****Summary: Takes place 2 years after Grave. Spike never returned to Sunnydale. He's on his own and plans to leave everything behind him for a new start.

****Disclaimer: Joss owns it all except the original characters.

****Title (and song Adia) based on the song of the same namesake on Sarah Mclachlan's CD Surfacing. The effect is better when you listen to her while reading this. That’s kind of how I wrote it.

!!!!I already posted this but FF.net is really acting up and it booted my story off or something. Not too happy here. Well, for those that haven't read it yet, enjoy. I love reviews and you can drop 'em here or email your comments and suggestions to me at d_jasper77@hotmail.com.

The crowd was typical for a Thursday night; an eclectic mix of young adults, reveling in the freedom the way only accessible to them; and the thirty-something's, so desperately clinging to the final vestiges of their youth. It was a smooth blend of generations with tastes as varied as shells to be found on the city’s many beaches. Though most were natives, a handful of patrons made Blue Song their last stop before returning to their hotel rooms, ‘joyously’ awaiting the next day’s business meeting or the drive home to San Francisco or Los Angeles. Still others were vacationers, eager to take in the sites and atmosphere of San Diego.

Despite their reasons for being in San Diego, their presence at the Blue Song was virtually unanimous. For the past two years, Blue Song had made a name throughout the city as well as other parts of the Left Coast. It was a place to bare your feelings and instantly feel the weight of guilt, shame or hurt lifted from your shoulders. No one knew why, considering San Diego wasn’t frequented much by visitors of the preternatural persuasion. No one ever asked thus no one ever knew that a magical ward had been created around it and when someone spoke or sang, the hurt and pain they felt dissipated into the ether. It didn’t go away, but it was greatly lessened and those that harbored the unbearable pangs found that, upon leaving, the hurt was more than tolerable. After leaving Blue Song, everyone felt just a little bit lighter on his or her feet. All but one person.

The scent of tobacco blistered the nostrils of those closest to the door. Being a non-smoking establishment, a sign of smoke meant only one thing. Heads turned as the plume of smoke followed the lithe figure as he sauntered to the stage. Though their women eyed him greedily, the men did not look at him with disdain or jealousy. Those that had seen him perform admired him in a way a kid admired their favorite baseball player or comic book super hero. And he was just that, a super hero; larger than life though his frame was no more than average. But it wasn’t just about the physical, though his cheekbones angled sharply as if sculpted from marble and his ice blue eyes pierced your soul. It was the swell of his chest, the confidence in his stride that, despite the sad edge in his voice, presented him as unconquerable. He was a god, standing mightily over the waters like the Colossus of Rhodes, untouchable by even the worst of natural disasters.

His bound up the steps to the stage was like that of a jaguar. He was both sleek and dangerous. Oh, they knew without question that he was the latter, though no one dared challenge him. Besides, it was not the type of bar where fights broke out.

When he sat on the stool in the middle of the stage, everyone murmured in surprise. Though he was decked in his customary black, it was more casual in nature than his usual black jeans and boots garb he usually wore. They were replaced with black leather dress shoes and dress pants with razor creases down the legs. A tight black shirt completed the ensemble as it clung to his wiry frame, highlighting his sculpted upper body.

Looking over the crowd, Spike took one last puff of his fag before dropping it to the stage, smashing it with the tip of his Stacey Adams. Gotta quit one of these days. Not healthy for me anymore. He perused the faces that looked back at him. Good lot 'o folks, he thought to himself. Gonna miss it all, really am. He ran a hand through his brown curls. Though he had forced himself to get rid of the blond mop, his hair was in fact highlighted in spots by platinum streaks. Couldn’t get rid of it all, now could I? He smirked at the thought. He knew why he hadn't totally wiped the blond hair off the map. No…he wasn’t going there. Not yet, at least. He still had a last show for these people. He would tell them about her (though the majority of regulars had already heard bits and pieces of the story). But he had decided that tonight…tonight was the last time he would think about her.

Not bloody likely, he cursed to himself as he grabbed the mike from its steel post and addressed the crowd.

"Evening', folks. How's everybody tonight?" The crowd responded in true Blue Song fashion. "That's right nice, then. I see we have a few new faces in the crowd. Well, I'm glad you could come and you picked the perfect time to drag your nancy-boy arses in here," he paused as light chuckles filled the room. He flashed them his trademark smirk before continuing solemnly. "I say that because," he inhaled a much needed breath, "this is the last time I will be performing here." The crowd erupted in gasps and shouts of 'no, Will' and 'Stay'. The disappointment of the fans warmed his heart. He'd miss them. Even though most of the regulars were only associates, he had made several friends as well. Eddie. Richard. Michael. Warrick. Lorren. Holly. And Rachel.

Rachel. Spike sighed as he thought about his business partner. Not since the Niblet had anyone accepted him for what he had been long ago. He had told her everything and for a while he had entertained the thought of dating her. But she knew everything, including where his heart truly belonged. She never pushed and though they had shared sporadic kisses she always stopped him before it went too far and every time he was glad that she had the willpower. He didn’t want to hurt Rachel like he had hurt her.

Shrugging off the thoughts that always brought him to near tears, he focused back on the crowd. He raised his hands and the volume died down instantly. Still got some of the Big Bad in me, I wager.

"I know this is sudden, but I promised myself that if I couldn’t stay away, I'd leave. It's right nancy-boy of me to run and hide, but it's better than facin' her after what I did…"

"What is he talkin' about?" A voice close to the stage asked someone. Spike smiled. Must be new.

"For those of you makin' your first appearance her, I am love's bitch." The newbies broke out in chuckles while the veteran patrons nodded their heads solemnly. They, too, had laughed when he had first spouted those words. But after one night of hearing his story, even though he never told it all, was a sobering moment. The pain in his voice, the wavering of his eyes was so raw they prayed that they never felt that sort of hurt.

After a few moments, the laughter turned to nervous chuckles before ceasing all together. "Glad we got that out 'o the way. Now, I know you have questions. And I have answers, just not all of em, cuz if I did, I'd be back in Sunny…I'd be with her right now. But to answer your unspoken questions, let me tell you a little bit about what it's like to be love's bitch…"

*****

I told 'em everything. Well, not quite everything. Tactfully omitted were the parts my hundred and twenty some-odd years as a member of the undead. Oh, I told 'em I was a killer, a murderer that made Hitler look like the pansy he was. Oh, most of the lot assumed I was some type of assassin. They weren't too far off. Only the part about me doin' it all for the greater good. All other mentioned topics of the supernatural were conveniently left out as well. Dru and Cecily were mentioned and I still called her the Slayer-still, after two years, I couldn’t bring myself to utter her name-though I used it as a metaphor at how she killed me everyday with her words and callousness and the simple thought of her. That was definitely true and two years and miles apart hadn't changed that. She was still the slayer, all right, killing me slowly with every passing day.

I could see they were getting a bit pissed at the Slayer so I tell 'em about how she was right. How I was an evil, soulless thing she could never love, could never trust.

"Oh, I proved her right that night. All it took was 45 seconds. Forty-five seconds to destroy whatever it was we had built in two years." I feel the lump form in my throat. Oh, I knew exactly how long it was. Some fucked up part of my brain acted as a chronometer, reminding me of how for three fourths of a minute, I was nothing more than an animal. But I can't think about that, I have to keep on.

"So, you see, ladies and gents, she was right. I was nothing more than a selfish, evil thing. I told her how much I loved her and I'd hurt her in a way no man should ever hurt a woman," that was as close as I was getting to telling them what had actually happened. Some got it, others didn’t. Sod 'em all. A part of me feels guilty for thinking that way but another part could give a fuck.

"I left that night, without a word. ‘Ad to. I didn’t trust myself around ‘er anymore. Those forty-five seconds showed me that no matter how much I had changed, I was still the same heartless killer underneath. I had to do something or what was inside me-the anger, the pain, the fear…the evil-would kill us both. I wanted to find myself." I have to snicker at that. Sounds like some sort ‘o bloody ponce lookin’ for redemption or some…I sober up quickly, knowing that was exactly what it was.

Angel doesn’t have a soddin’ thing on me now. ‘Cept that I still look better. He still has the poofy hair and I can pretty much shag a bint senseless to my heart’s content and not flip out, Jack Torrance style. But it still infuriates me that the git at one time had what I never will: her heart.

"Sorry folks," I say, knowing I had fallen into silence for several minutes. Soddin’ Peaches. It’s not like I don’t know it’s not his fault, but still…never liked the bloody poof. Makes things simpler throwin hostility his way. I glance at my watch. Quarter to ten. Might as well get this show on the road. Don’t wanna stay here any longer than I have to. The pull has become too much and then there’s Rachel all with her "Go see her, William". She’s been doin’ that for the last year and as much as I tell her no, my resistance is weakening. I know if I don’t leave tonight, I’ll give in. No doubt in my mind ‘bout that. Soul may ‘ave changed certain tendencies and curbed others, but my resolve as far as it deals with her? Not too good. Never will be.

