Part IX

Buffy impatiently flipped through her third magazine in what felt like as many hours. Truthfully, she knew it had only been about thirty minutes since Spike had retreated to the safety of her old room, but she was restless, wanting to do something.

Obviously my company isn’t needed, she thought snidely. When Dawn had slapped Spike and she had watched him crumble, Buffy wanted nothing more than to soothe his pain, to wrap her arms around him and whisper to him, reminding him that she would be there through it all for him. In that moment, Buffy had forgotten about everything but Spike. She had forgotten about the past they had built of pain, she had forgotten their harsh words and harsher actions toward one another, she had forgotten that he had been a vampire, one of the most deadly of his kind in recent memory. All that she had known was the broken soul before her needed mending and she was the one to do it.

With at that considered, it was only natural for her to be a bit jealous that Dawn had hugged Spike like Buffy had wanted to.

I’m not jealous, she argued internally. In fact, I’m on the opposite end of the whole jealous spectrum and damn near ecstatic! My sister and her best friend made up-well, somewhat. She knew that there was still a long road of broken hearts and promises to mend between the two but the look her sister had given Spike before she left had Buffy expecting that the pair would once again be like ‘peas & carrots’. Or some other despicable combination of wholly goodness, she mused.

Of course, despite her obvious relief at the reunion, she couldn’t help but feel twin pangs of jealousy and guilt course through her. She could admit that she was jealous of how Dawn had held Spike, baring her feelings like only she could do. Buffy’s guilt originated from the twinge of jealousy harbored toward her little sister as well as the fact that one Garrett Morgan just happened to be in the same room while Buffy was making ga-ga eyes at the man formerly known as the Evil Undead.

"What is wrong with you?" she spat and began pacing the floor, hands clasped behind her back. "First you get a man, can’t keep him. Want a man, he uses you. Get another man but don’t want him and he leaves. Then have a man and use him, driving him half insane. Now…" she trailed off, her hand coming up to massage her forehead. She wearily flopped into the couch, her legs splayed in front of her, arms lax at her sides. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to sleep. For about a zillion years.

"Nothing can ever be simple, can it?" she breathed out, throwing her hand over her eyes. The creeping digits of exasperation slithered across her consciousness as the slayer’s predicament continued to assault her senses.

There was no doubt in her mind that she was doing the bitching thing again, complaining about her life and its little complexities, but she really did have good reasons, didn’t she? Not only was her former lover holed up in her former room moping, he had unceremoniously waved her off when she had motioned to follow him to the steps. I just wanted to comfort him like he did me last year, she pouted, tactically ignoring the voice of sarcasm that pointed out she did not just want to jump his bones.

He’s my friend and I wanted to be there for him. There was going to be no bone-jumping whatsoever. She rolled her eyes internally as the voice mocked her with silent laughter, knowing the truth.

Then there was the whole Garrett issue that she so did not want to tackle at the moment but her conscience wouldn’t let it rest. She knew that she wasn’t being fair to him and, in a way, it mirrored her relationship with Riley. Except I really do love Garrett. To this, the inner voice had no reply because at least that much was true. Buffy did love Garrett-a lot. He had been there for her when she needed someone, had put up with her ever evolving (and often bitchy) persona for almost two years. Never did he try to change her into something he wanted her to be, nor did he allow his insecurities to become a barrier in their relationship. He could read her moods and desires as well as anyone she had…well, almost anyone. And though it wasn’t too important, the sex was definitely of the wow. He was the most attentive lover she had…Uh oh. There’s that ‘almost’ again.

"Damn it," she sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, everything came back to Spike. It was understandable, considering the lack of closure on their previous relationship and the ugly way they had parted. The fact that he was staying here lent credence as to the current comparisons but she couldn’t deny that this was something recent. In fact, the first time she had gone out with Garrett, she had later admitted to herself that he didn’t have Spike’s quick wit, nor his bleached blonde hair. No matter what, it was always something and for the last few months it had nagged at her mind, prickling her insides. It wasn’t if she loved Garrett or not that was the problem. The problem was whether or not she was in love with him.

"Just can’t let someone sweep you off your feet, B," she muttered before letting out a disgruntled sigh. She was the slayer, always one to be strong, always to be the rock and it was difficult for her to lay back and let someone else do all the work. Not that sweeping her off her feet would be classified as work to the lucky bloke that succeeded in doing it. The fact of the matter was that…

"Oh my God," she said, her eyes wide in disbelief, "did I just say ‘bloke’? Tell me I did not just say ‘bloke’."

"You didn’t say ‘bloke’," came the witty reply and Buffy squeaked in surprise and instantly jumped into a defensive stance.

"Xander!" she admonished, one hand on her hip and the other pressed across her thumping chest.

"Sorry, Buff," the brunette replied, dropping his eyes sheepishly. "Didn’t mean to make with the scaring. The door was unlocked and I…well, I called out but no one answered. And I did see your car, so…" he trailed off, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Buffy couldn’t help but smile at one of her best friend’s many distinguished idiosyncrasies.

"It’s okay," she assured before sitting down and patting the spot next to her. Nodding his thanks, Xander strode over to the couch and plopped down as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

"Rough day?" She asked and was greeted with a tired snort.

"If only ‘rough’ was a strong enough word to describe it." He begun his tale for her, starting with the wake-up call by one of his head guys at one of the sites he was supervising. Evidently, there had been some late-night vandalism at said site and the damage done had set the whole project back two weeks. That situation had taken up Xander’s morning until about eleven, which, in turn made him late to the other site. He reached the second site in time enough to see Craig Roberts casually ignoring safety protocol just long enough to end up with a broken leg and concussion.

"I had to stay there to settle things down and I was so busy that I forgot about calling Anya to cancel our lunch date. Needless to say, by the time I got to the Café, she was less than thrilled to see me."

"Did you tell her about what happened?"

"Well, yeah, but I kind of shut it up when she threatened to make my mouth disappear."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Anyway, she balled me out in front of the whole lunch crowd, rambling on about how she could think for ‘One second I could be friends with the same man who loved me enough to have multiple orgasms with me but not enough to marry me and, in fact, chose to leave me at the altar on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life!'" the last part he had mocked the high pitched whine of Anya and Buffy had to bite her lip to keep from falling on the floor, laughing herself to tears. She didn’t think Xander would take too kindly to that and she couldn’t blame him. Having someone laugh at her most memorable failure would quickly land that person on her people to make suffer list.

It had been two years and, though she had gotten better at not bringing it up, in times of anger and/or annoyance, Anya would rip into Xander with the whole wedding thing as the perpetual ace up her sleeve. Every time she said it, it had the invariable effect of knocking the wind out of him. Usually, they wouldn’t speak for a week after that, only reconciling when they realized how stupid whatever the fight had been about. There was still a lot of hurt in Anya and Buffy doubted that the vengeance demon would ever fully forgive Xander for leaving her at the altar though Buffy was loath to tell him that. Xander (and Dawn, too) entertained a sliver of hope that the two would get back together but Buffy doubted that and to have those misgivings hurt her more than she cared to admit. Luckily, she had Willow there to lend an ear.

