Part IV

They had been sitting there for ten minutes, staring straight ahead through the tinted glass, neither knowing what to say or do. Both slayer and ex-vampire fidgeted with their hands that rested in their respective laps, minds racing.

"Well," Buffy said, breaking the silence, "looks like we’re here." Spike smiled tightly at her mock cheer, knowing that she was dreading what was to come just as much as he was.

"Looks like," he muttered, his voice tainted with apprehension. He craned his neck to the right, drinking in the sight of the place he last visited almost two years ago. The simple house held some of the most powerful memories he had had in his twelve plus decades of unlife. Camaraderie: when he had formed the uneasy alliance with the woman next to him, intent on sending her ex-beau, his ex-Yoda, to hell. Acceptance: how Joyce always treated him as a man and not a creature of the night. Emptiness: when he had followed Buffy after chaining her up, only to find that he had been de-invited. Hope: before the battle with Glory, he had seen what he thought was a glimmer of acceptance in her eyes, as she saw him as more than he was…more than he ever could be. Solidity and Comfort: his relationship over that summer with Dawn, how she had been there as much for him as he had been for her. There were even times where he had shared her bed, unable to quiet the inner demons of his failures, and her gentle cooing as she held him, the only solace he could find at that time. Awe and Joy: when he had seen her descend the steps, alive for the first time in 147 days, he had felt-had known-that, for one moment, his heart sputtered to life.

Those memories, however, no matter their significance, were clouded over, blackened by his one true moment of shame, the moment that would haunt him for the rest of his life. The way she clutched her robe as she glared at him with disgust, the helpless feeling of betrayal radiating from her teary eyes. How her words-"Ask me again why I could never love you"-filled with hurt and…disappointment? -crashed into him like a mace.

"You okay?" he felt her hand on his shoulders and jumped. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Spike turned to her and forced a smile.

"Just peachy, luv. Just peachy," he repeated though the last two words were hollow.

"Well, we can stay here and admire the sunrise," she said, unhooking her seatbelt, "or we can get out and get you settled."

"You know you don’t have to do this, pet," Spike said, placing a tentative hand on her arm before she stepped out the car.

The genuine smile Buffy gave Spike warmed his heart.

"I know," she stated simply before swinging her legs out the car door.

Intimating her actions, Spike removed himself from the confines of the Civic and joined her at the trunk.

The stood there, side by side, shoulders grazing as they swayed, staring into the trunk at his two bags. It really wasn’t that he needed to bring them in, considering that sometime tomorrow, he’d be checking into a decent hotel until he could get adjusted. Buffy had offered (more like insisted) that he sleep there for a few hours instead of renting a room in one of the many seedy motels that stayed open twenty-four/seven. The offer was special in of itself, but the sincerity behind it was almost his undoing. Though they had been on the highway at the time, he had wanted to plunder her lips with his, to hell with the consequences. By some miracle, however, he had refrained from that course of action and managed to only squeeze her hand that had rested on the gearshift.

"So," he said, rocking slightly on his heels, "think we should head in?"

"Why?" She asked him dazed before nudging him in the ribs playfully. "We could always be the poster people of what drugs would make you do." She finished by giggling madly.

Spike only looked at her, his lips pursed in a questioning smile. Though he had no idea what she was talking about, seeing her laugh with such life invigorated him to no end. He had rarely seen the giggly schoolgirl side of her, capturing minute glances every so often during their time together. Even when she would slip and snicker around him, she was quick to suppress it, lest she show that he was more than a 'convenience'--at least that was what he had thought. And then there was the fact that he hadn't seen her in two years.

"Tired, luv?" he smirked and when Buffy looked at him, she couldn’t help but double over in giggles. In mock-annoyance, Spike rolled his eyes and plucked a bag from the trunk before walking up to the porch, muttering something about sleep-deprived slayers.

Wiping her eyes, Buffy closed the trunk before following Spike up the steps, almost running into him when he stopped abruptly at the top of the steps.

"Uh, rude much," Buffy joked before maneuvering past him and inserting the key in the door. Just as she was about to push it open, she heard the faintest of whispers tickle at her eardrum.

She turned around tentatively and caught sight of one of the most endearing, heartbreakingly sad faces she had ever seen.

There stood Spike, one suitcase in his left hand while the other arm hung loosely at his side. His wide blue eyes were glazed over and his face was contorted in a fearful scowl, as if he was expecting to be kicked at any moment.

"Spike?" Buffy asked, concern evident in her tone. Her hand dropped from the door and she walked up to the ex-vampire with trepidation. She placed her hand gently on his shoulder, not missing his slight flinch at the contact. She bit her lower lip to keep the tears at bay and waited several moments before speaking, making sure her tone was calm yet sincere. "What is it?"

At her question, Spike was able to tear his eyes away from the door and settle on the petite woman in front of him. He could see the concern etched on her face and it warmed him, relieving some of the deadness that washed over him when his feet touched the porch. Now, more than ever, the reality of what he had done crushed his soul, pulling it down into the depths of grief and shame and he all but knew that it would drown him if not for his lifeline that was the slayer--the one he had hurt above all others.

But that wasn’t entirely accurate, he knew. There was someone else, someone he loved just as much as Buffy, albeit in a different way, that he knew he had hurt just as much by leaving. The one person who had held him together when he had wanted nothing more than to greet the sun. The one person who had accepted him, from day one, as a person and not some evil fiend. The one person that considered him a best friend and had, numerous times, shown him affection when no one else dared. The person that was even more beautiful and radiant than her namesake. Just behind those doors, she was somewhere in there, sleeping. And as hard as it had been to face the slayer, Spike didn’t know if he could survive the hurt and disappointment that would wash over the youngest Summers' face.

After what seemed like an eternity to the former lovers, one word crept from Spike's constricted throat.

"What did you say?" Buffy asked and moved a few inches closer in order to hear his whispers.

"Dawn," he murmured a single tear slowly crawled down his face, his eyes refocusing on the door in front of them.

***

I watch as a tear trickles down Spike's face and, for a brief moment, there is no confusion as to how I feel about the man before me. There is no Angel of the past or Garrett of the present. All there is here and now, for my future, is Spike--my William. In that moment I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with him, loving him. Gone are my worries about my friends or needing time to heal for there is nothing to heal. In that brief moment, the time that spans half a heartbeat, one eye blink, my whole world comes together as it never had before and I feel safe. I feel loved. But more than that, I feel content.

But as all things come to an end so, too, does that moment.

I step back slightly, shaken by the previous swirl of my thoughts. I don’t even think about his reaction to it but, thankfully, I don’t have to worry. He is still transfixed on some invisible spot on the door. Fine, look at the door, I think and immediately reprimand myself. This isn't about me at all; this is about Spike being terrified of coming face to face with the one person, aside from Mom, that treated him like the man that he was--the man he is now.

"Spike," I say again and grab his free hand. He doesn’t hesitate to take it and I feel that same strength in his grip in my fingers as was in his arms when he hugged me earlier. My eyebrows arch in confusion at the strength I feel there but that can wait. My main goal now is to somehow coax him through the door. It sounds easy but if you saw his face right now, it'd remind you of a rabbit, ready to bolt at the slightest noise.

"C'mon, Spike. We both need to get some sleep," I say and motion toward the door. He shakes his head as if to disentangle his brain from the cobwebs and gives me a plastic grin. I give him a supportive smile before opening the door, slowly with Spike reluctantly in tow.

Once we cross the threshold, part of Spike's tension melts away, though from the haunted look in his eyes, a good portion still remains.

We stand there for several minutes, silently (something that has become quite the habit tonight). Though his eyes flutter around the house, I catch him stealing furtive glances toward the steps. If it weren't for the pain that I know he's in, the indecision in his eyes would be cute. As it is now, I can only feel sympathy for what he's going through as well as what is still to come.

"So," he says, rocking back and forth on his heels, "I'm guessin' I'll be couch-bound tonight, eh?" He looks at me awaiting an answer that I can't give him right at this moment. Why, you ask? Well, it'd probably have to do with those eyes staring at me from under the sexiest eyelashes I have ever seen.

Forcing myself out of the temporary paralysis, I smile at him before replying. "No, you can sleep in my room," I say a bit too chipper and furrow my eyebrows at his look of utter, and complete, shock.