"There’s a lot of things I need to get off my chest ‘ere tonight. Rachel." I crane my neck toward the side steps, and there she is, holding my Slayer so gently. Her dark hair's twisted in an elaborate ponytail that clings to the crevice in the middle of her back, falling to her waist. She is my new dark queen, with her bronze skin and dark eyes that always found the truth of my once un-dead heart. ‘Cept where Dru was frail of body (and most times, of mind) Rachel's strong in both. She never takes my crap and delves in the mystical arts of brutal honesty almost as well as yours truly. I trust her with my life and vice versa. I love her, I truly do, but my heart already belongs to another…

"Thanks, luv," I say and pluck my Slayer from her strong hands. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close. "For those uninitiated, this beauty here is Rachel. My best friend. Just happens to also be my partner and after tonight, she will be running things from here on." I give her a gentle squeeze. "She’s everything I let her be to me. Without her, I’d never be where I’m at now." I stand up and kiss her chastely on the lips. There are a few catcalls but we ignore it, instead lost in what would be our last goodbye.

It’s hard to look at ‘er when we pull away. She stares into me and sees the finality of loving someone and never able to be with them. I know the feeling all too well. A single tear rolls down her cheek and I brush it away. I mouth the words ‘I love you’ and she smiles at me. When she looks at me like that I just wish I could love ‘er with all my heart. A part of me breaks knowing that I can’t give her what she deserves. Seems like I never can with women, nothin’ new. I will miss her and we’ll keep in touch. But I doubt if I’ll ever see her again. It’s always like that, just too much pain in seein’ the ones you love again.

I watch Rachel as she walks off-stage with her miraculous gait. I blow her a kiss before taking my seat, not seeing her disappear through the door. I cradle my Slayer in my arms with the gentleness of holding a baby, my hands tracing the black calligraphy ‘my Slayer’ etched into the off-white body. I smile. Besides Rachel, my Slayer has been the only mainstay in my life the last two years that doesn’t judge or rebuke me. It’s refreshing.

I strum a few test cords before picking the mic off the floor (didn’t realized I dropped it) and replacing it in its stand. It takes a few minutes to adjust and then I’m sitting back down, facing the anxious crowd.

"What’s say we get started?" I ask in mock cheerfulness. Truth of the matter, I’m terrified. Terrified of leaving, of not being strong enough to survive without her. Without any hope of seeing her again, never knowing what becomes of her. Terrified that I’ll never find a friend as good as Rachel or the Niblet. Terrified that I’ll never find my place in the world. But that’s the breaks. I knew it comin’ in and I know it goin out.

"This is a song I sang to my Slayer two years ago. Don’t know why, just felt like singing. Guess the poet in me wasn’t as dead as I thought…"

The night has been great. I’ve never opened up like this before even though it’s my place. Well, it kinda gives me the right to do as I please, like the smoking (quittin’ that nasty habit, lungs can’t take it). Now, though, feeling the pain lessen with each song I sing, I can’t but curse myself for not doin’ this before. ‘Sides, wouldn’t have made a difference. She’d never love me, even the changed me. But I could have saved myself quite a bit ‘o heartache. And maybe me and Rachel…

Who am I kiddin’? Even without the pain (that will always be there, no matter what I sing in this place) my heart would still be with her. Am I a soddin’ git or not? Don’t answer that. I already have.

I take a drink from the glass Eric brought out an hour ago. I asked him about Rachel. Said she was gone. Guess it’s for the better. Not too keen on goodbyes and I figure she’s the same.

I set the now empty glass down and approach the mic again.

"Well, it’s almost time for me to push off, people." I smirk at their groans and suppress the warmth these people make me feel. Always figured the soul’d give me hell and torment for my past life, which it did, by the way. Just never figured it’d allow me to feel this good, too. Or maybe it isn’t the soul. Maybe it’s the feeling of being treated like something other than a monster does it. Niblet was always like that, treatin' me like a living, breathing person and not some freak. Her mum did too (I miss Joyce). Not even when I was evil were they ever afraid of me. Never. But the others… Stop it, ole boy or your gonna be crying like a poof. Wouldn’t want them to see.

"Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m not quite finished yet." They cheer lightly, the inevitable goodbye wearing on ‘em. S’okay, I feel the same. Just gotta figure out how you’re gonna deal.

"Got two more pieces for ya before I step down. Now, these aren’t mine. They’re by this Canadian chit. Sarah McLachlan. Right talented she is. Got a knack fer pullin’ at the old heartstrings." I give 'em my best sneer. "And the first git that calls me nancy-boy's gonna get a nice and shiny spike right through the forehead. Right then, here we go."

As I strum the first note, I wonder why in the bloody hell I'm gonna sing these two. Not a poofter, but the first time I heard 'em. Well, let's just say the Big Bad can shed tears. They hit a tad too close to home.

"Oh, just so you know, my Slayer's name's not Adia. But that's not the issue, the feeling behind the words. Just listen up." Gotta do it 'fore I lose my nerve.

Failed is an understatement, luv. I know I can never rebuild the trust I broke. Know I let you down big time. I'm sorry, pet.

Wish it were easy. Wish it didn’t hurt so badly. Wish my way was what you needed.

The Slayer/Vampire thing is wrong but we almost made it right. Went wrong the day we stopped being friends, though.

'Cept me. The Big Bad's all to blame. I know that.

I'll never be innocent. But you and the Niblet…you shouldn’t have to deal with the things you do everyday. Both of you have a light that shines. One that should never be extinguished. And there I was, tryin to pull u into the darkness with me…

Wish I knew that then…at least I could've prevented your pain.

I hope what I didn’t doesn’t set you back, luv. You are strong and beautiful in every way. Never settle for less than you deserve and that is to be treated like the goddess you are.

Does it really matter? Does it matter that I still love you, pet? That I'd die for you and the Niblet a thousand times? Even the soddin' Scoobies. And despite what you probably think, s'not the soul that makes me care. Wasn’t the chip either. Course nobody'd believe that. Shit, I didn’t either. So convenient when there was an excuse. Run out of 'em now. So what do I do?

"Last number, folks," I say to the quiet crowd. It's like someone has died. Well, someone is. Someone is dying on the inside right now, right in front of 'em. They see it and I feel it. I take a much-needed breath. I roughly wipe the back of my hand against the tears forming in the corners of my eyes. Gotta hurry up. Don’t wanna cry in front of the clientele.

You always called me a monster and you were partially right. Oh, I was a monster that night but I was nothing way before that. Lovin' you brought the man that I couldn’t be forward. Everything I was and believed in was shattered the moment I saw you.

I know what I have to do but I don’t know if I can.

That's why I had to go luv. Had you for a moment and couldn’t bare not 'avin you all the time. Should've known I'd fuck it up. Even hurt you more than the poof did…

Your call to me is more potent than blood ever was. I'll never stop wanting you, but I'll never have you.

The last four years, it's always been about you Buf…luv. Oh, it's still burning inside me: the passion and the love. And again you were right. It is consuming me, luv, worse than the sun could have ever done. But what am I now? I don’t have you, so what am I?

I can't…. I vaguely hear my Slayer crash to the stage but the tears burning my eyes numb me and the only thing I can concentrate on is getting off the stage. I have to leave now. Can't wait till tomorrow or I'll lose my nerve and pant back to her like the whipping boy I used to be.

I storm through the back halls, towards my office. Just need to get my keys and a few mementos and I'll be on my way. Still don’t know where I'm goin' yet but as long as it's away from here, it doesn’t matter now does it?

*****

Spike strode into the office, rattling the walls as he slammed the door shut with all his unnatural strength. The shame and guilt threatened to overwhelm him. Of what he had lost. Of how he tried to bring her down to his level. Of how he tried to…he couldn’t finish the thought as a sob ripped from the back of his throat.

"No!" he screamed as he overturned the mahogany desk. Soon to follow was his chair as he hurled it against the bookshelf, the splintering wood ripping the leather fabric of the chair. Like a caged animal, he paced the room, finally coming to rest in front of the full length mirror near the back of his office.

"Handsome bloke," he said to the reflection that stared back at him before sending his fist crashing through the glass, shattering it into a million pieces. He laughed humorlessly at the shards embedded into his knuckles. He examined his hand with an odd fascination. Even after two years, it amazed him at the rapidity of blood loss a beating heart could usher forth. He flexed his knuckles and winced at the welcoming pain accompanying even the slightest movement of his fingers. Physical pain was the best. It always distracted him from the much more intense, longer lasting hurt that curled up inside of him, ready to stretch its sadistic limbs at the slightest reminder of things past.

Spike's shoulders slumped in defeat. Not even pouring his heart out tonight was able to lessen the pain. No, he would never get over it, the things he had done. It wasn’t the hundred years of feeding that tore at his gut. Somehow, he had understood that despite the thousands of people he had killed in need was just that…he needed what they had, namely blood. He didn’t just dismiss it that easily but he had coped with those particular memories quite well. But the others; the senseless killings he had partook in during his un-life would always be there in his mind's eye. Those faces haunted his dreams and appeared almost every night in crystal clarity. The guests at the party before Drusilla turned him. The families of those who had almost killed Dru in Prague. The man whose neck he snapped at the Parent-Teacher night. The look on her face after he had tried to…

He ran his hand across his face, oblivious to the glass as it marred his otherwise seamless features. No amount of running would relieve him of that night. The emotions he saw in her emerald eyes would forever haunt him. Fear. Disgust. Loathing. Disappointment. Shame. Betrayal. But most of all, he saw the pain, her resignation that understood that the only thing people she cared about were good at was hurting her and leaving.