"And to top it off," Xander continued, oblivious to Buffy’s temporary hiatus into her mind, "she does the ‘poof’ thing again."

"The ‘poof’ thing?" Buffy scrunched her eyebrows together.

"You know, the ‘poof’ thing," on her confused look he added, "the grand entrances and exits made so often by Vengeance-or, excuse me-Justice demons."

"Oh," Buffy said, "she disappeared." Her relieved features widen in surprise as it dawned on her. "She disappeared…"

"In front of the whole lunch crowd," he said, finishing her thought. "In all her purplish poofdom, leaving me to hold the bag-figuratively speaking, of course," he deadpanned the last part as his eyes drifted closed.

"Wow," the slayer whistled, "you really had a tough day, Xan."

"Yeah," he agreed and his features went strangely blank as he fixed Buffy with slightly hooded eyes. "And then, when I was going back to the site, to check up on things, I ran into this guy that I can’t stand."

"You did," Buffy replied, her voice hiding the slight wave of panic hurling around in her stomach.

"Yeah," he said before breaking eye contact, "we never really got along, you know. Thought his ass was dead-figuratively speaking, of course," he said and Buffy noted the ringing sarcasm in his tone. "I never thought he’d show his face in this town again but obviously, I was wrong." Buffy shuddered at the murderous tone that tinged Xander’s words and before she could reply, he jovially switched topics.

"So," he said," slapping his hands on his thighs, "enough about my day. What about yours?"

For as much as I boasted and bragged about it, rarely have I missed being a vampire. Well there are a few things about it that I have missed. The whole no heartbeat thing-priceless party gag. Same goes with the game face. Though, to be honest, anytime I flashed the face at a party, I fail to remember anyone ever laughing. Hmm. Fancy that.

Anyway, as I was saying, there’s only a few things I miss about being a card-carrying member of the undead and a whole list of reasons what it is the last on my list of things to do in this lifetime ever again--tops on that list bein’ another run-in with a bunch of soddin’ gits like those in the Initiative. Didn’t take to well to havin’ a piece of silicon and metal shoved in my brain, never mind the fact that said utensil elicited a delightfully, incredible jolt of pain through my cerebellum any time I connected with a soddin’ human. Not only was it embarrassing but it was this side short of torture. Aside from that bleedin’ chip, migraines were never a factor in my life…well, my unlife.

‘Course now with me being all mortal and such, I am quite susceptible to the wonderful world of earth shattering head pains. Sorta like the one I have now.

S’not like it’s anything new, though. Been havin’ ‘em a little too frequently for my tastes these past two years. Rachel’s the only one that knows about ‘em. Sometimes when they are bad, worse than this one, I get a bit scared-yeah, I get scared-cuz I don’t know what’s goin’ on. Already been to all the specialists in San Diego, taken a shitload of soddin’ tests and they all come back the same: I’m in the best shape a bloke can be in, better shape than anyone of those quacks have ever seen. So, you see, it’s nothing physical. To be honest, the first time I had one, I thought of Joyce. Thought she was getting’ retribution for what I tried to do with her daughter by makin’ me go the same way she did but I dismissed that thought rather quickly. I knew Joyce and, while she would have kicked my arse ten times over for what I did, she wouldn’t ‘ave killed me-just didn’t have that meanness in her. Not like her daughters-Buffy and the Niblet.

Dawn.

I run a finger across my jaw where Dawn’s hand connected. Thanks to my rapid healin’, the marks are gone, though the pain at seein her like that is still resonatin’ inside of me. It hurts bad enough to see her in pain, but to know that I’ve caused it is worse than anything Angelus has ever done to me. But as bad as it is, the way she held me after slapping me silly, how she begged me not to leave, has me filled with a hope I haven’t felt since me an’ Buffy’s last time together in the crypt. The difference, however, is that my Niblet doesn’t play-when she says somethin’, she means it. She’s not wishy-washy like some petite, blonde slayers that will remain nameless can be. Fact o’ the matter is that if the Niblet was a few years older back then, maybe none of this would have ever happened. Well, with me be damn near a male slayer; guess things worked out for the best.

Yeah, a male slayer. S’not the first time that particular thought has crossed my mind either. Wouldn’t surprise me if those prats upstairs that call themselves the Powers threw this at us as a joke. Real funny-ha bloody ha. Course, I don’t know if that’s the case or that when Lurky hit me with the whammy, he allowed some of my vampiric essence to transfer. Guess I’ll never know though. Don’t fancy finding out that I’m a part of some bleedin’ prophecy considerin’ I got enough on my plate as it is. I’m not daft enough to think that not knowin’ will stop whatever’s comin’, if something’s comin’, that involves me, but at least I won’t be bugger-all out of my mind until it does come. And I thought Buffy was stubborn.

I sigh audibly as I think about the hurt I saw in Buffy’s eyes when I waved her away earlier. Don’t quite remember seeing pain in her eyes because I spurned her advances. Course, the reason may be is because I never did.

"Maybe I should apologize," I say to the ceiling my eyes are fixed upon, "explain to her why I did that." I nod to myself and get up gingerly from the bed. I’m pleased to feel that the soddin’ migraine has been reduced to a dull thud in the back of my brain. That’s definitely of the good. I laugh silently, both in amusement and in horror, when I realize what I just said. Guess Buffy’s rubbing off on me more than I thought.

"Too bad it’s not the way she used to," I murmur and silently make my way back downstairs. I jog down the steps, eagerly seeking to apologize to Buffy if I hurt her feelings. Yeah, I know I’m a poof to the nth degree, not to mention head of the class at Love's Bitch University, but I still can’t stand to see her or the Niblet hurting.

So lost in my own internal dialogue I fail to realize that a conversation’s taking place in the living room.

"Buffy," I call as I turn into the living room. I stop as I am greeted with one of the most hateful pair of eyes I have ever since.

"Bastard," Xander sneers, rising to his feet. "I knew you were here."

"Whelp," I reply, my voice hiding my unease admirably. It’s not like I can’t take him, I know I can but this is only my second run-in with a Scooby member and even though I can’t stand the ponce, something in me wants even Xander’s approval.

"So, what brings you here?" he says, taking another step towards me. I see Buffy place a hand on his arm and he relaxes a bit. I read his eyes and know it’s only a matter of time before the shit hits the fan. I’ll just make sure I’m not the one that pushes the on button.

"Fancied a vacation," I reply and steal a glance at Buffy. Those beautiful hazel eyes are pleading with me to behave and I give her a genuine smile. Already decided to behave myself today, luv.

He takes another step towards me, though it's surprisingly non-aggressive. "So you mean to tell me you have no ulterior motives?"

"That's what I'm sayin'," I respond curtly. Not three complete sentences and this ponce is already threatening to drive me to drink. I don’t know what it is but the whelp can grate my nerves with the best of 'em. Almost as well as I am with pissin' Peaches off.

"And for some reason, I don’t seem to believe you," he replies and I sense my own resolve slipping.

"Don’t matter what you believe, whelp. So long as Buffy knows the deal, you can sod off for all I care," I push off from the wall, my own body thrumming with anticipation.

"Just don’t think you can crawl back here and ask for forgiveness, because we ain't having it. If it was up to me, you'd be ashes by now."