"Your room?" he whispers and I barely hear it.

"Yeah," I wave my hand in front of me for emphasis, "it's no big, in case you're worried. Since Willow moved…" and then it dawn's on me--the bulging eyes, the swiveled jaw, the now rigid posture of his body. And then I retrace what I had just said.

You can sleep in my room--Oh God!

"I mean…you know…'my room' as in my old room. As in the room I no longer sleep in 'my room'," I know I'm babbling but I can't help it. I can feel the heat exploding throughout my body and I can only imagine the depth of my blush.

Oh course, even after the angst 'fest of the last several hours, the traditional smirk of Spike--see Spike's smirk--is firmly in place, though the anguish he's feeling is still near the surface.

"Oh, right," he says and steals another look at the steps, "so, I'm wagering that you're in your Mum's old room."

"You'd be wagering correctly. And hey; more space, bigger bed. I even have my own bathroom with white tiles and…" I stop as the unpleasant memory of cool tile against my flesh ransacks its way into my mind. I look up at Spike and I see the same wretched pain on his face that is undoubtedly on mine as well.

As per usual for this night, we fall into another lull of silence, with me studying the floor, as if waiting for a comfortable word to be said to alleviate the tension that has stealthily crept its way under my flesh. The same tension that I had thought banished after I had had it out with Spike back at the club. Guess I should have known that it wouldn't be that easy.

"Slay…Buffy," he uses my name again, more times tonight than in our whole history together. "Dawn--I don’t know if I can face her," he chokes out and his lips quiver, eyes thick with tears that he holds back and I can't help but see him now as a little boy, afraid of what his parents will say when they find out his horrible secret.

I take his bag from him, gently setting it on the floor before taking his hands in mine. Our fingers intertwine and I can't help but feel a shock of lighting run through me; that same shock I get every time he touched me. Guess it's not reserved for only the vampire Spike. I stare up into his wide eyes, capturing a glimpse of my reflection in them and for a moment, our souls connect, and everything falls away. A rush of air courses through my veins and everything around me is gone, replaced only with the soft colors of the sky. There is no ground to stand upon, no walls to be sheltered within. There is only me, floating into a blissful nothingness, the touch of my lover all that I feel.

But as quick as it surfaces, the…experience is gone and I am back here, staring into the eyes of a lost man.

"Spike…"

"I'm serious," he says, his breathing becoming ragged. He shuts his eyes tightly and I whine at the lost eye contact until I see a trickle of a tear escape from underneath his eyelid.

"I…I can't face her. Besides your Mum, she's the only person that treated me like a man all the time. She never looked at me like she hated me," he laughs humorlessly, "even when that business came up about chaining you to my crypt. Even then, I saw that she didn’t despise me. But this," he lowered his head, "this…is different. I left her without so much as a goodbye."

His head shoots up and his eyes open unnaturally wide and my heart picks up the pace. In that one instant the look--totally and completely out of control, lost--reminds me of the ill-fated conflict in the bathroom…

"Buffy?" his voice is pained and I notice that he isn't as close as he was before. At first I think he stepped away until I feel the banister digging into the small of my back.

"Oh God," the words come out as a whisper and I barely register that they are coming from me. I run a hand through my hair, dislodging the scrunchie holding it in a ponytail.

"Luv," Spike prods gently as he closes the distance between him. I look up at those beautiful blue eyes of his for a moment before sitting on the bottom step.

"What's wrong?" he asks, kneeling in front of me. I stare at him and I can't help but notice the way he's kneeling looks all to familiar--like he's about to propose. I laugh harshly, covering my mouth with both hands.

"Buffy, are you all right?" he asks and brushes a stray lock of hair from my eyes. Am I okay? How should I answer that? Well, aside from the fact that I experienced momentary bliss with you and then was sent directly to the hell that was our last time together, I'm peachy. Not to mention that you sitting there like that is reminding me of someone else, someone whose ring I wear. I wonder if I should say all this aloud and quickly think not.

"I'm fine," I smile mechanically and I know that he doesn't buy it--when did he ever buy it? "It's just that…"

"Just that what?" His body tenses as if expecting a blow. Damn, I've seen that on more than one occasion tonight.

"She knows," I say simply though there is nothing simple about the implications of those two words.

I had thought that when I confronted him earlier, hurling insult after insult, almost trying to cajole him into raping me again, that he had looked more defeated than I had ever seen him.

I didn’t know how wrong I was.

I can tell he knows exactly what I'm talking about as his eyes widen in abject terror, before he falls to his butt, his arms falling to his sides insubstantial, as if they were made of Jell-O. His whole body begins to tremble and I am lost at what to do.

"I can't stay here," he whispers, his face awash in tears once more. Before kneeling in front of him, I can't help but think that I have never seen so many tears shed between two people in one day. It's bordering on the ridiculous--though I wager two years of pent-up pain and guilt has a way of doing that.

"Spike," I coo and try to bring him into a hug and he scrambles backwards. A stab of pain lances my gut at his reaction before I push it away and crawl towards him. If it were any other time, he'd be on me like a cat, divesting me of all my garments before taking me six ways from Sunday. But now he only looks at me, though he doesn’t really see me. Then I see his eyes focus and he takes on an emotionless veneer.

"Did you tell her?" His voice is flat, devoid of anything Spike, save for the accent.

"Spike…no, I didn’t."

His forehead creases and he asks, "How did she find out?" I break eye contact with him, not wanting him to know about Xander finding me--after. After furious deliberation, I sigh and decide to tell him. It's not like he won't find out sooner or later--with an emphasis on the sooner.

"When you left…after the bathroom…" my throat constricts and I consciously ignore the sting in the back of my throat, "Xander found me." After those three words leave my mouth, the transformation that takes place before me is unsettling and the hairs at the back of my neck bristle in almost the same way they do when a vampire is near. And for the first time in years, I am afraid of the man that is Spike.

His eyes mutate into a dark blue, his brow furrows into sharp creases and his body tenses, ready to kill. It still amazes me how Spike can go from sympathetic or broken to the hard and murderous visage in the blink of an eye. It reminds me of the time when he was here, trying to comfort me after the debacle of a visit from that social worker. I threw his support right back in his face. He stalked up to me with anger flashing in his eyes and for that one moment, I was afraid that he would kill me. Though I was afraid in the bathroom, it was a different kind of fear all together. Even as he tore at my clothes, I never thought he would kill me--but that one moment that, ironically, occurred in this very foyer, I thought that he was.

I shake the thoughts of the past off and reach out to him. His skin is fiery hot and his muscles are even more strained than I previously thought.

"Spike," I breathe his name out as if it is a life-giving substance and in a way, it is. No; will not go there.

"Spike," I say more forcefully and he snaps his head back towards me and the murderous gaze disappears.

He looks at me as if for the first time before hanging his head again. "I don’t know if I can do this, luv," he murmurs.

Taking his face into my hands, I give him my best steely glare. He almost smiles at the determination he sees in my eyes before resigning himself to whatever I have to say.

"You can, Spike," I say, tightening my grip on him face minutely. "You can, and you will." He stares at me for several moments as if searching for…something. He nods his head almost imperceptibly, I guess finding what he was looking for, and takes my hand. He stands, pulling me with him and gives me a bone weary smile.

"Right you are, luv. I can do this," he tells me though I know it's more of a pep talk to himself than to me.

"Well, then, let's go," I tell him and make my way up the steps. I feel him hesitate before he follows me up.

As we settle him into my old room, mindful of Dawn sleeping, I can't help but worry about the coming days. There is going to be so much that he going to need to deal with that I don’t think he can do it alone. Of course, that last part really doesn’t matter since I will be here for him every step of the way.

***

Thirty minutes after Buffy had shown him in, Spike laid under the covers on his back, hands folded comfortably behind his head. With everything that happened today, he was emotionally drained. He just wanted to sleep for the next week and still that wouldn’t be enough. The last six hours had been a roller coaster of emotions almost too much to handle. Seeing Buffy for the first time in two years. The things she had said to him. How she had asked him to come back with her (despite her obvious attachment to someone else, part of him scuffed). And then there was the whole stepping through the doors of 1630 Revello Drive. Yeah, tonight had been just one of those nights where the unexpected reared its ugly (and sometimes welcome) head.