Guess you're two-fer-two there mate, he thought bitterly before running his bloodied hand through his frazzled locks. The heaviness in his chest threatened to crush his heart. He had foolishly thought leaving would get rid of a sliver of the guilt but it only amplified it. He had hoped that getting as far away from her as he could, he would alleviate some of the hurt she still undoubtedly felt that night.

"Yeah, and I'm still a vampire," he said to the shattered frame. And part of him wished that that were true. It would be so easy for him to watch the sun rise in the middle of the desert, with no where to run and bask in the sun's brilliance for the last time. But it wouldn’t ever be that easy again for him. Nothing ever would be. The only thing that came easy now was the pain that not even the Blue Song could lessen. Of course, he had a feeling why. Though he suffered immensely with it, he honestly didn’t want to be rid of the pain. He wanted it as a constant reminder as to what he was and always would be and that was a monster. He'd wear that badge until the day he died. He'd never forgive himself for what he did and knew she would never forgive him, either. It didn’t matter, though. Nothing really did. He had done irreparable harm to her and only hoped that it hadn't broken her completely. No, it wouldn’t. She didn’t love him so it had to have made his transgressions at least a little more bearable. After all, she knew what he was.

"Should've staked me then and there," he muttered in defeat, his chin dipping into his chest. "At least then she'd have gotten some closure." His last words were what tugged at him the most. She would never be able to exercise her demons, or in this case, demon and she would never be able to ask him why. But did it matter why? No. All that mattered was what he did. That, and the fact that he had never once apologized.

" S'only words," he said as he shuffled towards to overturned desk, "Proved myself to her with my actions," he whispered. Back to the door, Spike knelt down and sifted through the wreckage of his tantrum. Glass and plastic from where his computer had met the floor was intermixed with paper and several other items. His fingers walked over the debris until they found what they were looking for. Buried underneath the expense report and a once beautiful snow globe was the picture he was looking for.

Though the glass was broken, the frame was in tact and the picture for the most part, was unharmed. Spike brushed away the remaining shards before removing the picture from its confines. In it, sitting in the middle of an open field, sitting cross-legged on a blanket laughing, were his two girls. He had taken it his first and final visit to the 'Dale after his African sojourn. It was both the happiest and saddest moments of his life. He hadn't seen her this happy since the first time he had seen her in the Bronze. And the Niblet. God, she was radiant, just like her sister. It warmed his heart to see them together, laughing. But at the same time, a piece of him died.

Seeing her so happy-them so happy- had only emphasized that he didn’t belong, that he was an outsider. They had had a life before him and would have one after him. He wasn’t sure what hurt most: the Niblet forgetting about him or her sister's final memories of him. When he thought of his selfishness in this, he only affirmed even more to himself that he didn’t truly love her and wondered if he truly could. Oh, he had loved her in his own twisted way but to be hurt that she was happy without him? Could he honestly call that love?

The thought that he had never truly loved her tore at his heart. Had he wasted his time or more importantly, hers? Had he been tortured for thirty days straight without food and rest only to realize that he never loved her? He chuckled at the irony of it all. Trying to prove he was what she deserved only to discover he was, and always would be, the furthest thing from it.

He held the picture against his heart with his good hand when he heard the slow creek of the door behind him. He sighed audibly, irritated at whoever had decided to interrupt his personal internal flagellation.

"Look, who ever you are, sod off," he clipped. He heard a light chuckle that only furthered him to infuriation. His injured hand flexed into a fist, heedless of the pain while his good hand maintained a delicate grip on the picture. His body tensed in the accustomed coil before the strike, accompanied by a matching growl.

Spike remained still for several minutes, back to the door, hoping the intruder would pick up on the crackling displeasure radiating from him. When it was apparent that the visitor was going no where, Spike relaxed his muscles, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Look, mate, don’t you get it. I don’t know how to tell you this but…" he stopped in his tracks as his nose caught a whiff of something eerily familiar. He couldn’t register the smell definitively, considering his senses weren't quite up to par like they used to be but it was something…cool. Something smooth. Something…

Vanilla.

"It can't be…" he whispered, fear gnawing at his insides now. He was afraid to turn around because if it was who he thought…But then again, if it wasn’t. But he was never able to make that decision as the visitor spoke.

"I don’t get it," the all too familiar voice spoke. Spike's heart stopped as it all dawned on him. Slowly, he turned around to face the woman's voice only to feel her closing the distance between them.

By the time he faced her, she stood two feet away. Her golden hair was pinned up with intricate curls trailing down the sides of her angelic face. She wore a black dress that hung from her thin shoulders by spaghetti straps. It molded to her body like a second skin, the black accenting her curves fully. Her hands were hidden behind her back. The muscles of her thin legs shone from under her stockings as the heels she wore punctuated the strength of her calves.

"I don’t get what happened between us. I don’t get why I'm here. I don’t get what I'm feeling," she said, her eyes locked on the shell-shocked man in front of her. She took two steps forward and now they were only inches away. Spike could smell the strawberry lip-gloss she wore in substitution of lipstick and would have smirked if his muscles were his own. But all he could do was stare, desperately attempting to form a coherent sentence or word even.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. He still smelled of tobacco though it was not as potent. She also detected an extremely appealing cologne that had taken the once staple aroma of alcohol that permeated her nostrils when she was around him. Slowly, her eyes opened and they took in the man before him before she spoke again.

"The only thing I know," she whispered, inching closer toward his face. "The only thing I know is that I don’t know how to let you go…"

After she trailed off, Spike was finally able to form some semblance of cohesion with his thoughts and he whispered the name that he hadn't spoken aloud in almost two years.

"Buffy?"

Part II

One hundred plus years of life had given Spike more than his fair share of surprises, both of the good and of the bad. The first had been the first times his fangs sunk into the tender flesh of a young man given to him by Angelus. The strength that coursed through his veins was indescribable and, aside from the slayer's, no blood had ever tasted as sweet. Then there had been the years with Dru, everyday a surprise. His dance with the second slayer on the subway was also a pleasant memory. But none of his undead memories were as powerful as the things he remembered about her. When he realized that he was truly in love with her, Spike had felt truly alive for the first time in over a century. That feeling of being connected with humanity only increased when he was around her. All the times they fought--no danced--with only one another as audience. And then there was the time she had walked down those steps, alive, for the first time in one hundred and forty-seven days. He was speechless as if his brain refused to process what his eyes saw. Buffy, standing in front of him, as alive and as beautiful as ever. He knew that he would never feel that way again.

How wrong he was.

Spike cocked his head to the side and shook it in disbelief, hoping against hope that what was in front of him was the real thing and not some twisted hallucination.

"In the flesh," she said softly as her name choked past his lips. The countless emotions he undoubtedly felt peered at her through unshed tears as his warm blue eyes danced over every part of her, taking in every detail just in case it was all a mirage.

"Buffy?" he asked again and this time it was Spike that advanced, closing the distance even further. Her pert breasts brushed against his chest and she couldn’t help but inhale sharply at his proximity. Even after all this time, she thought as his breath caressed her skin. It was a mixture of the tobacco and mints. Above all of that, however, she felt the distinct warmth of it all. Not just his breath but the warmth that cascaded off of him in waves, as if he were a living, breathing man. Or it could just be you, B, all hot and bothered by mister 'give you too many orgasms to count'.

Buffy blushed as her thoughts had turned to sexual encounters with the vampire before her that had refused to dull even after…that night. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought of what he almost did to her and berated herself for the umpteenth time for still wanting him.

***

As I stare at this man…no, vampire, in front of me, I can't help but feel revulsion at being here, in the same room with him. Not after what he did, or tried to do, to me. But what's worse? The fact that I am still here or that the part of me that is disgusted with him as well as with myself is so small that I barely register that it's there? Who the hell know? I know I don’t.

I peel my eyes away from his, unable to stand up to the questions present in them. Sorry, Spike, can't answer 'em, especially since I can't even answer my own questions.

I try to look at my hands but I forgot they are behind my back and I am relegated to staring at his chest falling up and down, barely contained by his skin-tight shirt. As I nervously wring my sweaty palms behind my back, I frantically search for something, anything, to say. I don’t know why words escape me, considering I had almost a month to prepare for this moment.

Has it been that long since Angel called me and told me about Spike? I fiddle with the ring that rests snuggly on my finger. Shit, I forgot to take it off. Don’t even know why I still wear it…but I'm digressing. Gotta focus on the now, Buffy, not something that's in the past, no matter how recent that past happens to be.