"News flash, ratchet head, not a vampire anymore," I waggle my arm in front of the window and the rays from the sun illuminate my tanned flesh and I watch the whelp stagger back in shock. The smile forming at my lips falls when I see a condescending smirk greet me.

"Well, well, well," he says, eyeing me from head to toe. "And here I was hoping I was seeing things earlier at the Expresso Pump. Damn, I wish I was wrong."

"What's your point?" I ask, ignoring his quick regrouping.

"The point is, Spike, is that I don’t know what type of magic you used but you don’t even have to step out of line for me to stuff that magic right along with a nice, pointy piece of wood, into your chest."

"I'd like to see you try, Harris."

"Guys," Buffy says, stepping in between us, "cut it out."

"And don’t think I'm the only one who's got it in for you. Her fiancé," he says, nodding towards Buffy, "would love to have a one on one with you." He smiles sadistically when I flinch at the mention of Garrett and I already know he's gonna try and twist the knife in just that much deeper. "Oh, yeah, you didn’t know. She's engaged Spike as in 'about to get married'."

"Xander," Buffy yells but he continues as if he doesn’t hear her.

"And the funny thing is that he didn’t need a spell for her to say I do," he turns around, satisfied before throwing over his shoulder, "guess that just shows that if they aren't crazy or under a spell, you've got no chance--loser."

Even before the words leave my mouth, I know there's going to be trouble. Being the git that I am, I say them anyway.

"I don’t remember Anya being under any spell…" I don’t get to finish as Xander's fist connects solidly with my jaw.

Guess I pushed the button after all.

***

Rarely had Spike been surprised by the power and speed a human could attain when their adrenaline levels rose. He had seen the supernatural feats mortals achieved when a loved one was in danger or their own lives were on the line. More than once, he had been on the receiving end of a superhuman punch or kick, that particular person’s last gasp to save his or her life. Of course, it was never enough as they always ended up with his fangs buried in their throats.

If only he had his fangs now.

The rage that Xander felt was almost overwhelming and he didn’t even remember turning around. In truth, he didn’t remember anything but the image that would forever be burned into his mind-Anya and Spike, her body splayed open underneath the vampire as he pumped into her. Even now, after two years, that vision stuck with him and he wasn’t sure whether or not he could ever get past it and no matter how much he wanted to get back with Anya, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever forgive her for it.

But now was not about Anya. Now was about revenge, retribution and all the other shit he wanted to pay Spike back for. Oh yeah, this was going to be sweet.

The punch rocked Spike and the back of his head slammed against the wall. No sooner than he righted himself, Xander’s second and, more damaging punch collided with his nose. Spike roared, though it was drowned out by the sickening crunch of broken bone. His eyes teared up automatically from his broken nose but he refused to close them. He saw Buffy from the corner of his eye move to grab Xander but the former vampire beat her to it.

With a speed he had not had even as a vampire, Spike dug into Xander with a crushing body blow, doubling the construction worker over. Though he could have ended the fight with a simple knee to the face, a part of him knew it wouldn’t be prudent to injure the git too much. Instead, he plowed a right hook into the brunette’s left shoulder, relishing in the sound of his fist connecting with muscle.

He watched in fascination as Xander careened out of control into the table next to couch, shattering it. Instinctively, Spike made ready to leap onto the downed man, oblivious to the blood pouring from his broken nose or the murderous glare in his own eyes. As he readied to finish the rising man with a kick to the ribs, a strong hand gripped his arm and flung him back into the wall where his head cracked against for the second time.

"Bloody hell," he shouted, turning his gaze on the person whom dared to… "Buffy," he whispered, his anger dissipated at the site of an enraged and very hurt slayer in front of him. He was amazed at how her eyes blazed with unkempt fury and unshed tears and he was helpless, falling in love with her all over again.

"What in the fuck do you two think you’re doing?" she spat her eyes migrated from Spike to the staggering Xander with equal fury and for that, Spike breathed a sigh of relief. "Don’t answer that," she answering when she saw the two men’s mouths open in defense, "I don’t want to hear the bullshit from either one of you."

Her hard eyes softened as she finally registered the blood pouring from Spike’s nose and her best friend’s hunched form. Silent tears fell from her eyes, unbidden, and both men stared at each other with the ‘we really fucked up’ expression.

"Buffy," Spike said softly, his hand gingerly touched her on the shoulder. She backed away from his touch, her hands wiping the tears from her face.

"Don’t. Not now…"

"Buff…" Xander tried.

"I said don’t. God, and I thought when you guys were horny was the only time you didn’t know how to comprehend the word 'no'."

The words impacted Spike harder than a church balcony ever could and his knees buckled visibly. Buffy saw his response and it took a moment for her mind to register what she had said and when she finally did, her eyes widened in horror and remorse.

"Spike, I…" she reached out to him like he had done to her seconds before and, though he did not pull away, the rigidity of his body was enough for her to remove her hand.

"I…I’ll be upstairs, doin’ a little repair work," he smirked and even Xander noticed the falsity of the gesture, "you hit harder than you look, whelp."

"Yeah," the Scoobie replied, "same goes for you." He smiled at the looks of surprise that Buffy and Spike gave him before he sat down on the couch. Though they stared at him in disbelief, he had a hard time himself understanding how the anger and rage that had built up against Spike in the last seven years had been halved in less than ten seconds.

Spike returned Xander’s smile tightly before ducking his head and scurrying up the steps. Buffy fought the urge to reach out a grab him before he left. Instead, she steeled her nerves and turned towards one of her oldest friends.

Xander studied Buffy carefully, trying to gauge her emotional state. Though he could tell that the anger that had been there earlier wasn’t as prevalent, it wasn’t gone completely, instead overshadowed by a painful sadness and concern.

She sat next to him, her eyes cast forward, wringing her hands nervously in her lap. Xander stayed silent, waiting for her to make the first move in the inevitable reaming.

After several tense moments, she turned towards him, the anger completely gone, replaced by an even more biting disappointment.

"Are you okay?" He flinched at the unexpectedness of her question before nodding.

"Yeah," he said, finding his voice. "If you discount the broken shoulder and torn abdominals, that is."

"He really did a number on you," Buffy said reaching out to touch Xander’s shoulder. He winced at the slight pressure and smiled weakly.

"You should see the other guy," he joked.

"Xander," Buffy warned and he raised his good arm in surrender.

"Easy there, tiger. Just a little post-fight humor."

"Sorry," she assented, "it’s just…it’s just been an emotional twenty-four hours." Xander nodded absently, not sure what to say. He fiddled with his hands, trying to come to grips with the last ten minutes. He had originally intended to come in here, fists a-flailing, weapons in hand, his only intent to send the platinum-haired demon to hell where he belonged. But then he had thought back to what he had seen earlier-the way Buffy had been completely at ease as she walked alongside Spike and Xander couldn’t remember the last time she looked so at peace. Not with Garrett, not with Riley, and definitely not with Angel. In actuality, he didn’t know if she had ever been that much at ease, even when they had first met. He knew part of it was her finally accepting who she was, what she was, even if she didn’t tell the Scoobies. If there was one thing that Xander had to give himself credit for was his newfound ability to hold judgment on things, regardless of how strong he felt about something or someone. So maybe he slipped back into his old histrionics now and again, but that was expected. The bottom line was simple; some part of him was convinced to give Spike the benefit of the doubt-well, at least not try to kill him right away. He knew now that that was the right thing to do and it wasn’t because he felt like a Mack truck had slugged him.