But despite the battle he had fought tonight, the next few days were going to be a monster. Seeing the gang again was going to be on the other side of awkward, especially with Dawn and the whelp knowing what had gone down in the bathroom. The scorn he was bound to get from Xander didn’t pain him nearly as much as seeing Dawn--her contempt and hatred would probably burn holes through him. He knew it was something he deserved and expected--still, it wouldn’t make it any easier.

No, he was not looking forward to this at all.

Though unaware of it, Buffy was having the same problem sleeping, as was her ex-lover in the other room. Her sheets were tangled from her tossing and turning as her mind raced to think of what to tell the others tomorrow. She'd all but given up hope on reaching out to Xander--he would probably hate Spike regardless of the human changes in the former vampire. Buffy didn’t think Willow would be too hard on Spike, considering she had almost ended the world. The depth of forgiveness the redhead now carried was only equal to the compassion that had made Tara such a warming confidant. As for Giles…well, that would be as complicated as the whole Xander issue. Though Giles was much more mature about things, seeing Spike after what he had done to Buffy--she just hoped that the Ripper part of her Watcher was buried quite deep when the reunion came around. And Anya was Anya. Buffy knew the vengeance demon wouldn’t hold anything against Spike--well after giving him a thorough talking to.

As much as she was worried about the Scoobies reactions, she was just as afraid as Spike was of what her sister's reaction would be. When Dawn had found out that Spike was gone, she was hurt and it hurt her even more when she found out what he had almost done to Buffy. It wasn’t until Buffy told her the whole sordid story that Dawn managed to forgive him for that. The thing that she couldn’t, or hadn't, forgiven was that he had left. Left just like her father did. Left just like Buffy and her mother did. That first month after the whole Willow ordeal was the hardest. For whatever reasons, after getting over the attempted-rape issue, the teen had thought that she had something to do with her best friend leaving and Buffy knew all too well what that felt like. It had been a time of bonding for them, and now, they were as close as two sisters could be.

But after that first month, Dawn never mentioned Spike and anytime she saw the leather duster hanging in the closet, she would sneer in disgust before walking out. And that was just a piece of clothing. What would she do--or worse, say--when she saw the real thing? Buffy knew that Dawn was almost as good as she was in hurling hurtful barbs. But it didn’t matter if she wasn’t as good as Buffy, what mattered was that Spike loved Dawn just as much as he loved her. The look on his face earlier had told the slayer that much.

Sighing, she pulled Mr. Gordo into a tight hug. No doubt about it--tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Somewhere, faraway, he heard it. It was a gentle rapping, like a child’s hand looking for entrance into his or her parents’ room. It was one born of excitement, yet filled with trepidation. It clawed at him through the haze of sleep, dragging him from the subconscious realm of dreams to the oft times painful region of consciousness.

"Spike?" the distant-though closer than before-voice wafted into his ears. The familiarity of it ushered the haze of sleep from his exhausted mind and he sat up in bed reflexively.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice still hoarse from sleep. He rubbed his eyes, listening to the door creek open and a petite figure entered the room.

"You decent?" Buffy asked after taking two steps into the room. It had taken all her willpower to refrain from just busting open the door. Even after two years, knocking on Spike’s door-rather, knocking down Spike’s door-was just as unconscious a reflex as breathing.

"Always," came his sardonic reply.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy walked the rest of the way in. She stopped briefly as she made out the well-muscled form of her ex-lover as the sheets piled around his waist. Shaking her head, she mandated herself to walk forward, despite the familiar ache residing just a bit too far south for her comfort.

"I see you’ve maintained your undying humility," she added dryly, muttering something about vain and sarcastic ex-vampires under her breath.

"I’ll have you know," he replied with mock-indignation, "that this fine body here was sought after by the finest of…"

"Hoes?" Buffy interrupted, not entirely hiding the trace of jealousy from her tone. Of course, even the hint of that particular emotion was not hidden from Spike.

"Jealous, luv?" he asked, arching his eyebrow in that ‘way’ that Buffy had to admit was quite sexy.

"Jealous?" Buffy repeated, trying in vain to sound incredulous. But even to her, it sounded stiff and contrived.

Spike gave her a trademark smirk, pleased at the little revelation. Buffy was jealous! He was just about to make another sardonic remark when a sliver of light crawled through the curtain, reflecting off the small, yet brilliant, diamond lodged on Buffy’s ring finger.

Buffy was waiting for Spike to say something else about her jealousy-yes, she could admit to herself that she was jealous thinking about anyone having him, even if she would never be with him. She waited for the words to come from his open mouth only to catch the light that had bloomed from his eyes when she had walked into the room, fade upon itself until it was invisible. His face, full of humor and mirth, shut down, to be replaced by the stoic and emotionless mask that she knew too well. He was hiding the hurt and Buffy just wished that she could alleviate him of that pain.

"Spike…" she started but he waved her off.

"So where’s the Niblet?" He stared at the chain around her neck, her hair draped across one shoulder, even her eyebrows. But he avoided her eyes at all costs. What a fool he was! Did he really expect to come back and her not move on? Well, to be honest, since he didn’t plan on returning, her moving on was a moot point, though he hoped that she’d find a good bloke to treat her right. It really wouldn’t have an effect on him, now would it? What did they always say? Out of sight, out of mind. That was how he planned to handle everything, but she just had to show up, begging him to come back.

And who was the ponce that agreed to come back? He thought bitterly. Buffy didn’t twist his arm, (though he didn’t doubt that she would have if he hadn’t been so cooperative), so he couldn’t put it on her. Maybe he could put it on the whelp…hell, Xander was the one that brought Construction Boy with him at her party two years ago, he probably introduced her to the git who gave her that ring, too.

As much as he wanted to ask her about it all, Spike was terrified. For some reason, putting it all to words made it all the more real-and that was something he just couldn’t deal with. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"Slayer?" Buffy winced at the coolness of his tone. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, thoughts that had been muddled by the prospect of telling Spike some things he may or may not be able to deal with. But what did it matter? It wasn’t like they would ever be together, would it? No, it was impossible. They couldn’t be in the same room for more than a few minutes without either screwing each other silly or ripping into each other with scathing words and forceful punches.

But that was the old Buffy and Spike, her newly found voice admonished.

But that part of us will always be there and you know it, the old voice screamed, and settled down, smugly when it felt Buffy’s response. It was right. No matter how much they changed, underneath it all, under the brand new way of thinking and the new exterior, they were still the same Buffy and Spike, respectively. Even if things were different, even if her emotions weren’t running high enough…

"She’s gone…" Buffy said absently. She shook herself from the cusps of depression before masking her face with a cheesy smile. "Left a note saying she and some of her soon-to-be graduate friends went out to shop. There’s a big party tonight she’s going to. You know? Celebrate graduation and all."

"She’s not going to set off commencement by blowing up a huge snake in the school, now is she?"

Buffy looked horrified at Spike, who smirked with almost a familiar smirk to him. Still, something was missing.

"How did you…?"

"Well, one of the many perks with bein’ best friends with the Slayer’s sister," he said smugly, leaning back into the pillows, "is that you get all the dirt on said Slayer." He chuckled at her fish out of water pout and Buffy made a conscious effort not to leer at the way his stomach muscles bunched as his body shook with laughter…

Just like it shook when you were on top of him, his manhood buried to the hilt inside of you…

"Yeah? Well, guess I’m gonna have to have a talk with the sister when she gets back." She was almost going to start back to teasing him when she saw his demeanor fall and this time she was sure that it wasn’t because on the still-yet-to-be-explained ring on her finger.

"Still dreading it, huh?" she asked though she already knew the answer.

"Nope. Actually looking forward to having my intestines ripped from my belly and stuffed down my throat. Followed by a nice, pointy stake to the heart-not that it’d matter," his words, though sarcastic, held no bite to them.

Instinctively, Buffy’s hand found Spike’s thigh and she squeezed it reassuringly.

"You know you’re not gonna be doing this alone, don’t you?" His eyes were locked on her hand-the same one that happened to be adorned with a special trinket of jewelry and when she noticed, Buffy had to forcefully keep her hand in place.

After several agonizingly slow seconds, Spike lifted his head and his blue eyes locked on her hazel jewels.