"Spike," I whisper, finally getting the courage to look once again into his eyes and I cringe at the pain that greets me. A lone tear streaks down his face and I rush to catch it with the tip of my finger. He smiles weakly as I study my damp fingertip. I've never seen Spike cry before. I know the things I have said to him had hurt more than that night I pummeled him out behind the police station, but I never once saw him shed a tear. Was it because he hid the hurt so well or because I always hightailed it out of there before I could bear witness to the heartbroken Big Bad? I really don’t know and who cares? It really doesn’t matter now. You're full of a lot of warmth, Buffy I smirk as I think back to all the horrible things I did on the to him…

My smirk quickly fades as I feel his fingers tentatively caress my cheek. No! Not just fingers but warm fingers. I can feel my eyes practically bulge from their sockets. What's Dawn call it? Oh, my 'deer-in-headlights' look and I can't help but agree. I quickly erase the thought of my doe-eyes as I stare at him questioningly. He stares back, and I can't help but to sigh as his eyebrows furrow in that way only Spike can do. Stop it, Buffy. You feel Spike's warm hands and all you can think about is how cute he is when he frowns? Sick, B, sick.

"Spike," I manage for about the fifth time. "You're warm." Wow. I'm a freakin' Robert Frost with all the eloquence in that one, huh? He smiles at me, a genuine smile this time, though it lasts about all of two seconds before that lost look of confusion returns. I fight a moan as he steps back and my breasts are no longer brushing against him. He turns away from me and for the first time since I've been in the room, I take inventory.

He's gained some weight the last two…since I last saw him. And no longer mister clean-shaven, either. But his hair, oh my God, his hair. I had always wondered what color it really was. Something tells me this is how he wore it back in London, though I seriously doubt that blond streaks were in vogue in the 1880s.

His shoulders are slumped and I glance down at his right hand. Blood is dripping from it and I want to go take care of it but something roots me where I am. My eyes fall to the mess on the floor and I notice a picture at my feet. I bend to pick it up and it shocks me when I see that it's a picture of Dawn and me. I study it intently and feel his eyes back on me. My hands begin shaking as I remember that day.

"You were there," I say and am proud beyond belief that I keep my voice steady.

"Sorta had to in order for the pic to come out right," he says almost sarcastically. I say 'almost' because something is missing from his tone. I just don’t know what it is.

"No, I mean you were there. I felt you. That day." I never take my eyes off the picture but I sense him stiffen just a bit.

"How…?" he starts but falls silent.

"I felt you there," I say to myself and bring my hand to my lips to hide the shock of it all. The truth was that I did feel him but at the same time, I didn’t. When he left after that night, I knew that if he didn’t return, I would feel if something happened to him. That day, I really thought he had met the sharp end of a stick. I knew…I just knew that my Spike was gone. It was similar to something I had felt about a month after Xander stopped Willow and I couldn’t place it. No, I knew, but I didn’t want to admit it. But the second time, this time that was captured in the picture I admitted it then. I told no one of what I felt and kept it all to myself. I mourned him for weeks, hoping against hope that he would come back, even if I hated him. In actuality, facing the reality that he was dead was what had made my forgiveness of him complete. Wherever he was, I prayed that he knew I had…forgiven him. I had hoped to tell him in person but that was not to be. And (ha), as luck would have it, he's right here in front of me. So, what's stopping me from telling him?

"Why?" I ask and finally look up at him. I notice that his eyes fall to my hand. Shit, he sees the ring. Well, too late now. It's not like I'm really thinking about that now.

"Why what, l…" he stops before he calls me 'luv' and a part of me breaks. "I mean, you gotta be more specific than that." He smirks at me and runs his bloody hand through his hair. His is desperately reaching for the casual cockiness that always infuriated me but I don’t really hear it. I can't quite put my finger on what it is that I exactly hear in it, but it's not good.

"Why did you do it?" I ask and there's no mistaking the anger in my voice. Well, that and the hurt and pain not to mention the disappointment. Two years has helped me heal a lot of wounds and Garrett had been a big part of that. As I glance down at my ring, I understand that, with some type of morbid certainty, time can't heal everything. Sometimes, only answers will do.

Spike bristles visibly at the tone in my voice and he hangs his head in shame. Good; he should be, after what he pulled.

There is nothing good in you! I hear myself scream as my fists use his face as a cheap punching bag and I can't help but feel ashamed at the memory. Yeah, he almost raped me, but didn’t I do the same to him? The only difference was that he didn’t fight back.

"Buffy," the pain in his voice lances my memory and all I can focus on are his hands. Those same hands that caressed and loved me are the same ones that tore at my robe and bruised my flesh.

I know you felt it-when I was inside of you. You'll feel it again, Buffy. I'm gonna make you feel it. His words careen through my brain and all my muscles constrict at the vividness of his words. The goose bumps litter my arms though that sick feeling that used to accompany me are gone. Thank God for small miracles.

"Why Spike?" I feel myself losing control but I don’t try to stop it. I may have forgiven him for what happened but it still hurts, you know? And I thought seeing him with Anya was bad.

I stalk over to him and he tries to slink away but there's no where to go. I don’t know where this is coming from though I'd wager seeing him for the first time has a lot to do with it. The tension coursing through me is its own monster just waiting to be unleashed and there's nothing I can do except release it.

"Buffy, please," he tells me, his hands in front of him to ward off a blow. I see the grief in his eyes and I so much want to stop but it's like I'm possessed and need him to see and understand.

"Please, Spike? Isn't that what I pled to you?" I spit as if his name is some nasty aftertaste that I can’t get rid of. The tears are running freely now, ruining my mascara and I see the naked fear and self-disgust in his eyes. Stop it, Buffy. But I can't.

"I begged you to stop and you didn’t. Why, Spike? What was it that you thought I'd feel? Is that what you always wanted? To fuck me against my will? I mean, you've killed two slayers and banged a third, why not add rape to the list, you know, to complete your impressive resume?" The look in his eyes frightens me and I see the death wish hovering there. I don’t even stop to think how a soulless creature could feel guilty and I don’t care. The sadistic part of me, the part that almost killed him in the alley, wants him to hurt, to feel helpless, to feel the pain he made me go through.

"Here," I say and grab his hand and shove it against my breast. The blood seeps into my clothing and I can't help but feel how warm it is. I never take my eyes off his and the pain I see in them makes me falter for one moment. And that one moment is enough to feel the warm flesh beneath my fingers.

"Spike?" I choke out and all the anger has left me only to be replaced by total bewilderment. That and the fact that I feel like a total bitch.

"Buffy," he forces out and I understand what it was earlier that I couldn’t quite place; Spike's spirit, the thing that made him the egotistical, self-centered, however selfless Big Bad, is broken. It's even worse than when he was on stage earlier. "I am so sorry," he cries and the tears flow like rivers down his cheeks and I instinctively cup his cheek with my hand.

His eyes drop but he raises them to me and then overlays his hand over mine. "I know you must hate me, hate me more than you have hated anyone and I deserve it. That's why I never came back; I didn’t want you to have to face a monster like me, not after what I had done…" He trails off and chokes back the sob building in his chest and I worry that if he doesn’t let it out he'll explode. If that happens, I hope that I go with him because I can't…

"You were right," he says and laughs humorlessly, breaking me out of my thoughts. He drops his hands to the side and turns away from me to stand in front of the remains of the shattered mirror. I bring the hand that was against his cheek to my face. I can make out the wet spots where the tears trailed down my palm and I can only wonder…how? How was he warm? How was…

"I was nothing but a soulless, evil monster. I didn’t love you…" my heart stops at that and, of course I'm ready to jump to conclusions before he alleviates my concern, "How could I be and 'urt you like I did? You don’t deserve someone…something like that and you bloody well don’t deserve something like me. You deserve better…" he laughs again but it's filled with irony. "Funny thing is, I knew that before I left. Actually left to prove you wrong, to prove to you that I was what you deserved. The only thing I found out was that I never deserved you in the first place. Some epiphany, huh?" He asks before he pounds both fists into the remaining glass and I jump back just as the glass joins the pile at his feet. He studies the floor beneath him, kneels and I hear the crunch of glass under his knees. He fingers several sharp pieces and my heart jumps in my chest. What is he thinking? What is he going to do?

"Spike." The taste of his name on my tongue is not near as bad as it was two minutes ago. The tension in my body is gone, leaving only a dull ache in its wake. I walk gingerly over toward him and the sadness radiating from his pores is almost enough to drown me, utterly and completely.

I stand about a foot behind him, uncertain on what to do. I don’t know how many times I’ve said it, but when I look at him, the word broken comes to mind. No, it’s more than that and for the first time I understand that the bravado he carried on stage was just an act-just an act to get him through the night. How many times has he done this? How many times has the guilt been too much for him? I’m so concerned about what he feels that I don’t even question that he feels it. Warm vampire or no.

"You know," he voice is barely above a whisper, "I used to dream about this day. The day that I’d finally get to see you again." He is silent for several seconds before he takes a deep breath and continues.

" ‘Course in my dream, everything was right as rain. I’d save you from some ungodly hell-beast and you’d run into my arms--smacking me of course, for leavin’. Then you’d kiss me and it was like no kiss I’ve ever felt cuz you tell me with that one kiss the only thing I have ever wanted to hear; that you love me. Right bloody wanker, I am." He laughs again and I grimace at the pain within it. I shake my head in confusion. When did this turn into his forum to vent? I ask myself. That day in the picture, when you finally forgave him, Buffy-another part of me answers. Oh yeah, I forgot.