"So," he began after a long silence, "where did you find him?"

"San Diego."

"San Diego? Huh. Just couldn’t stay out of good old CA."

"I guess. You know he owns his own club? It’s called Blue Song. Pretty popular from what I gathered."

"So the evil undead went all capitalistic on us. Anya would be proud." Both of the room’s occupants lowered their heads at the mention of Anya and Spike in the same sentence.

"I take it ‘evil undead’ is no longer an applicable term," Xander mused, attempting to break the somber mood that had gripped both he and Buffy.

Buffy smiled. Leave it to Xander to deflect the intensity of a situation-well, at least when he wasn’t the cause of it.

"On that you would be correct."

"So, like what is he? Some sort of Super Saiyan? Because human he’s not."

"Why do you say that?" She asked him, intrigued. Buffy had her own suspicions about Spike’s physical prowess-No thoughts about that prowess-when she had hugged him earlier. She had been in the ex-vampire’s embrace on several occasions and the strength behind his hug earlier did not differ much from his vampiric hold.

"Well, aside from the fact that I didn’t even see the two punches he threw, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stand up straight for a week and my shoulder feels almost as bad as when that troll guy snapped my wrist. Buffy, what's going on?"

"I wish I knew Xander," Buffy replied honestly, "I wish I knew."

Part X

The sweet sting of heat on his back kneaded the knotted muscles under his skin. The ceramic tiles were cool underneath his palms though they did nothing to relax his mind. Touching them--being in bathroom period--reminded him all too much of what had happened here two years ago.

"Come on, mate," he encouraged himself and ran a hand through his matted hair, "you can do this." Though his words were intended to rouse him from the doldrums, the fragmented pictures in his mind--Buffy crying for him to stop, the ripped fabric of her robe, the scornful look of betrayal in her eyes--tightened their hold on him, dragging him further into the pits of his continual melancholy.

It was always worse in the shower. No matter where he was, no matter the décor, his mind always returned to the night that he had lost control; hurting the one person he loved above all others. That first year back had been unbearable and often times Rachel, whom he had met his first week in San Diego, would often cut off the water and drape a towel across his shoulders as he cowered in a ball on the shower floor.

"You really need to start doing this yourself," she would say, her light tone masking the concern visible behind her gray eyes. Spike was never out of it long, though there had been a handful of occasions where he had awakened in bed underneath the covers. They never spoke of it and for that, Spike was grateful. As he leaned against the cool tiles, his legs gave way and he slid to the tub floor.

"You bloody wanker," he swore and clenched his eyes shut. The spray of the water in his face mingled with the tears he had yet to realize were falling. The cloud of darkness that always hovered at the edge of his mind, waiting patiently for reminders of the past, rolled towards his helpless mind. He shoved his hands in his hair, pressing his palms to his head in an attempt to silence the mocking laughter echoing in his mind. He always thought of the voice, colder than he had ever been, as the remaining essence of the demon, the shadow of it that had clung to his human soul. Its soul purpose was to shatter his already fractured confidence, bellowing in victory as he was reduced to tears.

The rational part of him knew he was being unreasonable, never allowing himself room for forgiveness and without it, he would never be able to move on. That alone would taint his future actions as they would be based on a selfish need to find penance out of guilt and not because it was the right thing to do. Yeah, the rational side knew that with crystal clarity.

Too bad his irrational side took up so much brain wattage.

"Get it together, Spike," he forced through clenched teeth, "don’t want her to have to come in there now do you?" The thought of Buffy finding him, crouched in the shower, was one part frightening and two parts comical. It began with a light chuckle but quickly transformed into a cacophonous laughter that shook his whole body. Spike envisioned Buffy walking in on him, his body quaking in mirth and he only laughed harder. The outrage in her eyes at him using so much water increased his amusement and Spike threw back his head, allowing the laughter to bubble up from the pit of his stomach, barking into the air. He was ignorant of everything around him, including the once hot water spray missiles of cool liquid across his skin.

He did not know when the laughter turned to sobs, the gut wrenching, uncontrollable tremors that had rode through him when he had seen her body, lifeless upon the rubble. That had been the first time he failed her and it had cost Buffy her life. The second time, in this very bathroom, he had failed again and was thankful his transgressions had not destroyed her. As it was, she had forgiven him though they had yet to talk about it and put it in the past completely. God help him when it was time for that particular conversation.

"Spike?" He heard Buffy's voice filter through his sobs and the beating of the water.

"Yes," he croaked and knew she didn’t hear him. Forcing himself to stand, Spike rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat before calling out again.

"I'm in here, pet," he said, thankful his voice didn’t crack.

"Are you okay?" She asked and he heard the telltale creak of the door opening. "Because you been in there for awhile now. Thought maybe you got liquefied or something."

He chuckled at her childlike tone and peaked out from behind the shower curtain, "I'm all right, love," he smiled warmly at her, "all parts solid through." He grinned devilishly at her ruby red blush, his earlier malaise temporarily forgotten, something Buffy's smile had a habit of doing for him.

"Well," she stammered, "I uh…I…I was gonna call in a pizza or something, for dinner. You want something?"

Spike couldn’t help breaking out into a toothy grin at her thoughtfulness. "As a matter of fact, pet, see if they have some of those spicy wings."

She shook her head but the smile remained. "And I thought you would have outgrown those things, what with a fully-functioning stomach," she said before closing the door before calling over her shoulder, "I don't care if they do have it, no bloomin' onion for you."

"That's not fair," he called after her.

"Too bad," she replied, her voice small through the door.

Chuckling to himself, Spike shut off the water and stepped onto the carpet. As he toweled himself off, he couldn’t help but marvel at the way the sight of Buffy's upturned lips could wipe the melancholy from his thoughts. Even now, the memory of it was enough to silence the malevolent voice from echoing its scornful sentiments of what he had been and would always be.

For now, all that mattered was the glistening of life behind those beautiful hazel eyes. That, and the strength behind them, gave him hope that he would one day forgive himself for that shameful night in this very room. Though he did not know it, that potential forgiveness was what had driven him the past two years. Having Buffy's forgiveness was something he had never thought he would have and even now he did not feel worthy of it. But there was nothing he could do about that now. She had given it and he had no choice but to accept it.

"Guess you're gonna have to get over that one on your own, mate," he said to himself. Of course, the words were easy to say. It was the implementing them that was the difficult part and in his mind, he wasn't sure if he had the strength to get over it.

***

Do not think about the sexy naked guy in the shower. Do not think about the sexy naked guy in the shower is my internal mantra as I force my legs to carry me down the steps. Reaching the bottom, I lean against the banister, forcing myself to breathe evenly, a feat I've never truly been able to master when Spike is around. Even before all the gratuitous sex, he has always been able to get to me, sometimes so deeply that I've been red with anger. It's a wonder that I'm still alive, considering how he is able to throw me off kilter. Of course, not to brag, but I'm pretty sure I have the same effect on him except he's much better at masking his reactions.