"Yeah," he said weakly, "and it means a lot to me, luv. More than I can express to you." And then, just like last night, everything was perfect. The room disappeared around them, and all that existed was Spike and Buffy, finally together, finally at peace with one another.

The moment passed as the phone rang, snapping them both out of their haze.

"Better get that, luv," Spike chided.

Reluctantly, Buffy rose from the bed and headed out the door. A split second later, she poked her head back in.

"Why don’t we go to lunch after you get dressed," the Slayer suggested.

"Love to, but I have to get a room and…"

"Ok," she interrupted, "let me amend that. We are going to lunch after you get all goody smelling." And with a bright smile that tugged at Spike’s heart, she was out the door.

Shaking his head, Spike swung his legs out from under the covers and placed them on the soft carpet. The fabric under his bare feet relaxed him, something he hadn’t really felt since stepping through the door last night, or rather, this morning. If he was going to face the gauntlet that was in store for him, he needed all the relaxation he could get.

After a few minutes of stretching, Spike grabbed his toiletries from his bag and walked into the bathroom. His thoughts turned to Buffy and the new light that radiated from her. Whatever had happened after he left had given Buffy that same bright light he remembered seeing when he first laid eyes on her all those years ago. He still couldn’t fathom the depths of her resolve. It was only one thing on the list of many that he loved about her. That made him fall so helplessly in love with her again. That wasn’t exactly true, though, now was it? He had never fallen out of love with her to start with. Being with her, though, did make him love her even more, something he thought wasn’t possible.

But she had moved on, so he had to do the same. He didn’t deserve her, never did and he had to get used to that fact. The upside was that she had made sure that he would become a part of her life again and even that felt like it was too good for him.

Lost in his thoughts, as the heated water cascaded down his skin, Spike didn’t even notice the fact that he was now in the room that had changed his life forever…

Twenty-five minutes later, Spike was dressed and headed downstairs. He wore a white tank top with coal-black khakis and black designer boots. His hair, still wet, bounced atop his head as he clamored down the steps with a bright smile on his face. As much as he tried, he couldn’t hide his excitement for spending the day with his new friend--Buffy. Though a part of him lamented at the 'friend' aspect of it all, he couldn’t help but remain grateful for her offering that.

Hopping over the banister, Spike landed on the balls of his feet, hardly making a sound. Still got some of the Big Bad left, I do. The shower had eased much of the tension that the coming day brought and he had decided that, before the debacle that would be his re-acquaintance with the Scoobies, he would have all the fun he could stand. Starting with sneaking up on the Slayer.

As the kitchen came into view, he saw her sitting on the island, her back turned. She was staring out the window, her head cocked to the side. This is just too perfect; he thought and was about to make his move when she spoke.

"Garrett, stop," she chuckled. Spike stiffened at the way she said the man's name, a flare of jealousy rippling through him.

"I don’t know when," Spike noticed her voice had become more serious. "No, it's okay. I mean I know this is hard on you, too. I'm glad you understand…whatever--jerk," he knew she was trying to hide her smile at the last comment. Not wanting to intrude (and definitely not wanting to hear her say something that would surely break his heart) Spike leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed at the chest before coughing discreetly.

Buffy yelped at the cough, jumping off the island and dropping the phone. She picked it up and glared evilly at Spike, whose only reply was the traditional smirk.

"Sorry, ba…Garrett. Oh, nothing. It was no on…" she stopped after catching the tinge of hurt that crossed Spike's face before amending her statement. "It's one of my best friends…the one I went to see in San Diego…yes, Garrett, him…. Please don’t start with that--I'm gonna have my hands full already when it comes to Xander and Dawn…**she laughed**…you two are just alike…" Spike saw the smile disappear and a frown crease her face. "Garrett, look, if I can get over it, you can too…shit, Xander shouldn’t have even told you…Yeah, that's part of the reason, but you and I both know how he feels about Spike and he just wanted someone else to hate him too…. But you should know, I told you what happened…you didn’t need to know all of it…okay, this is getting no where and I have to go…no, I am not trying to avoid it…ok, well maybe I am…out to lunch. Anything else, oh Emperor of Buffy? --Shut up. Okay, talk to you later."

She clicked off the cordless, set it on the island, and stared intently at Spike. Though he was slightly (no, very) disappointed at Buffy's obvious affection for whomever was on the other line, he was determined not to let it ruin his day--well not too much, at least.

"So," he said and sauntered into the kitchen, his shirt clinging to his muscles, "who was the git on the other end?"

Buffy stared at Spike, though there was hardly any malice in it. In truth, it was quite the opposite.

Although she had seen him shirtless earlier in bed, she really didn’t get as good a look as she was getting now. He had put on about twenty pounds of muscle. His chest, though retaining that steely hardness, puffed out more and his arms were even more defined (though she noticed they weren't super-veiny, thank goodness) His legs were also affected by the change, his thighs in particular--that much was evident even through the loose fitting khakis.

After the once-over, Buffy realized she was staring and a hot flush crept up her face and neck. Spike laughed to himself, though on the outside he maintained the same sultry veneer. At least I know I still affect her, he told himself, registering the glazed over look of lust he was all-too familiar with.

Taking in the rest of the scene before him, Spike whistled appreciatively at her attire. Her hair was braided in a tight ponytail and she was wearing a crème-colored tank top that exposed her midriff if she raised her arms slightly. Matching Capri pants and a pair of Skechers completed the ensemble.

He stopped about a foot in front of her and, despite his lessened senses, he could still smell the tinge of arousal intermixed with her vanilla shampoo. Deciding to be bold, Spike leaned over to her, brushing his cheek against her and whispered in her ear, "Very nice."

Buffy could hardly breathe. This close to him was too much. What pissed her off, though she was powerless to fight it, was the fact that she knew he was doing this on purpose. As his skin brushed against hers, that same aching pressure, too low to mention, coursed through her and she wanted nothing more than to feel all of him against her.

As he pulled away, Buffy unconsciously placed her hand on his chest. Spike was caught off-guard by this, considering that he was the one that was supposed to be playing the game. Her tiny hand burned through him, effecting him no less than it did when his skin was cool. It was different but, at the same time, familiar. He stared down into her eyes, as lust-filled as he had ever seen them. Her lips were slightly parted and her chest heaved up and down. Her neck craned forward minutely but it was enough to spark him to action.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Buffy realized what was going to happen as Spike leaned down, his lips parting further with every inch he closed between them. Part of her was screaming not to, reminding her of Garrett while the other part wanted nothing more than to have him on the floor. As it was, a third part won out, waiting for him to make contact before deciding…

Spike's heart was hammering in his chest as he closed the gap between Buffy's lips and his own. His forehead had broken out in a light sweat when she had first touched him and now, he felt a trickle of perspiration claw down the side of his face. The hands that were once dormant at his side were now lightly grasping Buffy by the waist, pulling her forward. They were almost there and, on instinct, he closed his eyes, noticing before he did, that Buffy did the same. For two years, he had dreamed about this moment, never expecting it to happen. But it was about to happen. So close…so close…so…

"Hey, Buffy I forgot my…" the voice came as the back door was pulled open. The former lovers jumped at the noise and backpedaled from one another, shocked by what had almost happened.

"Spike?" Came the familiar voice of the teen and both finally cast eyes toward the door. Standing with her eyes bulging, mouth agape, was Dawn.

"Hey, Niblet," Spike managed, running a hand through his moist hair. Though his heart hammered in his chest, it was fear that now drove it. He forced himself to look his Niblet in the eye and was almost elated at what he saw.

Her brilliant embers lit up with love and excitement at seeing him and, for a moment, her joy was barely contained. But as moments are, it passed and what took its place broke Spike's heart.

Her green eyes held a gaze as cold as Spike had seen any demon with. Her face was a mask, unreadable though everything was in her eyes. The cold gaze not only held hurt and contempt, but a loathing Spike had not known her capable of. And when she spoke, her voice razor sharp and unforgiving, Spike tried to force the tears from welling.

"What the hell are you doing here?" All he could do was close his eyes because he knew the tears would not listen.

Part V

Seven words.

That was all it had taken to transform the heated atmosphere of the kitchen into a chilled, oppressive wasteland of hurt.