I kneel down, mindful of the glass strewn about, and lay a hand on his shoulder. He flinches at my touch for just an instant before he relaxes.

"How can you touch me? I don’t see how you can look at me, let alone touch me." The self-disgust in his words is staggering and I know I have to do something to right the situation before it deteriorates any further. Hell, I’m the reason it got as bad as it did two years ago…

***

Slowly, Buffy reached out her other hand and laid it against the soft cotton of his shirt. She still felt his warmth, but her curiosity towards its source was overshadowed by the deep sense of guilt she felt towards the wreck of a man that was before her.

Has it really been two years? Buffy asked herself as she rubbed the familiarly hard muscles under her fingertips. So much had happened since then. With Tara gone, Willow had stayed in England, with Giles, for the better part of a year. Anya and Xander had gone from hating each other to barely tolerable of one another to actual friends. They still had a long way to go, and neither was pushing for anything more than friendship at the moment. Then there was Garrett. Buffy had met him at her new job at the bank. He had pined over her from day one, though it had taken a bit of arm twisting from Dawn to get Buffy to relent and actually go out with him. The first date had been a disaster and Buffy thought that would have been the last of her and Mr. Garrett but as the light overhead caught the diamond on her finger--well, a lot had happened in two years.

Shaking off the thought of Garrett, Buffy smiled serenely at her little sister. Not so little anymore, she thought ruefully. In three days, Dawn would officially be a graduate of Sunnydale High, on her way out into the world. She was going to attend UCLA in the fall, her major undecided, though she was leaning toward Ancient Studies and Buffy couldn’t help but wonder if Dawn's choice had anything to do with helping her big sister.

The rise and fall of the torso under her palms cut Buffy out of her brief respite into the past and onto the wreck that lay before her in the present.

"Spike?" She tried to gently turn him to her but he resisted. Buffy's eyebrows furrowed in frustration and she put a little more 'umph' into the gesture and this time he relented.

"Spike," she said his name again, trying to get him to look at her though she was afraid of what she would see in those blue oceans.

Clearing some glass away from the floor, Buffy sat in front of the vampire and rubbed her hands up and down his shoulders. Her dress cinched up close to her waist, exposing her black panties but she didn’t pay any attention to that particular nuance.

"Spike, look at me," she commanded, her trademark determination clearly resonated in her tone. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Spike obeyed and looked at her with the most heart-rending look she had ever seen. It took all her will not to bawl then and there but she had to be strong for him, for both of them.

"You hurt me," she whispered and though it pained her to do it, Buffy never broke eye contact. What she had to say would hurt both of them but it had to be said. "You hurt me more than anybody ever has, including Angel." She saw him tense but didn’t know whether it was at the mention of his grand-sire or how much he had hurt her. "I really didn’t get a chance to think about it, with all that happened. Seeing your best friend want to destroy the world has a way of leapfrogging its way to the top of things most relevant." At first Buffy wasn’t certain whether or not Spike knew all of what happened but the sad resignation in his eyes let her know that he did.

She removed her hands from his shoulders and wrapped them around her knees that were bunched to her chest. It was a ridiculous pose, considering her attire but it gave her comfort and that was all that was important.

"After…after the funeral and Giles and Willow leaving, I really got a chance to think about things. And you know how thinking and Buffy don’t go along too well," she smiled and was glad to see him return the gesture, albeit wearily. "I won't lie, Spike; I hated you. I hated you more than Angelus, more than Glory, more than anything I have ever hated in my life." She gave him a poignant look and despite the fact that with each word he virtually wilted away, he still did not look down.

"I promised myself that if I ever saw you again, I'd stake you on site. No questions, no pleasantries, no warning. I mean, that's my job, right? --To fight against the vampires, hence the name Vampire Slayer. I thought up so many different things that I wanted to do to you to make you suffer. Spike your blood with holy water, tie you up under a tree so only your legs caught on fire; you know? Just vengeful stuff.

"Well, it didn’t last long at all. In those two days that I thought about it all, I hated you enough to last a lifetime. You know why I stopped?"

"No," he said and his voice cracked with emotion.

"Because, I realized that hating you was only a diversion from the person I hated the most; me."

"Lu…Buffy," Spike soothed and reached a tentative hand out to Buffy and placed it lovingly on her knee. He felt the tension in her mount for several seconds before she saw the sincerity in his eyes and relaxed. "You had--have--every right to hate me. What I did," he paused, willing the new onslaught of tears away, "what I did to you was inexcusable. There is nothing that you did that made you deserve to face the monster you saw that night…"

"Don’t you think I know that?" Her agitation rose as the events from that night played for the millionth time over in her head. She was too lost in the moment; however, to realize that said images weren't half as gut-wrenching as they had been not twenty minutes ago.

Closing her eyes deliberately, Buffy took several deep breaths to calm herself. It's never halfway with Spike, is it? She thought bittersweetly. "What you did was wrong, Spike. No, it was beyond wrong. You know, being the slayer made me think I would never have to face something like that. I thought I was scared when I had to face the Master or Angelus or Glory…but nothing was as terrifying as the helplessness I felt when you were on top of me, ripping off my clothes. God, Spike, I resented you so much and I vowed that I would never forgive you…but then that picture of you in the alley sobered me up real quick."

The silence, though unnerving was slightly less uncomfortable than the last several silent outtakes. Spike's forearms rested on his knees and he studied the room, his shoes and the floor--anything but the petite figure before him that had replaced Dru as the love of his life.

Buffy, however, was not as determined to keeping her eyes elsewhere. Every so often, they would sweep across his hunched form, desperately trying to figure out what was so different about him. It wasn’t his hair or stubble across his chin or the fact that he was dressed so differently. No, it wasn’t as mundane as being relegated to his physical makeup, though his eyes did hold an additional quality about them. She stared intently at his blue orbs, though she noticed he was quite actively avoiding eye contact, again. No, this wasn’t the Spike she had come to know and love…

Love? She thought to herself frantically. Where did that come from?

"Spike," she said before the snarky voice inside her could reply with an answer she wasn’t quite ready to hear.

"Yeah?" He said and looked at her indirectly.

"I never…I never apologized for what I did that night--you know, in the alley. If you didn’t do what you did, I may not even be here right now," she laughed humorlessly. "That would have really thrown the Council for a loop, having two slayers in jail." She measured the air between them before taking both his hands in hers.

"And," she added, "I never got to thank you for all the other things you did for me, either. Look, we both know how much you hurt me that night but…"

"But what?" he ventured.

"But I also know that however bad it was that night, I had been hurting you, intentionally, for months."

"Buffy…"

"Shut up, Spike," she said gently with a small smile poking at the corner of her lips. "All the things I said to you when you were trying so hard to change--God, I was such a bitch to you. I can admit that now. I can also admit that, no matter what happened that night, I forgive you. I really do." She saw the wariness in his eyes and knew what he was thinking.

"Look, I'm not saying I'm totally over it or anything. I mean, seeing you brought up a lot of things I thought I had dealt with but hadn't. I guess…" she fumbled for the right word. "I guess I just needed closure and part of the old, hurtful Buffy got loose for a second." She finally saw the hint of a genuine smile in his eyes though so much hurt and pain was still there. It was there for both of them, and she knew they both needed time to fully and properly heal. But it wasn’t something that time apart would accomplish. No, it was something they needed to do together.

"Spike; I'm sorry," she said and couldn’t keep the tears in abeyance any longer, "I am so sorry about everything. How things got between us…I know now that most of the blame falls on me. You loved me as much, if not more, than I have ever been loved and I used that, used you, for my own selfishness. I know I don’t deserve it, but I hope that you can forgive me. I me…" but Spike silenced her with a gentle caress of his finger across her lips.

"No, luv," he said unabashedly, "there's no need." Her eyebrows knitted together and he couldn’t help but smile at how much he loved that look. "I forgave you the moment you did those things. You were right, about me being a monster. What I…" but now it was her turn to shush him.

"No more, Spike. No more talk about that night. I have forgiven you for it already, so there is no reason to bring it back up again. I know we both aren't through with getting over the things we have done to one another and that is going to take time. I don’t know how long, but we both need time to heal…"

Spike couldn’t help but lower his head in dejection. So this is the send-off, eh? This is where she tells me that she doesn’t want to see me again. Ha. 'S alright, pet, go ahead and say it. 'S not like I thought anything was going to go differently, now did I? Spike closed his eyes and the tears that were kept prisoner in his eyes, broke free. Despite what he had done to her, a part of him hoped against hope that she would take him back into her arms. His inner self mocked his naivete and it wasn’t until he felt her warm hands on his chin that he snapped out of the malaise he was free falling into.

"We need time, William. But," she took a huge breath of air before she could finish and Spike physically braced himself for the coup de grace that never came. Instead her words stopped his beating heart mid-rhythm and he stared at her in disbelief.

"What…what did you say?"