"Well, that's what happens when you don't blush," I sigh to the air and run a hand through my hair. God, my nerves are shot, and I try to control the all too familiar pulsating vibe in my lower belly. And to think, not thirty minutes ago, I was seriously contemplating a double homicide. Now? I'm nothing but a big gob of overworked hormones that needs a nice piece of…

"Pizza!" I exclaim to myself, cutting a particularly lewd thought off at the pass. Not like I haven't seen him naked before…

"Okay," my voice is hollow in my ears and I squeeze my eyes shut, "there will be no more thinking of Spike in all his naked glory." That's right, Buff, no thinking of the corded muscles of his arm or the detailed cut of his abs…"Pizza," I repeat and scurry over to the phone, dialing the number before I have a chance to get lost in thoughts about boarding the Spike train.

"Oh my God," I say in disbelief, "I did not just say 'board the Spike train'." I lower my head in frustration only to have my eyes bulge when I get a response on the other line.

"Uh, ma'am," the wary voice says into my ear, "I don’t know what you're looking for, but this is the Pizza Palace--King of All your Pizza desires…" he trails off, uncertain in how to continue. I laugh bitterly to myself before placing the order. Before I hang up, I hear the guy joke about hoping that I catch my 'Spike train' before it leaves the station. As I hang up the phone and plop down on the couch, my initial laughter at pizza guy's barb suddenly turns uncomfortably sober as I ponder his words. Is he right? If I'm too late, if I can't decide what I want right away, will Spike leave again? Will another man leave me out in the cold?

Before self-pity can get the best of me, I think about Garrett in all this. It's not like I'm really being fair to him, either. I mean he's a big part of why I'm in the place that I am. Up until a month and a half ago, I was content with settling down with him, raising a family but, like a thunderbolt, the doubt just shoved its way into my mind. I have to wonder how, after a year together, I go to sleep one night, content on where my life is heading and wake up the next morning doubting that very same commitment. To be truthful, I don’t think it was something that just flashed into my mind but a slow erosion of Buffy's old defenses, seeing things and people without my original preconceived notions of what was right and what was wrong. Then again, maybe it was the lack of closure between me and Spike that I craved, the idea of seeing him one more time, him forgiving me and vice versa. Maybe after we clear the air completely, everything will right itself and I can continue my life with Garrett. Maybe we can get married and move away from here, raise a family. That's always been my dream and I'm so close to having it that it aches for me not to grab it and hold on to it.

But then again, what if, after we do our penance that I truly do want to be with Spike? What if I realize that I've wanted to be with him since the beginning but was too scared to admit it? But what if he doesn’t think that? What if he doesn’t feel that me loving him now is enough? That I screwed it up before, pounding his feelings into the ground and I don’t deserve another chance. Or what if he doesn’t love me anymore?

My throat constricts involuntarily at the thought of not having Spike's love and I bury my head into the pillow. For the past year, when I could think about Spike without conjuring images of the bathroom, my biggest fear was finding him and finding out that he didn’t love me anymore and now that he's here…He's different, there is no question about that. He's still Spike, no doubt, with the same smoldering smirk, the same throaty laughter and glint of life in those electric eyes. But there is something that is missing that I can't put my finger on. Don’t get me wrong, it's not something bad and, to be honest, it's more along the lines of an addition more so than a deficiency. And it's that addition that frightens me. What if in gaining his humanity and soul that he lost his love for me? What if it was the demon all along that loved the slayer and not the man? Wouldn’t that be ironic; I spurn him because he's a soulless demon and find out that the demon was what loved me. A part of me thinks that would be a fitting punishment for me while the other part argues that I was justified, that he was a demon. Didn’t his actions prove that?

My head is a jumble of thoughts that will not die and I bury my head further into the pillows. The sting behind my eyes has broken through and my tears are crushed against the fabric of the pillow while the same material mutes my sobs. I had told Spike earlier that I was a brand new Buffy, one that did not judge as harshly or stare at the world with blinders laced to the sides of my head. But as I cry, I can't help but to feel like I've lied to him. I'm not a new woman at all. I'm the same scared little girl he left two years ago except I hide behind the mask of not being Ms. High and Mighty. That does not change what I truly am and the fact that I still have yet to grow up.

My last thought as I drift off into sleep is that Spike was right for not coming back. He was right that he didn’t deserve me. Seeing the changes in him first hand are proof enough for that. What he deserves is a real woman, a strong woman, not some little girl and her insecurities. And all I can offer him is the latter. He deserves so much more than that.

The funny thing is, I think he always has.

**

I don’t know if it’s the distant aroma of food wafting through the air or the invigorating coolness pressed against the back of my neck that awakens me but I stir nonetheless and my lips curve into an anticipating smile. Back to my senses, the scent of cheese and pepperoni and spicy wings is even stronger and my stomach lurches in protest of its emptiness. It gurgles loudly and the soft chuckle near my ear alerts me that I am not alone. And considering the cool towel draped across my neck, my bets are on a certain ex-vampire with killer cheekbones and abs to die for is the source of the welcome ministrations.

“You should get paid for this,” I mumble into the pillow. I can feel him smile warmly as his deft fingers alternate between rubbing my neck with the cool towel and kneading the muscles between my shoulder blades.

“Well,” he says and leans down closer to me. The warmth of his breath against my skin couples with the amazing smell of his cologne, driving me wild and, for the umpteenth time today, my hormones spike through the roof. “There are just some things I happen to be good at, luv,” his voice sizzles in my ear and I force my body to remain still, not trusting myself in the least.

“That you are,” I respond, so proud that my voice remains even. For the most part, that is.

Sensing my growing excitement, Spike’s hand travels the length of my spine before he stands and my body cries from the loss of contact. Still, I am thankful for the space. Now, with a few controlled breathing techniques, maybe I can get my heart rate under the current marathon of three hundred beats a minute it seems to be running at.

I sit up slowly, keeping my eyes closed for the moment before letting out a terrifically unladylike yawn, complete with the stretching out of all four of my limbs. After a few minutes of removing the kinks, I finally part my eyelids, thankful for the dim lighting. I peek out the windows and notice that darkness is beginning its methodical emergence as ruler of the night. I sigh tiredly, knowing that I will have to go patrolling later before rubbing my sleep-filled eyes with the back of my hand. I notice Spike watching me and note that his nose looks suspiciously normal, considering its untimely meeting with Xander’s fist earlier. I wonder about it but file it away for later questioning. Instead, I peek at him with one eye while I wrangle the itch out of the other one.

“What are you looking at?” I ask good-naturedly. His smile dissipates and his eyes fill with concern and sympathy. My eyebrows scrunch in confusion as he walks back over to me and kneels in front of me. He reaches out and touches the curve of my cheek, his eyes following some invisible tracks left on my skin.

“You were crying,” he says and I shudder at the distance and pain that filters his words mingle with the gentleness of his fingertips caressing my face. In that moment of seeing him like this, gracing me with the same look he had that first night I had come back, the shame of how I treated him slams into me and I can only bow my head, unable to look at him.