Not ten seconds before, Spike had been so close to realizing his dream of the last two years; to have his lips joined against Buffy’s once more. He had been so close to feeling the love of his life pressed against him, not in comfort, but in desire for him. He had seen it in her eyes, how they had glistened at him, taking him in and, for a brief moment, he felt that she was seeing him for the first time. For two years, all he had thought about was her looking up at him in acceptance.

Now, all that crossed the former vampire's mind was what he could say to this girl--no, young woman--that stared at him with a contempt that crushed his already aching heart. Not having the courage to meet her eyes again, Spike took to staring at his feet as one hand nervously ran through his hair.

Buffy had been just as surprised at her reaction to Spike as he was. The warmth that had spread throughout her body as his hands rested on her hips had been even more intense than the deep embrace they shared the night before. She had a feeling as to why, but her brain could not quite process the information since all she could see were the waves of disdain that radiated from her little sister like a sick plague. The intensity of the air was suffocating and Buffy pulled unconsciously at her shirt, pleading for air to grace her lungs reasonably.

She stared at Dawn, whose rigid posture reminded Buffy of a rattlesnake, coiled to strike and the slayer frantically searched for the words to diffuse the oncoming apocalypse before it came to pass.

"Dawn," she finally managed, though her voice was devoid of both strength and authority.

Dawn chanced a brief glance at her sister before returning her eyes to the one person she hated more than anyone. It was ironic that it was the same person that she had held more faith in than anyone else--the same person that had not left, not like her dad or mom, not like Buffy. He was the only safe thing in her life, watching over her when the others were too busy to notice, or care. He was her first love (at least that is what she thought) and her best friend and he treated her not like a child but an adult and with that, he held her accountable as such. A part of her couldn’t help but smile at how proud he would be when he found out how much she had grown up and all she wanted was to see that doting smile saved especially for her. She wanted to see him swoon at how she had grown into such a beautiful young woman. But that sliver of her was beaten down, gagged and locked away in the recesses of her mind, hijacked by the anger and pain of what he had done to her.

He left.

When she had first found out what he had tried to do to Buffy, she was beyond hurt. It hadn't mattered the reasons, there were no excuses for what he had done and Dawn had sworn she would never forgive him, despite how that promise to herself had ripped into her guts. It wasn’t until Buffy had pled with her to let it go that Dawn forgave him. Though she had denied it, the usually oblivious Buffy had seen right through Dawn's façade of indifference and the teen had cried in Buffy's arms that night though she didn’t know why until several months later; it had been then that she accepted the fact that she would never see him again. She had forgiven him for hurting Buffy, but Dawn would never forgive him for leaving when she needed him most. When they needed him most.

The anger surging through her blood was barely enough to mask the hurt and elation at seeing him and her inherited stubbornness was all that kept Dawn from running into his arms, crying into his chest. Despite her resolve, however, Dawn couldn’t prevent the single tear that cascaded down her cheek just as Spike brokered the courage to look her in the eye.

"Niblet," he choked, his throat burning painfully. He didn’t realize he was moving until his hand hesitantly wiped the stray tear from her cheek. He pulled away when he saw the minute flinch of her eyes, the seething hatred dying down to a fraction of what it was. The mask was broken and Spike saw as the young woman slowly crumbled and the wide-eyed, gangly teen with a crush on him crawled to the surface.

Spike waited nervously as her eyes began to water in earnest and her mouth opened to say something before a double toot of a horn broke the spell.

All three occupants jumped at the unexpected noise and Buffy inhaled sharply. She had watched with a gnawing fear as Spike walked over to her sister and was more than surprised when Dawn hadn't lashed out at him. She didn’t even move, from what Buffy saw, when he brushed her cheek and she knew that it would only a matter of seconds before her little sister threw her arms around the former vampire and sobbed her heart out.

But with the moment interrupted, Dawn came back to her senses and frowned as she noticed Spike's proximity to her. Without thinking, she pushed past him and into the living room, muttering to Buffy that she had forgotten her wallet. Seconds later, the thundering slam of the front door let the couple realize that they were again alone.

Neither spoke for several minutes, lost in their own thoughts. The pain in Buffy's chest was a shared pain and she empathized with both her ex-lover and sister. She had been there when Dawn had given up hope of ever seeing Spike again and the teen had fallen into a depression that had been worse than when their mother had died. Thankfully, it hadn't lasted long and when it was over, she had never mentioned Spike again. Though she was not rude, Dawn let her displeasure show if his name was ever mentioned by calmly walking out of the room. Of course, the worst had been the issue over the leather duster.

At first, after Dawn had forgiven Spike for his attack on Buffy, she had begged her older sister to let her wear it on patrol and the elder Summers had begrudgingly assented. For two months they alternated between wearing it on patrol until one night Dawn had thrown it in a garbage can, intent on setting it afire. Buffy had stopped her before she lit the match but it had disturbed the slayer greatly. Dawn never told her why she was going to do it but Buffy had seen the glassy look of her sister's eyes and knew…

That had been the night when she had given up, and Buffy's heart broke. Dawn had run to Buffy's arms and cried, the duster crushed between them. Buffy held her for over an hour before the tears subsided and that had been the last time Dawn had cried over Spike.

In truth, it had been the last time Dawn had cried over anything--until today.

Buffy didn’t know what to think or do as she watched Spike. She wanted to go to him and comfort him, but where would that lead? She didn’t trust herself enough to offer only a kind word without it being followed by a gentle caress that would, in turn, melt into a reassuring kiss that… No, she would let him break the silence when he was ready. She only hoped that when he did want to talk that her words would be enough.

Spike leaned weakly against the counter top, a hand covering his face as the other helped support his shaky legs. He couldn’t believe how beautiful his Niblet had become and for a moment he could almost forget about the pain and anger in her eyes and focus on the young woman that was ready to walk out into the world. God, he was so proud of her and all he wanted to do was embrace her and whisper it to her as he stroked her hair.

But it was a fleeting vision as reality came crashing down around him. For an instant, Spike had seen her elation from seeing him though it had been quickly buried and though her anger had almost overwhelmed him, the other emotion that was within her completely sideswiped him. It had been in Buffy's eyes that night and he'd know it anywhere.

Disappointment.

For whatever reason, disappointment was harder than anger to deal with. At least with anger, he could offer his body or mind to be ripped and shredded in two, until the rage was satiated. Hell, he had done that very thing with Buffy on several occasions, letting her pound him into oblivion just because he knew that it was a sort of therapy to her, allowing her to release emotions that she could not figure how do deal with in any other way. True, it was violent and painful, but he had always been a masochist at heart. He chuckled as he thought of when Buffy had told him that--how he was in love with pain. The dry amusement quickly faded as his mind pictured two sets of green eyes. They were different shades but both held the same air of disappointment that reached into his guts and tore straight into his soul and all the fists in the world wouldn't make it better for either one. Neither Buffy nor Dawn could seek the closure they needed by Spike offering his body as a punching bag. Luckily, Buffy seemed to be coming around and he hoped he would never see that look in her face again. But Dawn--that was a different story.

A story with a gaping hole in its plot that he had no idea how to fix.

***

The walk to the Expresso Pump is relatively both short and definitely silent. The shock of seeing Dawn is still registering within me and I have no idea what to do about it. I had thought the guilt of one hundred years of killing was bad, but it's nothing compared to the look I saw today in my Niblet's eyes.

My Niblet. Can't really call her that anymore. She has grown so much in two years and not only visually. I can see the difference in her aura clear as the sun rising in the east. The fractured and self-conscious girl I knew is gone and I want to cry for that. Not because she has grown but because I wasn't here to see it.

God, I sound like the great poof himself. Next thing you know, I'll be stuck with high hair and someone will show up explaining the less than finer points of my new little body--namely that I'd have to get my rocks off with five of my closest friends.

Bugger that; I'd kill myself before that happens. Course, it's been two years since…well, it's been two years.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Buffy asks, her eyes shine spectacularly in the midday sun and I can see her wonder at seeing me in the light for the first time.

"Just hoping my little transformation doesn’t bugger up me hole like Peaches," she smiles at me and the little tinglies under my skin are alive and kicking once again.

"Why do you call him that? Peaches, I mean?"

I take a sip from my mocha (not too bad, though still not on par with some good ole English brew, or a nice shot of the dancing worm) and smirk, with just a touch of sensuality thrown in for good measure. Oh, it works all right and I hide my satisfied smile when her cheeks blush slightly and her eyes fall to her cup of joe.

