. When someone thinks of you, they don't automatically make a poetry connection." The look on her face was torn between surprise and adoration. "I got it for her because of the name. She wanted it because of the name. We never thought it was you... just a really, really freaky coincidence." Excitement surged behind her eyes. "I had no idea you wrote poetry! It's gorgeous, Spike. I've read it all. Absolutely-"

"Slow down, luv," he said softly, smiling with tight ego-stroked satisfaction. "I'll admit...my old self isn't the type to sit down and pour his bleeding heart onto paper. If my heart was bleeding, I'd usually go take it out on some poor unsuspecting. Rip out another bleedin' heart to feel better. Stupid git. Before I was changed, though... poetry was sort of my thing. I was never really good at it. 'S how they started callin' me 'William the Bloody.' Bloody awful poetry an' all that. I started writin' again after I got the job. Ripper found all my work, that nosy wanker, and took it upon 'imself to get it published." The smirk on his face melted away without provocation, replaced with familiar glinting behind eyes that had cried far too much for one or a thousand lifetimes. "An' she likes it? Really likes it?"

Willow smiled and stepped forward. "She loves it. I...I can't believe I never made the association."

"I can't either. It does seem kinda obvious," the vampire teased. "But I can make sense of it. Bloody hell, pet, I never thought it'd come this far. Any of it. Ripper had me workin' in a sodding library...and I liked it! Couldn't get enough of it. Hell, I even miss those old ponces that hired me."

"You... were working... in a library?" The irony was too much, and when he nodded in confirmation, she burst out laughing. "Oh God! Xander wasn't kidding when he said that the mysterious 'Fitzwilliam' must be a carbon copy of Giles."

"That wanker called me what?!" Abandoned grief gave way to innocent tease. "You know, pet, I really oughta go. She'll be back eventually, and I don't want 'er angry with you for bringin' me 'ere. Until I've..." He swallowed audibly, "talked with Buffy, you shouldn't be around me."

Willow grinned. "Yah big dope. Who do you think asked me to find you, huh? She wasn't having much success trying to warn off Xander or Angel from going out and causing some major damage. Shoulda seen her. She got real mouthy with them."

"What'd she do?"

"Told them that if either of them touched you, they'd have to answer to her." Her grin broadened at the shock in his face. "See? She wants to keep you protected... says she's coming to see you tomorrow."

William's eyes widened, constricting with a sudden diversion between fear and anticipation. Tomorrow? That was so soon. Not that he had been expecting a long period of preparation, but... oh god, the walls were closing in. "Are you sure it's not to stake me good and proper herself?" he asked weakly, dizzy for a minute.

"Oh no." Red shook her head ardently and sighed. "You didn't see her. She burst into tears when Dawnie told her you were back." The vampire flinched. "No, no, no. Good tears. Really. Oh, and when Xander tried to comfort her by saying he'd go out and kill you, she and Giles both screamed out: 'NO'! It was awesome." There was a thoughtful pause before she took his arm, prying him toward the door. "Come on. We're going to the Bronze. You need to see her."

Predictably, the words succeeded in turning William's feet into granite. He wrenched his arm free and pushed her away, shaking his head with insistent fervor. "No. Too soon."

"Not to talk to her, dummy. Just to see her." At his dubious expression, she rolled her eyes. "You have to get passed this, Spike. If you're here to help us, eventually you'll have to see her. No matter what Giles says. Fact is, she's going to come looking for you. She wants to see you. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Yeah. That either she's off her rocker, or she really wants to stake me." William snarled and turned away. "I can't do this."

"Yes. You. Can. You have to." When he didn't face her, Willow emitted an exasperated breath, grasping his arm and forcing him to look at her. "Hey - all right. I'll admit it. You messed up. You totally messed up. You did something really bad. Here's the kicker: so what? No one's perfect. Everyone messes up. Everyone deserves a second chance. You're a vampire, in case you haven't noticed. Vampires are all about the mayhem and carnage, so when you mess up, it's expected to be BIG. Demons are evil and whatnot, but you were good to us. I mean, not at first, no, but later. Buffy asked you specifically to watch after Dawn. AND after I..." She sighed again and looked away, ashamed. "After I went all crazy, she told Xander that Dawn'd be safe with you. That was after you'd left town, though. She had to stay with Clem."

"Buffy took Dawn to me?" His voice was nearly inaudible.