His palm cups my cheek and he gently forces my chin up with his other hand. I steel myself for what I had seen a few moments before, and when I do gaze into those blue pools of emotion, I see at least one of my doubts being torn asunder for the smoldering heat of his gaze is saturated with unbridled love. My throat tightens and the tears again threaten to spill though I hold them at bay and, miraculously keep my eyes locked with his. Each second passes by like an hour and I feel the heat of some unknown emotion burning a hole through my belly ten times over and my chest constricts almost painfully. Almost as quickly as it comes, the moment is gone and I am left to contemplate it but first I must get past his all encompassing stare.

“Yeah,” I say to him, my voice small and I realize that one of my hands is resting on his knee.

“What’s wrong, luv?” His voice is so soft that I just have the overwhelming urge to wrap it around me like a blanket and sleep indefinitely in its warmth.

“Nothing, I…” but the lie never leaves the hanger as I take in the truthful depths of his countenance and decide that I can’t lie to him. Hell, even if I wanted to, he’d smell it out from a mile away. But at the same time, I don’t think I can spill right now. It’s bad enough that I want to jump his recently alive bones and am having a hard time not doing so. An influx of emotions that would come from said confession of my insecurities would only weaken my already tenuous resolve and you don’t have to be a genius to figure out just where that would lead…

“It’s…I’m just having a hard time dealing with things, you know?” I rub at my eyes in frustration, willing the tears back once again though I’m on the verge of losing this particular struggle.

“S’alright, luv,” he whispers to me before kissing me on the forehead and turning towards the table. I peek out from under my hand like a child, amazed at his display of kindness and insight. The kiss was simple enough and it didn’t cause me to crumble like the feel of his solid arms around my frame would have. I don’t know what it is, but he continues to amaze me and probably will for as long as he’s in my life.

“We can chat it out later,” he explains and cuts into the pizza on the table. He takes a huge slice and flops it onto a plate, offering it to me. I nod but before I can speak I shove half of it in my mouth and I almost choke when he gives me this look of utter fascination.

He looks me up and down before shaking his head and cutting his own slice and says, “Bloody amazing that you stay so small and eat like that.” This time I do choke and in my coughing fit, I fire a leftover pepperoni strip onto his shirt.

“Bloody hell, woman,” he yells, “ The pizza is supposed to remain in your mouth. That’s the basic gist behind eating, you know!” The consternation etching his features sets me off into a fit of giggles and when he glares at me, ice picks in his eyes, I only laugh harder. It isn’t long before a bemused smile slides lazily across his features and I hear him mumble under his breath, “If I didn’t love you so bloody much…” before daintily swiping at the pizza sauce on his shirt.

I can’t help but beam at his words and again I am amazed at what Spike can do in one simple gesture. He has carried me in two minutes from mopey to giggly with minimal effort and words aren’t enough to thank him for that. I was heading to an ugly place of self doubt and fear and though I am a long way from making sense of this jumble that’s in my mind, Spike has unknowingly helped me bridge a gap I would never have been able to conquer alone. He’s done it before, after I came back and though I’ve thanked him for it, I really don’t think he will ever grasp the depths of my gratitude. I just wish I knew how to express it to him.

***

"Spike," Buffy yelled, her arms flailing about, her deft fingers clawing over his body yet he didn’t relent. Instead, he navigated around the living room, narrowly avoiding the shoes and shirt carelessly thrown into a pile in the middle of the floor.

"C'mon, Slayer," he teased, "You've pled your case better than that." He watched as her skin flushed at the comment and was almost undone when she poked her lip out but she gave herself away. The light shone off her hazel eyes and the naughtiness behind them was unmistakable. So you wanna play, huh? He thought to himself and slipped on his conceding face.

"Okay, luv, you want it?"

"Yes," she said shyly, batting her eyes and he was a hairs breadth away from relenting again.

"How bad do you want it?" He couldn’t resist running his tongue over his lips and stifled a chuckle when she gasped visibly, her eyes hypnotized by the snake-like movements of his pink member as it darted back and forth.

"Real bad," she whispered, not even sure what she was talking about anymore. Spike finally let his smirk out but Buffy was too transfixed by his lips to notice. With one step, he halved already short distance between them and her breasts brushed across his chest and he bit his lip to strengthen his resolve. The motion of his teeth against the soft flesh of him bottom lip had Buffy licking her own in anticipation.

"So," Spike said, his eyes roaming the planes of her face, resting on the inexact perfection of her lips. "Where do you want it?" He managed, though he, too, had forgotten what they were talking about.

"Right here," she responded and her hands trailed along the corded lines of his raised arms until he lowered them enough for her to grab him around the wrists. He conceded to her directions and lowered his arms, his body painfully aware of their proximity to one another. He was vaguely aware of his slayer raising up on her toes and he slowly cocked his head to the side, awaiting the promise of touching those heavenly lips.

Buffy was hesitant in her actions, not sure how they had gotten to this. They had spent the past forty-five minutes eating pizza and wings, talking amicably while they watched Fox Friday night with Firefly kicking off at eight. They had joked throughout the whole show and Buffy marveled at Spike who was in rare form. At the end of the show, Spike had snatched the remote, threatening to make Buffy miss not only the preview for next week's season finale but also the beginning of the two part John Doe cliffhanger. That had been precisely three minutes ago and television was the furthest thing from her mind.

Cor, she's beautiful, Spike marveled in awe. He dared not speak lest he break the spell they had been caught in for the past sixty seconds. The former vampire stiffened (in more than one place) when he felt Buffy's petite hands on his hips and he instinctively nudged them forward into her. She closed her eyes and parted her lips ever so slightly and he opened his hands to caress the sweet curves of her hips that called to him through her thin Capri pants. Of course, he needed to drop the remote and did so without a second thought…

"Oww!" Buffy screeched before pushing Spike away and hopping on one foot. The bewildered Brit staggered before regaining his balance and stared at the hopping slayer incredulously.

"What the bloody hell is your problem?" He asked a little more curtly than he would have liked. The fact that she had almost pushed him to the floor coupled with his raging hard-on had clouded Spike's mind and his tongue ran with the ball.

Buffy was none too pleased with his flippant tone and glared into him with intents to set him aflame. Her hands were planted on her hips and her shoulders tensed and she looked ready for battle, even if she was still balanced on one foot, the other rubbing against the back of her calf.

"What. Did. You. Say?" She spat and dared him to get an attitude. Spike noticed this and favored a tactical retreat, the smartest move he could make.

"I asked what was wrong," he reiterated, his tone much more placating as he held his hands up in surrender.

"What is wrong?" She asked in disbelief. "What is wrong?" She stalked, more like hobbled, over to him and stop mere inches from his face. "You know that silver thing I was trying to get from you, changes channels?"
"The remote…"

"Yeah, the remote," she interrupted and snorted, blowing a strand of hair from her face.

"What about it?" He asked, a little annoyed at her slayer 'tude.

"Nothing…except that you used it as a miniature anvil and dropped it on my toe!" She finished the tirade yelling, and lifted her foot up for Spike to see.