"You don’t wanna know, luv," I reply, "you don’t wanna know." She nods, taking my word for it and I'm glad for that. Sure as hell don't wanna break it to her about her first love's past sexual proclivities.

We are silent for several minutes, taking in the scenery on this lovely day and, on the side, casting glances at one another like some shy teenagers. I can't help but admire how beautiful she is with the rays of the sun bouncing from her golden skin and it puts me in mind of an angel. Not one of the stumpy little baby angels with the fat wings and diapers, but the scary-as-hell-smiting-down-armies-with-a-single-swipe-of-a -sword angel. She is deadly in her element, bringing death upon demons like a plague. But she is just as deadly in the light of day, her radiance threatening to blind all who dare look upon her. Cor, she is beautiful and, though I know I don’t deserve her, I want her to be mine.

Fat chance of that happening a voice sounds in my head my eyes catch the reflecting brilliance of the stone resting on her finger. My gaze does not linger, however, though my mind does. My Buffy is engaged. My slayer has promised herself to some bloody ponce who I'm gonna rip apart if…

If what? Damn, it's that bloody voice again. Go ahead William, it goads. Fuckin git. It spits out my given name as if it is something dirty and tainted. Well isn't it? It asks mockingly and I just can't help but wish to have this voice personified in a living, breathing body so I can pound it's bloody face and it's sancti-fuckin-monious attitude into oblivion. Just five minutes is all I'd need. Five minutes, some guitar string, a slap jack and, of course, one or two never-been-used railroad spikes. Hell, I could even throw in a chain saw--Angelus said something about those…

You haven't changed the voice whispers and I wince. Not just because of the words but with the resignation that it says them with. No, and you will never change, it continues. All the bloody trouble you went through to get a soul and where has it gotten you? A nice, healthy dose of guilt for your actions. The same actions you would gladly repeat if someone made you mad enough.

I want to bellow from the bloody rafters how wrong that is but it isn't. Raking both hands through my hair, I mull over some of the thoughts I've had in the past two years and can't deny I've thought about killing several times in that time. Course, aside from the occasional prat in traffic or the bloody gits working the cash registers in retail and fast food establishments, only two faces have danced in my mind regularly and I catch myself salivating over the prospects of hearing them scream. And the giddiness sometimes feels so good at them cowering under my glare that I have to fight the urge that pleads with me to find them and take care of them, William the Bloody style. S'not like they would be missed 'cept by a handful of people.

Course one of those people just so happens to be sitting directly across the table from me, staring at me with those childlike eyes of innocence. Yes, I said innocence cuz, for all she has seen and done, Buffy still has an innocence about her that I can't quite explain. It's there in her eyes, buried deep behind the pain and suffering that her calling has bestowed upon her, like it is beginning to be set free--awaiting for the key that will set it lose and…

I shake the thoughts away, feeling too much like the bloody awful poet of days long past. My thoughts return to the whelp and Captain America, AKA the vampire pin cushion. Don’t know what she sees in 'em but the fact that she cares about 'em grants 'em a stay of execution. Huh. No, as much as I liked to do it, I wouldn’t kill 'em and not just because it'd hurt Buffy. Well, that's a huge part of it but not all. If two years have taught me anything, it's that most people are good people. They may have faults from 'A to Z' and back again, but their hearts are in the right place. And as much as I loath to admit it--and I mean loath with a capital 'L' written in bright, shiny colors--Harris and Finn have their good qualities about 'em. They fight the good fight, protecting those that will never know their sacrifices. They could have turned their backs to it all long ago, but they didn’t. They face danger everyday, not shying away from the potential of death that hovers over them like a vulture, patiently awaiting for them to fall face first into the sands of death. The more I think about it, the more I admire them--they truly are heroes.

'Course, that doesn’t mean that I'm not gonna kick their arses when I see 'em. 'Specially Harris. See how bad his is now that the Big Bad is de-chipped.

I push those thoughts aside for a moment and take in the fact that Buffy cares about them. She loves them both and would die to protect them. It's almost as if they are a part of her extended family, protected under the expansive and caring arms of the slayer. She's always there when they need her and that thought makes me wonder…I can understand why she would be there for them, considering they have, God help me, redeeming qualities about them. But me…

"Why did you send Angel to look for me?" The question spills from my mouth even before the thought is completed in my head.

I watch Buffy intently, noticing the minute stiffening of her body and I can tell this is something she doesn’t really want to answer right now.

She shrugs it off and answers casually, "Because I knew if anyone could find you, it'd be him," and before I can ask why again she adds in a voice that is no more than a whisper "and I missed you." I smile like a bleedin idiot but it's okay considering she graces me with a timid smile of her own. By the look in her eyes I can see there is so much more to the answer than she is saying but I won't press her. Besides, I don’t even think she has it all figured out.

"Spike," she says as she studies her hands intently, rubbing them together before they disappear under the table and presumably into her lap.

"Yeah, luv?" I ask and take another sip of my mocha (gonna have to order one of those soddin cappuccino makers when I get a chance).

She's rocking slightly in her seat now and her lips are set in a tight line, worry lines etched around her eyes. Those few things tell me two things: 1) that whatever she's about to say is serious and 2) she really doesn’t wanna tell me. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, though. S'bout the blighter on the phone, same one that probably put that ring on her finger. My blood is screaming in my veins, jealousy and anger begging to be released but my emotions remain under lock and key and I wipe my face of emotions, save for mild curiosity. I've been wonderin' how long it would take for her to come clean and as glad as I am that she's about to be honest with me, part of me wants her to shut up before she lays it all out for me. Cuz once the words are out, it all becomes real and I can no longer pretend that she's just wearing a ring that caught her fancy at the mall.

"There's something…something I want to tell you," she's trying hard to be strong but I catch the unmistakable waver in her voice. Her hesitation would be kind of cute if it wasn’t for the knife playing connect the dots with my entrails right about now.

I give her a wan smile and a nod of encouragement. I know how hard it must be to come clean and though a part of me is bitter about it and wants to make it as difficult as possible, the reasonable side (go figure--William the Bloody being reasonable) doesn’t want to hurt her any more than I already have.

"S'alright, luv," I reassure her, "you can tell me anything." She smiles meekly and goes back to studying her hands resting in her lap.

"It's so…I don’t know. I mean, I know the stuff that happened between us was fucked up," I perk my eyebrows at her choice of words, considering she doesn’t talk like that unless she's all hot & horny or brassed off. "And I know that I've already told you that we need to work through it all together.

"The thing is," she takes a sip of her joe, "that despite what I said earlier--about not talking about it, I think that, sooner or later, we'll have to."

I nod solemnly before speaking, wanting to pick my words carefully. "Buffy, that…that night was the worst night of my life. The things I did, the things I said, they…" but she holds her hand up my mouth shuts.

"I know, Spike. But I don’t want to talk about that now. I mean, we need to talk about it, and I mean soon, just so that we can begin our healing in earnest. But, considering we probably will be two pretty mopey and not-good-to-be-around people afterwards, I'd rather wait until Dawn graduates." I can't hide the wince that accompanies me at the mention of my Niblet and Buffy spots it right away.

"You've think you've lost her," she tells me. The lump in my throat prevents a response so I nod somberly.

"Spike," she says and before I know it, her warm hand is pressed against mine before she squeezes it gently. "You haven't lost her."

I laugh at that, albeit it's hollow even to my ears. "Sorry, pet, but gotta disagree with you there. If you think I haven't then I don’t think you saw the look in the Bit's eyes. Oh, I've lost her, alright."

Buffy squeezes my hand again, 'cept this time it's hard enough to be uncomfortable. My questioning eyes find hers and the bare determination in her hazel jewels shuts my gob quite effectively.

"Spike, just listen for once in your life." My scarred eyebrow arches in slight amusement and Buffy gives me a quick grin. "Yeah, I know, pot and kettle," then she goes all serious girl on me. I swear she must have been hanging around Watcher-man quite a lot these past few years.

"Trust me, Spike, you haven't lost her. Now, that's not to say that you haven't got major groveling in your future, but you'll win her back. You always have."