"I said that I don’t think time apart is the answer. I think we need to deal with this together. Spike, I want you to come home, back to Sunnydale. Come back with me."

Spike could only stare at the beautiful woman before him as his mind frantically processed her words. She had asked him to come home with her. To come home to Sunnydale. He felt the physical relief as an invisible weight had been eased from his weary shoulders and he laughed tiredly. It wasn’t long before his laughs crossed over into hoarse sobs until he was crying hard, his whole body heaving as the pain was released.

He never felt Buffy's arms encircle his trembling form or the comforting words she whispered in his ears. What he did feel was the warmth that surrounded his heart. So much had happened between them and he had never thought he'd get a chance to make amends for any of it. But through the grace of God, he would be able to seek redemption; he would be able to make things right. It might take time but something like this was worth the wait. And though he no longer had all the time in the world, he did have the forgiveness of the one person he loved more than his existence. Maybe that was all he would get. He all but eliminated the possibility that they would be lovers, but maybe being friends was an option, he really wasn’t sure.

As the clouds rolled from his mind and he felt the tiny arms of Buffy surrounding him, he smiled amid the sobbing and knew that, if anything, the memory of her holding him, comforting him, would be enough to propel him through the short years.

It would have to be.

Part III

Neither of them knew how long they stayed that way, arms encircling one another as the tears--tears of pain, of regret, of frustration, and of second chances--rained from their eyes. Tears they had never been able to shed for two years, tears only they could understand, mingled as their cheeks brushed against each other's.

Spike refused to let go, knowing that moments of comfort with Buffy, no matter how close their newfound relationship could potentially bring them, would be virtually nil. So he held her as if his life depended on it, inhaling her sweet scent with the vigor of a man gasping for air. Her body was warm and inviting but the pain of the situation kept any lustful thoughts in abeyance. Instead, he channeled the strength and determination that radiated from her to him. Her presence alone prevented him from drowning in the now undulating tide of guilt and regret.

Buffy was also lost in the embrace. The old Buffy--the one that had slowly died over the past two years--raged at holding this attempted rapist so close to her breast. That old sliver of her that still resurfaced from time to time whispered to her to shove a shard of glass through his neck. With her strength, it would be nothing to decapitate him, turning him into nothing but a much-deserved pile of dust.

That voice that had controlled her for so long, dictating her words, some often cruel, did not win this round. Earlier, it had thought victory was at hand as she slung hurtful barbs at Spike, cutting into his already fractured self. She had felt a cold satisfaction at seeing him break under her tirade though it was a fleeting high. It wasn’t until the new Buffy, the one that had been eight years in the making, roared to life that she saw how callous her words, though necessary for her, were.

She now held fast to the strong man before her, clinging to him with all her unnatural strength, with the same desperate grip that he held her with.

"Buffy," he whispered his voice thick and raspy with emotion. "God, luv, I've missed you so much." If possible, his arms tightened their hold on her as if he were afraid that she would disappear. Buffy was touched by his words, and she unsuccessfully tried to stifle a sob before it escaped her lips. She didn’t know what to say. Should she tell him how much she had missed him? Or should she keep quiet? After all, she did ask him to come back--didn’t that tell him how much she missed him?

Opting for the latter, Buffy ran her hands up and down Spike's taut back, crushing her eyes shut, hoping to staunch the tears that continued to flow. It did nothing and she relegated herself to the fact that they would continue to fall for some time. Instead, she tried to at least steady the pounding in her chest to some degree, before she passed out.

Buffy managed to get her breathing under control and felt her heart slowly--excruciatingly slowly--return to normal. Still, there was that same knocking on her chest. It took her a minute to deduce that said thump was occurring outside of her body, which meant only one thing--one thing that was completely impossible.

The curiosity was enough to temporarily slow her tears and she realized that, though his sobs had died down, Spike was still crying. His warm tears still dripped onto her skin…

And that's when it hit her. The warmth of his touch, of his blood, of his breath against her. With everything else that had happened, she had never really gotten a chance to elaborate on what she was feeling. Now, though…now, she could.

"Spike," she murmured, trying to disentangle herself from his embrace. As she lightly pushed against his chest, Spike clung to her with an even greater desperation.

"No," he croaked and she could feel him trying to hold back the sobs as they caught in his chest. "I can't let go, I can't." The sheer hopelessness of his tone was so heartbreaking to her. She didn’t know what had happened to him these last two years, but she swore to herself that she would find out. And when she did, she could piece back together the fractures that were Spike.

"Shhh, baby," she said as she unconsciously stroked his light brown hair. "I'm not gonna go anywhere. Except maybe to the wonderful world of the unconscious if you don’t ease up a bit." Her humorous remark was greeted by a hoarse bark and she wasn’t sure whether it was a sob or a laugh. Her question was answered when Spike slowly released his hold on her enough for her to pull away.

Spike groaned inwardly at the loss of her touch but masked his disappointment with a tired smirk.

"Sorry, luv," he said sheepishly. He unabashedly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and leaned gingerly against the mirror frame, the shards of glass crackling under his weight.

"Uhh, I don’t know about you," Buffy said, still shocked, "but sitting in a pile of glass; not of the good."

"Don’t bother me too much. Guess it's a man thing." He cast her a sultry look, desperately trying to reclaim some of his manhood. "Course, there's always my lap, pet."

Buffy stared at Spike, oblivious to his comment. She studied him closely, every angle, every tone, every movement. She briefly caught his mounting unease before returning to her task. She was looking for something--anything--that could shed light on the situation. That was when she saw it.

His skin was darker, though that wasn’t saying much. It held the rich tint of someone who spent at least a modicum of time out in the sun. Still, it let her know that something besides his heartbeat was going on.

Spike couldn’t help but feel uneasy as Buffy's eyes raked across his body. Two years ago, such a visual dissection would have filled him with hope; hope that she actually had feelings for him. But that was not the case. He could tell that it was not a look of satisfaction or lust visible in her eyes, rather one of curiosity.

He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head and it wasn’t a second later that her eyes bulged, her jaw clinking to the ground.

"Jesus, Spike," she said in disbelief, her eyes again watery with tears, "you're human."

***

One of the many things that I've learned in my…unique relationship with Buffy is not to laugh at her when she is either 1) already pissed or 2) trying to make a serious point. Though I loved to see her with her knickers in a twist (and always will), rarely did I enjoy the stakes she shot at me with her eyes.

Knowing that, you would have thought I would have taken her hand in mine, nodded solemnly and said "Yes dear, the wizard made me a real boy" or something to that effect. Instead, I did something I shouldn’t have done.

I laughed.

The look on her face as she watches me double over is priceless. It's fills with an incredulity that precedes the brassed off Buffy by nary a millisecond.

"What the hell's so funny?" She stands up quickly, her balled fists resting on her hips. The sight of her like this only makes me laugh harder.

I can almost hear her eyes roll in annoyance but I am too far gone to get back to reality just yet.

"Spike," she screeches and stamps her foot hard to the ground. Of course, being the wearer of four-inch pumps causes her to stumble slightly and a litany of curses follow when she sees that her juvenile behavior has cost her one designer heel.

"Shit," she mutters and braces herself against the wall, removing the shoe. I shakily get to my feet, the laughter petering off a tad though my stomach still aches from the unexpected guffaw.

Leaning against the wall, head slumped, I feel her weighted gaze on me, waiting for some kind of response. I know this it not the same Buffy I left. How? That’s easy because if it was, I'd be halfway through the wall, propelled through the air by slayer fists.

"Sorry, Slayer," I say, wiping the tears-a mix of pain and mirth-from my eyes. Her frown softens and she eyes me with concern and…? I’m not sure what the other emotion is, but it’s something almost foreign.

Shaking off my curiosity, I lead her over to the chairs seated against the wall. I wait for her to sit and quickly follow into my own seat, exhaling dramatically as I fall into the leather.

Both of us sit there for several minutes, silently wringing our hands together, unable to sit still. I watch her fidget with the ring on her finger, as if she wants to take it off. I can’t tell you how much it hurts to know that someone has taken her heart, but I can’t really think about that now, because if I do…

"Your hand," she says, breaking the silence. Before I can respond, she has my sliced hand in hers, turning it over, examining the shards of glass lodged into my skin.

"Hold on, okay?" I watch her as she walks over to the overturned desk and I vaguely register that she picks up what must be her purse. But my attention is on something much more alluring.

She moves like a jungle cat-not so much walking as it is gliding gracefully, though her muscles are always at taut, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. She is always prepared, the confidence beating off her in waves, welcoming all challengers. That attitude, that danger hidden behind her golden tresses and smoldering eyes is what enthralled me all those years ago.

I can barely register her heartbeat as she takes her place next to me and I can’t help but feel saddened by it. There was a time where I could detect every nuance in her heart’s cadence as it pumped the rich, coppery fluid of life through her veins. With no more than a quick whiff, I could gauge her emotional state-whether she was aroused, depressed or angry. I always loved how I was in tune to every part of her, good and bad.