Spike was taken by surprise at Buffy's vehemence and dexterity alike, though he shouldn’t have been surprised on either front. Especially the dexterity, mate, he reminisced to himself, like that time she…but the mere thought of that particular romp in the crypt even had the former vampire flush in embarrassment.

"What?" She demanded, noticing his blush.

"Nothin', luv," he stammered, "nothing at all." But Spike quickly regained his composure and refitted his face with a patented smirk. "But I am sorry about that."

"Yeah, I'll bet," she huffed and motioned to put her foot down.

"Not yet, luv," he said demurely and slid to one knee, cupping her delicate foot in his hand.

"What are you doing?" she demanded though the crack in her voice prevented it from sounding authoritative.

"I made a boo-boo," he said and cut his eyes towards her, "and I intend to fix it." Before Buffy could protest, she felt Spike's warm lips against her pinkie and she swooned, barely maintaining her balance.

Spike smiled as he brushed his lips across Buffy's toe though inside he was a wreck of emotions. The taste of her skin, the waves of arousal beating off of her was almost unbearable. He may not have been a vampire, but he still could read when Buffy wanted him and boy, did she want him now!

Can't do it, a prying voice whispered into his head. Why the bloody hell not? The sexually flustered part of him countered. Because, his inner voice responded with the calm of a saint, what if you were Garrett? The thought of the man with whom he had loosely bonded with earlier was akin to dropping him into Arctic waters and Spike stood hurriedly. Of course, Buffy wasn't quite ready for the rapid change in position and was tipped over, her hands flailing wildly to no avail. She landed on her butt, cursing the floor and all male ex-vampires with eternal torment for the rest of their short days.

"Sorry," Spike said sheepishly, still wincing at both thoughts of Garrett as well as the highly agitated slayer looking up at him.

"Yeah, whatever," she said dryly and stood. One hand picked up the remote while the other rubbed her stinging butt. She ignored Spike's prying eyes that glared longingly at the ministrations of her hand massaging her bruised fanny.

"You know," he drawled, "I could do that."

"Yeah and you could also walk directly into the path of a very large truck," she spat and stalked over the couch, once again mentally cursing all male ex-Master vampires from London to suffer eternally. So lost in her internal rant that she forgot her newly scarred butt and plopped onto the couch and winced at the dull ache. Ignoring Spike's pleading eyes, she tucked her good foot underneath her and threw an arm casually across her abdomen while the other held the remote and flipped back to Fox.

"Buffy," Spike said, finally taking a seat next to her, "I really am sorry."

The slayer stole a glance at the genuinely apologetic Spike before rolling her eyes and returning her attention back to her program.

"What does it take with you," he huffed and crossed his arms angrily before slinking further down into the couch next to her.

Buffy fought back a grin thinking about the unlikely situation. The Chosen One and her former mortal enemy/ally/friend/lover/former vampire/friend-again sitting on the couch pouting like two five year olds. Life was strange. Life was strange indeed.

***

"We can call it quits for the night after this," Buffy said, nudging her patrol partner. They had been patrolling for three hours and had come across a handful of fledglings but no major baddies. Buffy’s curiosity as to Spike’s physical prowess had yet to be satisfied as the former Big Bad had opted out of the routine stakings, joking about his ‘new found’ humanity being an impediment to his fighting. But she could see through the smirks and barbs that he was nervous about something though she didn’t know what. And she wouldn’t ask. Yet.

Spike nodded his assent. "You’re the boss, luv," he smirked.

"Darn tootin'," Buffy agreed and on his amused look explained, "sorry 'bout that. Was channeling Wills there for a minute." Spike gave her a genuine chuckle before turning towards Buffy.

"And how is Red doin' these days?" Buffy smiled at Spike's nickname for Willow before filling him in on things she had not told him on their way back to Sunnydale.

Though she was still in school, due to her nine-month hiatus in Bath, Willow was still as active as ever. She wasn't quite as upbeat as she used to be but in that place was an experience and maturity that, aside from Giles, had not been present in the Scoobies. She had learned to control her magick, using the energies of the Earth instead of the dark powers she had invoked before. No longer did she use her powers for the mundane, but only when necessary. The Coven she had been to ingrained within her with a sense of self-discipline that even Buffy had trouble grasping. It was a necessary tool for Willow to temper the potentially lethal combination of her near limitless powers, scarring grief and weighing guilt. It had taken all of the Scoobies to help Willow reintegrate and even Dawn, who still hadn't totally gotten over Willow's threat to her, had been instrumental in assisting the Wicca get her close to her usual Willow-self.

"She misses you, you know," Buffy said after a few moments of silence.

"Who? Red?" He asked in surprise.

"Yeah." Buffy elbowed him playfully. "Why? Don’t think you're important enough to admit?" He didn’t respond but she knew the answer as his head slumped slightly. Buffy snaked her arm around his and leaned her head against his shoulders.

"You know, you really need to get over this bad image of yourself, Spike," she said seriously before pulling away.

Spike shrugged and ran a hand through his tousled sandy brown locks. "S'not like you Scoobs have ever…"

"She missed you," Buffy interrupted and her tone brokered no argument. "To be honest, you were sorta like Tara. You told me the truth but at the same time, listened to me rant and rave. Now you may not have had her excellent bedside manner," he chuckled at that, "but you knew…you know how to listen to people and sift through all their b.s. To get to the real problem. Don’t underestimate your importance to us."

Spike stopped at that and turned towards Buffy, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.

"My importance, Buffy, to 'us' as in the Scoobies or to 'us' as in you?" His cerulean eyes searched hers and Buffy found it difficult not to fold under his gaze. An intense warmth suffused through her and she found herself pulled to him. Her mouth worked furiously, attempting to formulate a response though all she could do was whet her lips continuously with her darting tongue.

"Spike…" she began but was roughly thrown to the ground by the ex-vampire.

"Sorry, luv," he called before jumping onto the ax-wielding demon. It was about seven feet tall, but not bulky like other demons. It had a lithe build though the strength was obvious in the cut of its corded muscles. It was decked out in very thin chain main, its three eyes burning a bright orange color, a direct contrast to its dark purple skin tone.

The demon swung the ax towards Spike’s midsection but he stepped into the arch of the swing, grabbing the inside of the handle. For one moment, demon and former demon were at a stalemate, though Spike quickly found that, despite gaining speed he could only have dreamed about as a vampire, he was not quite as strong. The demon took advantage of its superior leverage and strength, hoisting Spike off his feet by the lapels of his jacket while it ripped the ax from his grasp.

Undaunted, Spike lashed out with a vicious kick, connecting solidly with the demon’s jaw, causing it to drop him. It recovered much quicker than he expected and, as he hit the ground, it spun counter clockwise to him, the ax whistling through the air intent on beheading the oblivious man.

As he rose to get up, Spike was tackled to the ground and felt the whoosh of air pass overhead. The weight that had barged into him removed itself from his back and it took him a second to catch his breath. All the while, he heard the telltale grunts and groans of a fight in progress. Focusing his energies inwardly, Spike shot to his feet and was taken aback at the sight before him.