I shake my head, more in the conviction behind her words than my doubt at its truth. "Yeah, but don’t remember the last time I attacked her sis and tried to…"

"Cattle prod. Crypt. Chains. Drusilla." She counts the four off from pinky to pointer before wiggling them in my face in that "need I say more?" way of hers. I blanch internally and though I know my argument is a bit tired but I won't give up. S'not my style.

"Well, yeah, but it wasn’t as bad as…that." I almost cheer in the resigned look she gives me. Let's me know that I've done it again. Never been one to lose a battle of wits with the slayer, least not when I'm tryin' to make a bleedin' point, that is.

"You're right, Spike," she says and her voice is hard and I can't help but feel like my insides are being dragged across thousands of sharp rocks. "That night…in the bathroom was much worse than the whole 'give-me-a-crumb' ideological genius you showed with Dru and the cattle prod." My head sinks at the lack of emotion in her voice but find my head lifted by a dainty finger. She's moved over to sit next to me and I don’t even remember seein' her move. Bugger, I must be out of it.

"The thing you don’t realize, Spike, is that what you did to me has nothing to do with the way she was looking at you." I can't keep the incredulity out of my voice when I speak.

"Are you off your bird? You mean to tell me that all the hate and anger and bloody disappointment in the Bit's eyes today had nothing to do with the little stunt I pulled?"

"Yes, it does have to do with the 'little stunt' you pulled," the irritation in her voice is bubbling over but she keeps her cool, "but it's not quite the 'little stunt' that you think it is."

"Then tell me, oh wise one," I don’t pretend to hide my annoyance, either, "what is it that has our residential teen throwing daggers at me?"

"You left."

***

Spike almost doubled over at the impact of the words. Like a sledge hammer (or a cathedral falling onto you) the pain that ripped through his insides was incapacitating. His eyes were transfixed on the petite blond next to him and his mouth was agape, all words lost to him. You left. The two words drilled themselves into the core of his emotionally exhausted soul, another painful weight that his metaphysical shoulders had to bare.

Buffy had never seen the anger drain from Spike so quickly and she was slightly unnerved by it. After the words spilled from her mouth she instantly regretted her spiteful tone. It wasn't that she was trying to hurt him, but she had been irritated by his 'I'm so perceptive and I know everything' attitude that the callousness just seeped into her voice.

God, I am such a bitch, she thought again as she studied the former vampire's chest as it mechanically rose and fell. She was too much of a coward to look at him, because she had seen the immediate effect her words had in his eyes. A crushing despair called out from them, and she saw the pleading in them. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than for her to end the pain that raged on within him. And it hurt her to see him so vulnerable--it hurt bad: almost as much as the night in the bathroom, except that this was all his pain she was feeling, not some sick and twisted combination of the two of them. Or was it?

The more Buffy thought about it, the more she realized that the bitterness that laced those two words was not entirely from her annoyance with him. The truth was that, as much as he had hurt her when he attacked her, Buffy had been more scarred by the fact that he had left. Not only did he leave--she did understand his reasons--but he didn’t come back, wouldn't have come back if she hadn't found him. Admitting that his leaving hurt more than the bathroom incident to herself was bad enough but it would be much worse actually speaking the words to Spike. She just hoped to God he didn’t notice her own grudge against him for leaving.

But Spike had noticed it. In fact, the first thing he had seen when she had said that was how it had affected her. It wasn't that he disregarded what his leaving had done to Dawn, but since she wasn’t here and Buffy was, he prioritized the slayer's feelings.

The silence between them was nothing new and, in fact, had been a staple of their conversations over the past fourteen hours. Still, this ebb was worse than the others and Buffy didn’t know why. Maybe it was because they were out in the sun--together--and it was a time for celebration and not heartache. Maybe it was the way she had felt the pain of him leaving re-open as she spat out those two small words. Or maybe it was because she was scared--scared of what she wanted from him and scared that she may not have changed as much as she thought.

Finally, after a few more minutes, after the waiter had collected their now cold drinks, Buffy chanced a look at Spike's eyes.

"Spike," she said and gently touched his knee. The warmth radiated through the cotton of his pants and she knew that it would take some time getting used to.

"Spike," she called again, rubbing her hand comfortingly against his leg. When he finally looked into her eyes, she wanted to hide from the pain there but forced herself to meet it. Seems like a pattern for the day, Buff, she thought miserably.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he finally choked out, his eyes watery but his tears at bay. "God, I'm so sorry." She winced at his confession but gave him a knowing smile.

"That's good, Spike. It really is--" she took a deep breath, "but I don’t think I'm the one that you need to apologize to." She felt him tense underneath her palm and jerked her hand back when she saw the blue fire in his eyes.

"Are you sure about that?" The nervous energy vibrated off him and Buffy knew it was taking all his self-control not to jump up and pace back and forth.

Spike could tell he was about to lose it and consciously engaged the deep breathing techniques he learned in Africa. He would have used it during their other talks but he had wanted Buffy to see all of him, every tear, every ounce of self-disgust. But flying off at the handle in a public establishment was not the way to go.

After three fulfilling inhalations, the angst coursing through him was halved and he trusted himself to speak again. "Sorry, luv," he said and snorted almost immediately.

"What?" Buffy asked. She was now leaning closer to him as she had noted the drastic change that had taken place.

"S'nuthin--just seems that all I have to give out are apologies. Hurtin' you in the…in the bathroom like I did then leavin' you--"

"Spike. I've already dealt with that," she lied and cursed when Spike arched an eyebrow at her in that annoying way of his that informed her that he, in fact, did know."

"Leavin' hurt you, didn’t it? Hurt you more than what I tried to do." The last part was not a question and it was Buffy's turn to look away, counting to ten to keep her feelings firmly in check. She didn’t know whether to tell him the truth or brush it aside but, considering the old Buffy would have reveled expertly in the latter, she took the higher and, ultimately, more difficult, road.

"Yeah," she whispered, "it did." She was grateful to feel his hand against the bare skin of her leg and his silence. Now that she had told him the truth, she wanted to divest herself of all her pent-up feelings of abandonment.

"Like I told you last night, it took me awhile before I got over…that night. But I did. Get over it. That’s not to say that I wasn’t still hurt by it and judging by my actions last night, I think you pretty much had that part figured out." He smiled wanly and it gave her the confidence to continue.

"But what I hadn’t forgotten, or even really admitted to myself, was how bad it hurt when I found out that you left. When I brought Dawn over to the crypt the night I got shot…" she held a hand up to him and the fury in his eyes died down somewhat. He had already known about it, but the casual way she tossed it out reminded him all too much of how precious her life was. "Anyway, even though there were like a million things going on around me at the time, I was kinda numb to it. Especially after the bathroom...thing. After I stopped crying, I didn’t think there was anything that could make me feel-much less make me feel worse," she saw him wince but continued, "but when Clem told me you left…God." Tears sprang of their own accord and slithered down Buffy’s cheeks though she didn’t notice. "When he looked at me with those big eyes of his and told me that you didn’t say when you were coming back…a part of me, a part that I didn’t even know was there, was ripped out. It was kinda like…like…"

"Seeing me with Anya," he whispered a gently brushed a few of her tears away with his thumb. Buffy leaned into his hand and nodded.

"Yeah. Another one of those nice surprises for Buffy. I mean, when I saw you with Anya, man, it hurt so bad. And it surprised me, like some sort of ironic sucker punch. Here I was, commending myself for getting under control, taking responsibility for things and not giving in and then ‘Pow’," she punched her palm with the other hand. "Down for the count."

"I didn’t know," Spike murmured and it was by force of will alone that he did not drop his eyes from her face.

"How could you? I mean, it hadn’t been even six hours since I had given you the big ‘get over it/move on’ spiel. I knew I still wanted you and everything, but I had convinced myself that it was nothing more than physical-like you were the perfect balm to soothe my numb soul or something. But it wasn’t until I saw you with Anya that I had to admit to myself that I really did care for you-and not just as a fling-thing, either."

"You told me," he said and this time he did look down, "before I attacked you. You told me that you did have feelings for me. It was the most you had ever admitted about what you felt-it should have been enough. It should have been…" but Buffy silenced him with a kiss.

There was nothing passionate or lustful in the way their lips touched but it was soulful nonetheless. For the few seconds their lips held, they both felt the pain of that night drift away from them, replaced by forgiveness and understanding. And though they knew that the hurt from that night would never fully disappear, they could live with that because it would only remind them how far they had come in changing who they were.