"Yeah. So there. Point proven. Listen, part of this human gig is screwing up royally. I mean, look at me. I was so... out there... my humanity was driven from me. I tried to end the world. I kicked the crap out of Giles for fun. I did... horrible... horrible... things." The look in her eyes drifted and was replaced with an onslaught of tears. Without hesitating, William came forward and took her into his embrace, comforting, as though it were second nature. Chaste hugs were new to him. Drusilla had never been much for cuddling, Harmony - well, he had only kept her around for sex, and Buffy had rarely stayed after their moments of intimacy, fleeing after kicking him in the head only to return hours later ready for more. Outside was the first true moment of real neediness, and Willow, dear sweet Red, had comforted him in the most elementary way. He hadn't been lying when he noted he wished he could have been here for her when she came back those years ago. She needed someone then, someone who had seen both sides of the world and come back, stronger built. Someone in need of as much forgiveness as she was.

"But..." she said when she found her voice. "They forgave me, you see. I tried to kill them and they forgave me. I can't imagine what I put them through... when I do, it feels all... confined inside, and I don't want to think about it. You..." She pulled away, smiling lightly. "You're the same, Spike. Sure, you messed up, but she'll forgive you. She might never say it, but she will. Maybe she already has. It'll hurt like hell... her forgiving you, because you won't forgive yourself. I know I haven't... forgiven myself. But time heals things. For that, you're going to have to get over this thing and be strong. I know you're strong - I've seen it."

William's mouth tugged in a subtle grin. "It already hurts like hell, luv. You oughtn't worry about my strength. I've got plenty. Past couple years 'ave taught me that it's'all right to shed a tear or two here or there, s'long as you got the stones where it counts"

"Yeah." She pulled back completely, heaving another breath, final. "I'm so glad you're here."

"'S'good you are," he retorted. "I just hope you're not the only one."

"That's why we're going to the Bronze. You need to see her." At his hesitation, Willow bit her lip and considered. "I bet she's still in your duster, if that helps. Rarely takes that old thing off."

"What about Peaches? He'll be there, won't he?"

"Angel? More than likely. Don't worry, though. She hasn't been exactly friendly to him since he came back." Willow snickered. "I think the magic's finally gone. He has a kid, did you know? Had one with Darla, of all... vamps."

William quirked a brow and chuckled softly, finding no humor behind it. "It's a bloody weird world we live in, pet. Peaches is out there doing the wacky without even losin' his soul. Buffy doesn't hate me when she should... and me, blubbering every step I take like a sodding fool."

Red chuckled, pretended to consider, then nodded. "Yup." With conviction, she grabbed his arm again, pulling him down the stairs. "Now we're going to the Bronze. No fussy objections. I won't take 'no' for an answer. There we go. Forward march."

He laughed - a good, honest laugh, but didn't fight her. "You drive a hard bargain, Red. You know that?"

"Part of my charm."

At the bottom of the steps, he turned back to face her. Another unlikely friend with even further unlikely insight. His insides shivered at the thought of what was to come, but she was right. It was time enough. To say her words had charged him with hope was a falsity, but they did shed new light. Comforting in a strange, almost painful way. Buffy didn't hate him. She had missed him. She owned his book. She had read his book. She liked his book. If everyone else in the world decided it was garbage and wanted to burn every copy, he wouldn't care. The three people whose opinion he did esteem had already passed their good favor. Giles, Buffy, and Willow - all here. Willow behind him, locking the door as they stepped into the night once more. Willow, offering him this incredible chance, an opportunity more vivid than the Watcher could have ever provided. Willow, who should not be here with him, but was.

Willow. His darling Red. She was healing. Three years was short compensation for the pain she had experienced, not only for the world, but also for losing the person she loved. They had both progressed in their respective states - not much but enough. Her words were true. Time did heal things. It had healed Giles and Buffy, preserved Willow's good opinion even as she suffered her own misgivings, and had brought him here. Sunnydale. Time would continue and would eventually soothe all its past indiscretions. It was just a matter of waiting.

William stopped suddenly in stride. "You won't tell her, will you?"

There was no need for elaboration. "About your soul? No. I figured it was something you wanted to keep secret as long as possible. Giles woulda told us if it weren't. Besides, it's your place to tell her - not mine."

"Guess I should be worried 'bout being found out before I can manage to tell 'er myself. You seemed to know right off the bat."

Red grinned. "I could feel you a mile away. Didn't know it was your soul until I saw you, but I felt it. Witch's powers, and all that. I'm just good."

"You are." He returned the smile as they resumed walking. "I never got to tell you... I'm so sorry about Tara."

He expected her to stop walking again, or to hitch in breathing, or do something to display her grief. Instead, her hand shot out and seized his, squeezing in assurance even as her face fell impassive. "I know," she whispered. The night shone on them, encompassing with surviving comfort. They continued side-by-side, the weary path to the Bronze.

No more words were exchanged. There was no need.

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