But now, as I watch her removing the shards from my hand with tweezers, I can’t help but mourn my loss. With the help of my senses, she was more open to me than any man could ever hope to have her and I often knew what she was thinking even before she herself did. Course, that wasn’t something she was too keen about.

"All better now."

I nod clumsily, though my eyes are still locked on hers. So many things now that are beyond my grasp, so many things I will have to relearn about this amazing woman before me. I ask myself whether or not I will like what I have to learn. I will always love her, this I know but after our upcoming re-acquaintance, will I still love her with the same intensity, with the same blind passion that I did two years ago.

As my gaze fixes onto her lips and I find my body moving towards her of its own volition, I know the answer.

"Spike," she says and gently places her hand to my chest. It is enough to break the spell, though for an instant, I could have sworn she was moving towards me as well.

"Sorry, luv," I say absently and turn away before she can see the disappointment in my eyes. Ever the masochist, I am.

"So, mind telling me how you pulled a Timmy?" Her voice is remarkably calm though I do detect a slight tremble in her voice, like she’s holding it together by a thread. Least I can do is help her through it.

"Didn’t know you watched Passions, luv." I throw her my best smirk (which is quite good, considering the situation) and she grants me a genuine smile-albeit weak-but a smile nonetheless.

"Yeah, well, as loath as I am to admit it, the show kind of grows on you; like mold," she gives me a pointed look letting me know that Passions isn’t the only thing she’s talking about.

We fall into the same uncomfortable silence of a few minutes ago, and I take to studying my feet, and from my peripheral I can tell she’s doing the same.

Finally, I work up the nerve to speak. "As much as I like this office and all, I really don’t fancy it as a place for the big tell-all," when she looks up, I steal another glance at her finger, unable to hide the bitterness that’s crawling inside of me at the thought of her being taken. I curse myself when she looks down, almost ashamed. Bugger.

I sigh heavily before standing up, offering my hand to her. She takes it nervously and I help her to her feet. Again, we stand, fidgeting on the balls of our feet as if expecting a blow. This time, however, it is her turn to break the silence.

"So…your car or mine?"

"I wager if we’re getting back to Sunny D tonight…" she nods before I continue, "then I guess it’d be right to take yours, considering you probably have things to do with it. I can send for mine later."

She looks up at me, those bright, beautiful eyes of hers penetrating my two-year old soul and I can’t help but smile at her.

"Good. We were gonna take my car anyway," she says and punches me playfully in the shoulder before turning on her heels and walking out the door. "Just wanted you to feel like you had a say in things."

I shake my head in mock disgust, muttering something about slayers and their bossiness, though I can hardly hide my budding exuberance.

As I follow her out the door, my thoughts turn to this new woman who is so much like my old love but yet different. I never would have thought I’d see her again, much less walk out of a confrontation unscathed. To have her ask me to come back home with her is more than I could ever dream of. I move to pinch myself but stop just as I’m about to. If this is a dream, I sure as bloody hell don’t fancy waking up from it.

Twenty-five minutes later, the former lovers found themselves seated comfortably in a back booth of a Waffle House. It had taken Spike fifteen minutes to retrieve two suitcases from his car as well as plan for said car to be dropped off by the following Wednesday in Sunnydale. Spike had kept a casual watch out for Rachel to no avail and he had dejectedly left the club.

Deciding on the Waffle House had been a unanimous decision. Neither could deny the call of head-sized waffles waiting to be drenched in all the syrup you could stomach. The fact that it was right off the highway and that it offered a somewhat decent amount privacy without being overbearingly quiet was simply a logistical convenience.

Both had internally decided to forego any discussions of importance until they were finished eating. So when their mouths weren't full, they relegated themselves to idle small talk ranging from sports to the weather.

Even though she had a never ending list of questions she wanted to ask, Buffy stalled as much as humanly possible because, despite her eagerness to find out what had happened in the last two years, she was terrified at those answers. Even more so, she was petrified about telling Spike about the new (and not so new) developments in her life. So she sat there, toying with what remained of her overly saturated waffles, alternating between sips of coffee and furtive glances at the man on the opposite side of the table.

Spike wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly was Buffy was doing. She was stalling, waiting for him to break this ice. See, by his guess, she probably had more than her fair share of things she was none too eager to spill, starting with the diamond on her finger.

Of course, one of the reasons he knew what she was doing was because he just so happened to be doing the exact same thing.

Staring into his now lukewarm cup of coffee, Spike wrestled with where to begin. She needed to know it all, but to know it all he had to start from the beginning. And since the beginning of his journey happened to coincide with the most shameful moment in his entire existence, it was obvious why he was more than apprehensive to begin the conversation.

Course, who said it had to start with me, he thought. If nothing, Spike was an accomplished bullshitter, with an uncanny ability to put someone on the defensive, especially Buffy. Well, the old Buffy at least. This one…don’t quite know what to do with her. He knew he could ask her questions, like how Dawn was doing, or Red. Of course, he also had wanted to blurt out 'so who's the tosser that shoved that rock on your finger?' or something to that effect. But, as things went, he didn’t see that as a viable option. Instead, he asked what he hoped to be more expecting.

"So how'd you find me?" Good. Not too personal, not too evasive either.

The question startled Buffy out of her own thoughts. She was debating whether she should start asking the questions or wait for him to explain himself. And an explanation was what she needed, because as much as she'd forgiven him, she was still hurt by the fact that he left without a word. It wasn’t so much that she needed to know why he left (she had that pretty much pegged) but why he hadn't given her a heads up. She had decided to wait him out due to her fear that the pain she still felt would stick out like a sore thumb.

Glad that he had decided to speak, Buffy gathered her thoughts. How should I answer that? Well, Spike I hired a mutual friend of ours to track you down…

"Angel," she said softly as she watched Spike's jaw clinch noticeably. In truth, she hadn't actually hired Angel so much as begged him of the favor. He was totally thrown by why she actually wanted to find his Childe and after an hour of debating, Angel had finally conceded--begrudgingly, of course.

"What'd you tell him?" Spike asked, forcing his tone to remain even. It was a little over a month ago that Spike's 'favorite' Sire came to pay him a visit. Angel never said anything about Buffy--well, that wasn’t true. What he didn’t say was how Buffy had contacted him to find Spike. When Angel had walked into the back of the club that night, murder in his eyes, there was no doubt in Spike's mind that Angel knew. And considering the thrashing the elder vampire gave him, it wasn’t just their affair that he knew about.

Spike hadn't really fought back, looking at his pummeling as just a part of his penance for his actions. Course, after it became clear that Angel was on the verge of doing to Spike what the former vampire had almost done to Buffy, the Brit had fought with tooth and nail. As it were, after beating each other senseless, the two had come to an uneasy truce.

Buffy averted her eyes at the question. She had told Angel virtually everything, with exception to the incident in the bathroom. He had been more than furious knowing that she and his Childe had slept together. Finding out that said Childe had almost raped her--no; she didn’t want to think about what Angel would have done.

"I told him…about us."

"Us?" She nodded. "'About us' what?" he couldn’t keep disdain from creeping into his tone at that.

Buffy knew what he was thinking and quickly moved to clear things up.

"I told him about us when I came back. About how you were there for me--listened to me when no one else wanted to understand. I told him that when we were--together--that I felt alive for the first time since they brought me back. Needless to say, he was a tad bit upset about that," Buffy laughed tiredly. 'A bit upset' was the ultimate of understatements.

"He wanted to kill you for what he said was taking advantage of me."

"Ever treatin' you like the little girl," Spike muttered, not ashamed of the contempt in his tone.

"Got that right," she said and when they caught each other's eye, they both smiled.

"So, anyway, like I said, he wanted to kill you. I practically had to beat him down just so he'd stop and listen to what I had to say."

"And that was?" Spike was all ears, almost not believing that this was the same girl--no, woman--that was the reigning 'Queen of Denial'. He couldn’t help but wonder how she had matured so much in the two years since he had last seen her.

"I told him that I was the one taking advantage of you. I was the one who used the love you had for me for my own selfish needs."

"Which, of course, he didn’t believe," he spat derisively. "Soulless creature like me can't love. Love's only for those with a soul. Am I right, pet?"

Buffy just stared at Spike, who didn’t bother to keep his disgust at bay. As she studied him, his eyes flickering to that cold blue he got when he was angry, she couldn’t help but giggle.

Seeing Buffy laugh had made Spike angrier than he had been in years…at least for an instant. But as he watched her shoulders shake slightly, he couldn’t help but smile back.

"What?" He asked, grinning.

"Seems like you have the 'poofter' pegged perfectly." That was enough to get them both laughing loud enough to draw the ire of several customers. Seeing the faces of the patrons only made them laugh harder and when the waitress came back to pick up their dishes, she gave them a mock evil eye before sauntering back to the kitchen, chuckling herself.

After a few minutes, the laughter died down and both slayer and ex-vampire had eyes wet with tears.