"Thank you," Spike murmured into Buffy’s neck as she hugged him close. His left hand stayed on her leg while he snaked his arm around her waist. The tender feel of her against him was even greater than it was last night and he surmised that it was the fact that there wasn’t just pain involved.

"No," she said and pulled away enough to look him in the eye, "thank you. You have always been there for me, Spike. Even when we were mortal enemies, you were my one constant-always keeping me on my toes. If I could count on one thing back then, it was that you would somehow worm your way into my life and annoy me," they both laughed at that before she continued. "Back then, I thought of you just as that, an irritation-well, at least when you got the chip since I didn’t have to worry about you killing me. But there were times when you were really there for me.

"The whole ordeal with Glory really opened my eyes to what you could be, who you really were after you got through the layers of the Big Bad. You would have given your life to keep Dawn safe and you almost did-twice. When I kissed you after Glory tortured you, the reason I didn’t say anymore than I did was because I didn’t know what to say. No one had ever done something like that from me and it scared me. Not because of the sacrifice but because you were a vampire and, as you know, in my book, vampires were bad. There was no such thing as a vampire who would give himself up for another and when I had proof that you did just that…" the tears had begun anew but Buffy wouldn’t let it deter what she had to say, "I was thrown for a loop. Why? Because, even then, I was attracted to you." When he arched his eyebrow in surprise, she slapped him gently on the arm. "Don’t let it go too much to your head, freak." She blushed slightly before she added, "I mean, you are kinda cute and all." Spike only smiled, posting everything for later use-much later.

"Anyway, it really freaked me out but, as things were, I really didn’t get a chance to evaluate it all. It wasn’t until you left, though, that everything sorta came together. I remembered all the times I was so mean to you-how we were so mean to each other-and then the times that you were there for me, just to listen. Like when I found out about my mother’s illness. Or the time I thought I had driven Dawn away and you went looking for her with me. No matter what we did or said to one another, you had a way of forgetting everything, even your pain, to be there for me and, let me tell you-coming back from the dead? -Brings out some serious bitchiness. But even that didn’t turn you away from me. And when…when I saw that you left, it hurt more…more than Angel leaving."

Buffy's admission sideswiped the sandy-haired man and he couldn’t keep his thoughts from spinning endlessly in his mind. He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it, deciding to let Buffy finis her confession.

Sighing deeply, Buffy was unaware of the effects that her last words had on Spike. All she knew was that if she didn’t finish this now that, despite all her claims of being ‘new & improved’, she might never get it out.

"When Angel left, the second time, even though it hurt, I kind of expected it. Aside from him telling me in advance, I just had the feeling, when he came back from hell, that it was only going to be a temporary deal. I don’t know why, I just did. And even though my mind had accepted that as a fact, my heart got in the way and refused to process it. Not only did I really love him-big time, scary-like…but he was also my knight in shining armor," she snorted, "I know, it sounds way corny but it’s true. Not just for the obvious reasons like the dangerous and mysterious older man and the whole fighting by my side thing. The reason was much simpler.

"He was the first man to be there for me when my father decided I wasn’t so important anymore." Buffy choked back a sob as fresh memories of Angel’s departure meshed with the disappointment and heartbreak that Hank Summers had inflicted on his first born. Only the firm yet gentle hands that grasped her shoulders kept the slayer from breaking down.

"S’alright luv," Spike assured as he ran his fingers up and down her bare arms, "you can stop if you want to." As much as he wanted to hear her finish, part of him wanted her to stop because it hurt him so much to see her like this-especially knowing that he caused it.

The reason Spike had never come back, aside from the satisfaction in knowing that he would live with the guilt of what he had done to her as his punishment, was that he never really thought that she would miss him; in fact, the thought never crossed his mind. He had just known that one look at him and she would have reflexively shoved a stake straight through his beating heart and he would have deserved it. But her confession had changed even more between them than their earlier talks and he was completely lost on how to handle it all.

Wiping her eyes with her palms, Buffy stared into the bright blue eyes that stared back at her. She had always thought that, though he cared for her as a vampire, the love (or whatever it was) he felt could never compare to the true love humans felt. But she knew, as she stared into the warmth of his blue waters that she had been wrong. Although there were slight differences in his eyes now, the love for her that shone from them was no different that it was two years ago.

"Sorry," she said, smiling, "this was supposed to be a fun day, not 'Console the Crying Slayer'. God, I must look a mess," she said and grabbed a napkin from the table to finish the job of clearing her tears away.

"I bet I look like a raccoon, don’t I?" she asked him.

Spike only smiled and Buffy felt the warmth of the simple gesture soar through her veins and all the way to her toes.

"Doesn’t matter, luv. You’re always beautiful." Buffy grinned sheepishly to his casual, yet sincere compliment and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

But she wasn’t quite finished just yet.

"Spike," she said and kept the emotional wavering of her voice to a minimum, "I told you this so that you know just how much you meant to me, even then. I wasn’t a good person during that time and, no matter what you say, that darkness that was in me rubbed off on you. I told you earlier that I had forgiving you for the bathroom incident and I have. There will be times when it will resurface, but I will never use it against you. I promise.

"But, I have to be truthful. Leaving, even though you had your reasons, really hurt and though I have already forgiven you, will take a little longer to deal with. It’s not your fault and I don’t think there is anything you can do to help me through it since it’s just my insecurities. So, if I regress into the bitch that was, please, just bare with me, okay?"

"Being there."

"Huh?" Buffy asked.

"I can help you," Spike said and kissed her on the cheek while his thumb traced along her jaw line, "by being there for you." He kissed the other jaw and finished by returning her previous chaste kiss she had given him.

He then pulled away, despite noticing her mouth’s invitation to deepen the kiss. He wanted to but there were still some things they had to clear up, starting with the little bit of jewelry around her finger.

"I ran from you once, Buffy and though I may have had good reason, it still doesn’t make running away any better." He took her hand in his a placed it over his heart and wiped all trace of emotion save for his grave seriousness at the promise he was about to make.

"I won’t do it again, luv, this I promise you. No matter what," he glanced poignantly at the ring before looking back into her eyes, "or who, is in the way, I will not run. Two years away hasn’t changed how I feel about you and it hasn’t changed my desire to see you happy. And whatever brings that light to you, I will not stand in the way of it. But I will not run. You will always be able to count on me-on my life I swear."

The depth of the words shook Buffy more than any of his declarations of love ever had. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew that he would stick by his promise. She was grateful for this and yet she was terrified. She felt completely safe yet equally vulnerable and part of her itched to clam up and deny the tingling within her. Only by her promise to herself to change kept the denial away. She didn’t know if it would have worked anyway, considering she had no clue what she was denying.

Spike saw the war raging within his love and decided that they had had enough of the hurtful talk. Maybe not all of it, he thought, glancing at the ring. Ignoring the painful jab in his heart, Spike forced a smile before standing.

"Well," he said before throwing a twenty down on the table, "I don’t know about you, but as much as I love this place, I don’t plan on spending my first official full day in SunnyHell admiring the flavors of joe this place has. Madam?" He asked, giving Buffy a gentlemanly bow and held his hand out for her to take.

Even though she knew what he was doing, Buffy couldn’t help but smile at Spike’s chivalrous show. Wiping absently at her face, she took his hand and stood.

"Why, I do declare," she said in her best southern-belle accent, "Sir William, you are just too much a gentleman."

"That, I am, luv. But of course," he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I can be quite the scoundrel if you’d like…" he completed the innuendo by grazing her ear with his lips and Buffy couldn’t hold back the shudder that wracked her body.

"Do you ever turn that down a notch?" she asked breathlessly.

Looking at her with his sexiest look, that in of itself was enough to make her blush, Spike whispered demurely "For you, luv, that notch goes all the way to the top." He chuckled as her features darkened even more before leading her out onto the streets.

"You know, I fancy a walk through the park. What about you, pet?"

Buffy smiled, enjoying this new playful banter they had so easily slipped into. It was enough to make her forget about other issues that had to be dealt with. "The park is fine," she said and nudged him with her shoulder as she basked in the glow of just being happy.

So caught up in one another, neither saw the surprised then murderous features of the brunette man staring bullets into the back of the former vampire before turning into the opposite direction.

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