Spike was the first to recover, wiping his eyes with a napkin, his jaw stiff from smiling so much, though he'd never complain. This was a woman who he had tried to kill on more than half a dozen times and she refused to kill him. Not only that, but she also had entrusted the two most important people in the world to her to his care; never doubting that he would protect Dawn and her mother with his life. Then, in some twisted chance of fate, he had become her confidant, listening to the problems she had adjusting to the life she didn’t want anymore. That pseudo-friendship had slowly transformed into an affair that, to this day, he couldn’t come to terms with. But out of all that, what surprised him the most was that after all that he had done, culminating with his attack on her in the bathroom, they were in a restaurant, eating and laughing together as if they had been doing it for years.

Buffy watched Spike intently as he sobered up, mentally cataloguing his every twitch. She could tell that the wheels inside his head were turning…thinking about things, much the same way that she was. She had wanted to ask whether Angel confronted him about things, knowing that he probably did. Though she had told Angel not to hurt Spike, knowing the two as intimately as she did, Buffy knew that words, and most definitely fists, were exchanged.

They both were silent for a few moments and Buffy could tell that Spike wanted to say something by the way he worried his lip between his teeth. Obviously, it was something he was having a hard time bringing to words.

"Did you tell him?" he interrupted her thoughts and Buffy took a second to gather her wits.

"Tell him what?"

Spike was trying hard to give her the hint without actually saying it. Even the slightest thought of…that night…was enough to make the bile rise in his chest. She may have forgiven him, but he damn sure hadn't forgiven himself and doubted that he ever would.

Buffy only stared at Spike, waiting for him to continue, but he refused to meet her gaze. She was confused. Thirty seconds ago they had been laughing like children and now--now, Spike's head hung low, his shoulders slumped in shame…

"Oh," she said as realization hit her, "oh." Spike forced himself to look Buffy in the eye, something that was getting harder the more he thought about what he had almost done.

"No. If…if I would have told him that, it wouldn’t have mattered what I said... he would've killed you. And I really wasn’t interested in having two urns on my mantle reminding me of my two ex-boy..." she stopped in mid-sentence but it was too late. Thoroughly mortified, she buried her face in her hands and laid her head down on the table.

Spike could only stare at her in awe, his previous melancholy temporarily forgotten at Buffy's unintentional confession. It wasn’t just the fact that she had almost referred to him as her ex-boyfriend, but her casual slip of having two urns was what had lifted his hearts.

"You…would have killed Angel? --If he killed me?" He couldn’t hide the adoration from his voice and his genuine sincerity was the only reason Buffy uncovered her face.

She wanted to deny it, not wanting him to think he had meant more to her than he really did. But didn’t it? --Doesn't he? She thought to herself and didn’t answer, because she knew it was true.

Smiling bashfully, she drew circles with her finger on the table, giving Spike a knowing look.

"So--what happened?" she asked, hoping that he got the hint.

Thankfully, he did and replied with bright smile. He would drop the subject for now, content on letting her words marinate for awhile.

"Where to begin?" he said idly, falling back into serious mode.

"Well," Buffy perked, "most narratives start at the beginning--you know, cuts down on the need for back story and all."

He couldn’t help but smile, though wearily. But as he began, the smile again faded from his lips and his face became an emotionless fixture.

"I couldn’t be around you. After what I did to you, I knew things couldn’t stay like they were. So I left. I didn’t know what I was anymore. I tried…I wanted to be a man for you but I wasn’t a man. And the chip prevented me from being the monster I had been for so long," he nervously ran a hand through his highlighted locks. "I was nothing."

Buffy could hear the sadness in his voice and wanted to comfort him but she held back. Hearing this was going to be hard for both of them but it was necessary. She decided that it was better for Spike to get through it on his own as best he could. If he stumbled--really stumbled, then she would lend a shoulder for him.

"Funny thing was, I tried to blame you for everything that happened. You were eating me up inside, consuming me. My every thought was of you and I couldn’t stop it--every time I said I loved you, I tried to hate you for making me feel that way," he laughed bitterly. "But it never worked. Even that little rhubarb behind the police station wasn’t enough for me to resent you. All those months with you, being there for you in any way you needed only did one thing--it made me hate myself. Hate what I was becoming. Hate what I couldn’t be."

"But why?" Buffy asked, noting the faraway look in his eyes as they glazed over with unshed tears of frustration.

"Come now, luv. You knew me in the beginning. Weren't many things I was proud of in my existence. Being a vampire was one of them. Bloody fantastic feeling that was. Hell, even with that sodding chip shoved into my gray matter, I still knew who I was. My nature.

"But when I fell in love with you, everything changed. I was torn inside, Buffy. Torn between what was in my nature versus what I wanted to be for you. I tried to deny my feelings, to change them like I said. But the more I fought them, the more they grew until I was enveloped by everything that was you. I didn't know where you ended and I bloody began," he spat.

"Any way, after that night, after the way I felt--my mind replaying everything over and over again, I knew I had to change it. I couldn’t live like that anymore, not knowing what I was. And like I said, I tried to blame it on you--on the chip. So I decided to make that change."

"So you wanted to get the chip out?" Buffy asked, her voice eerily calm.

Spike snickered at it, having an idea of what she was thinking. "Yeah. Thought that if I had it out, things would become clear. Either I'd be back to my old self and come hunting for my third slayer…" he paused, measuring her before continuing. "Or, I could find that what I felt was real and that I had truly changed. At the time, I was really rooting for possibility number one," he saw her face fall and quickly amended his words. "Course, not for reasons you think."

"What reasons would those be, Spike?" She said in that same emotionless tone though he detected a small crack in her resolve.

"Even in my rage I knew I could never kill you, pet. No matter what you did, no matter how hurt I was, I'd never hurt you." He frowned, the scene in the bathroom rearing its ugly head again. "I could never kill you, Buffy. And if I had come back vamped up, it'd be my own death wish I'd have been here to fulfill."

"What do you mean?" She leaned forward, intrigued by his phrasing. She almost gasped in surprise when she felt his warm hands envelop hers, his glistening blue eyes boring into her.

"If I was going to be dust, Slayer, there's no one I'd rather have deliver me to oblivion than you." She smiled, despite the morbid undertones. She had been around vampires long enough to know that what he had said, though not of the sweet, shiny and happy, was a great compliment.

"There would have been a problem with that, Spike."

"And that would be?" Her eyes studied the salt shaker, the crusted up napkins on the table, anything but the bottomless pits that were his eyes. Garnering a snippet of courage, Buffy glanced at him sideways before answering,

"I could never kill you…"

Spike gaped at the slayer as if she had sprouted two heads before his lips turned up into a sheepish grin. He saw it in her eyes that she could kill him no more than he could her. It was invigorating and at the same time, scary. He thought he had known the depths of her emotions and character before he left but he now knew how wrong he was.

There were many layers to Buffy Anne Summers and he could only hope that he would be privy to re-discover even a fraction of those layers.

***

After Buffy's admission, the rest of the conversation went smoothly. Spike had been injected with a renewed vigor and he told her everything. The parts he had been most proud of were, of course, the trials. He told them with a zest that Buffy hadn't seen since their conversation in the Bronze about the two slayers he had killed.

He told her about how that ponce Lurky had stiffed him (though Spike could tell she wasn’t falling for his mock-dejection) and what it had been like those first couple of weeks as a new man. He had stopped there, saving the two years between for another time.

For all her questions, Buffy remained quiet for the majority of Spike's tale, inserting the expected 'ewws' and 'gross, Spike' when necessary. She had been enthralled with it all and had to bite down on her lip when he begrudgingly told her what he had wished for. His words of giving her what she deserved had touched Buffy's soul and the tears had once again tried to rear their mushy heads. Of course, she played it off like something had been in her eye. An excuse that he, surprisingly, let slide.

"What time is it?" She asked him, stifling a yawn.

Spike snapped his wrist over and glared at the platinum band that hung there. "Quarter to four."

"Man," she said, before stretching her hands to the ceiling. Spike couldn’t but fall into the familiar worship of the graceful movements of her body. He admired how the dress clung to her as her arms reached for the heavens, her nipples taut under the thin fabric.

"Pervert," she spat, jokingly, rustling the ex-vampire from his daze.

"Well, yeah," he replied as he stood, stretching his own limbs. He sauntered over to Buffy while she wriggled out of the booth and whispered into her ear seductively, "but you like it." He was properly re-introduced to a small, yet powerful fist into the meat of his shoulder.

"You're a pig, Spike," Buffy said smiling as she pushed past Spike to the exit.

"Oink, Oink, baby," he retorted and followed her out.

As they made it to her black Civic, both were lost in identical thoughts. It had been two years since they had last been face to face and had departed on the worst of terms. That being true neither could explain how so much of the anger and pain that had festered within both of them had been extinguished in a few short hours. Neither was under the impression that everything had been put right. On the contrary, now that the big stuff was out of the way, the little things needed to be taken care of. And they both knew that the little things often proved to be the biggest hurdles to get over. Of course, it didn’t help that one of the said 'little things' just so happened to be a tight knit group called the Scoobies.

Their thoughts running parallel, the slayer and her former lover moaned simultaneously. The Scoobies was a whole other subject. Neither was fully prepared for the confrontation that was bound to take place just a few short hours from now but it was unavoidable.

At least we have each other to lean on, they both thought as Buffy pulled out onto the highway.

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