There, in all her beautiful splendor, dressed in all black, was Buffy. He was captivated by the grace and power of her moves, only once catching a glimpse of the unbridled fury sparkling in her hazel eyes before her head turned in a flurry of blonde hair and bad intentions. She caught the demon with a spinning jump kick to the jaw and followed up with a hook to the ribs. Grabbing its right wrist, she smashed her knee into its elbow and the sickening crunch of bone and the creature bellowed in pain.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” she quipped before slamming her heel into the back of the demon’s knee, sending it to the ground. Wasting no time, she maneuvered behind it and took its bulbous head in her hands before wrenching it violently to the right.

“Bravo, luv,” Spike applauded, sauntering up to Buffy. He stopped abruptly when he saw the same fury she had displaced upon the demon aimed at him. “Uh, Buffy?” He asked cautiously and that was when she erupted.

“What the hell was that?!”

“What?” He asked, his tone defensive.

“That,” She waved between him and the demon. “You jumped in there like you used to with no regard for the opponent.”

“I was bloody well trying to save your sodding life,” he retorted, his brow scrunched in annoyance.

“You could have been killed,” she said, her voice small. But he didn’t hear the concern in her voice.

“Last time I checked, Slayer, vampires can die just as rightly as humans.”

Her fear was buried under a landslide of anger when she saw the sneer firmly entrenched on his face. “Yeah, but last time I checked, Will-yum, vamps can be pretty much brained by an ax and be no worse for wear.”

“So you don’t think I can take care of myself?” He asked incredulously.

“Not if do stupid things like that,” she replied, crossing her arms.

“Bloody hell, Slayer, I think surviving one hundred and twenty years, much of its youth spent with the likes of Angelus and Darla puts me in a class of being able to take care of my bloody self.”

“And how many of those formative years were spent as a member of the living?” She countered snidely.

“God, Buffy,” he yelled and pulled at his sandy brown shock of hair in frustration. “In case you haven’t noticed by my mostly healed broken nose, I’m not your run of the mill mortal. You don’t have to baby me like I’m some Captain Cardboard clone. Hell, if you treated him like this, it’s no wonder that he…” Spike’s eyes went wide and he trailed off, horrified at what he was about to say. But it was too late.

Buffy felt like a stake had been shoved into her chest and she experienced what it must be like for the vampires she dusted. The difference was that they only had to withstand the pain for a moment before they were ash. She, on the other hand, was still standing though how, by what miracle of God, she didn’t know.

“Buffy…” Spike reached out for her, his voice deep with regret.

The touch of his hand jolted her out of her momentary paralysis and she jerked away, unbidden tears clinging to her cheeks. She could see the regret and love in his eyes but her senses were too overloaded with pain to process it all. So she did what she did best.

She shoved him to the ground and ran.

“Balls,” Spike swore and jumped to his feet. “Buffy,” he called out to the retreating form before taking off after her.

The sound of her name only made Buffy run faster and, though her legs were carrying her as fast as they could, the voice seemed to be getting closer. She dared not look back, afraid that if she did, her resolve would falter. She had to get away from him and fast. Spike may have changed but he still could hurt her with his callous words more than anyone she had ever known and she wasn’t strong enough to take that pain again, no matter who was by her side.

Spike was aware of the burn in his lungs but he shoved the feeling down. Buffy had had a giant head start but he had already cut into by over half. One thing good about whatever I am is that I’m bloody fast, he thought absently, hurdling a tombstone. Even in his distress, he marveled at the grace with which Buffy ran with. Her hair bounced against the back of her black vest and was a beacon in the dark night, calling to him to run his fingers through it and tell her it would be alright.

But will it? Be alright? A voice questioned. Spike knew by the look in Buffy’s eyes that he fucked up royally, his words voicing her biggest fear about letting someone into her heart. He had changed so much over the past two years with the addition of the soul and such, but that did not prevent the hurtful vampire personality to rear its ugly head every so often. Spike was never one for good timing and discounting the whole bathroom scene this had to have been the worst slip in his entire existence.

The thought of what he had almost done to Buffy that night quickened his pace while compounding his guilt. Were it not for his desperation in talking to her, he would have fallen to the ground and curled into a ball of guilt and shame, but there was no time for that. He had to catch her.

Narrowing his eyes, he watched Buffy dart behind a mausoleum and adjusted his route, knowing just where to be to cut her off. But when he reached the spot she would have run out off, there was nothing there.

“Bloody hell,” he grunted, his eyes frantically searching the darkness for Buffy’s petite form. He wanted to call out to her but his voice was already horse from yelling her name during the chase. There was no point; he had lost her.

“And not just for tonight, mate,” he murmured, realizing that with his ill-timed words he had ensured that they would be nothing more than friends, providing she could forgive him for what he had just said.

Dejected, the leather clad man turned to walk back to Revello Drive until he heard the faintest sound, a whispering sob carried on the dark winds of the night. He instantly recognized it as Buffy though he had to concentrate to pinpoint her position. When he finally did, he made cautious steps toward to the sound, which led him to the mausoleum she had run behind. He was tempted to call her name but was afraid she’d run so his followed the sound, mindful of his steps. As he turned around the corner, he saw her small body crouched behind a pillar at the entrance of the structure. Tears pricked at his eyes, and the pang of guilt rampaged like an uncaged beast within him and he fought to keep it from consuming him.

“Buffy,” he whispered as he knelt down beside her. Gone was the powerful, fiery slayer-replaced by a scared little girl whose worst fears hounded her with the tenacity of a vampire in bloodlust. Her knees were drawn to her chest and her arms were wrapped protectively around her. She stared out into space, the tears freely falling from her eyes and Spike wanted nothing more than to fold her into his arms and coo her to sleep with promises of better things.

“Buffy,” he said again and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She shook her head and stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time before she scrambled to her feet, wiping the tears away roughly with the sleeve of her shirt. Without a word, she walked past him, her body rigid, trying desperately to hold it together. He will not see me cry anymore, she promised herself. Buffy was strong by nature and the slayer in her had only increased that strength. Though she had done it before, she hated to been looked at as weak and crying-well, crying was a sign of weakness. Or at least in this case it was.

The funny thing was that Buffy never felt self-conscious about it in front of Spike. Even with Willow she felt like a little girl crying but with Spike-with Spike, she had always felt like a woman, allowed to let her softer side reign free, her insecurities and fears flooding out in a rush of tears. He had always understood, never placating her with false words. His presence alone was all the comfort that she needed. And now, for him to use her deepest of fears against her like that…

Buffy gasped as she was spun around by powerful arms and gazed into desperate yet determined eyes.

“Now are you gonna listen to me?” Spike asked, his grip on her arms tightening ever so slightly on his words.

“Get. Off. Of. Me,” she whispered though the venom in her tone was unmistakable. Not wanting it to escalate, Spike acquiesced, dropping his arms to his side.

“Fine, but will you at least listen?” Buffy’s eyes widened and she laughed bitterly.

“Listen to what?” She asked sarcastically, her arms crossing over her breasts. “Listen to you show no gratitude when someone shows concern for you or saves your life? Or did you want me to be all ears as you berate my lack of successful relationships where I drive them away? Or maybe you want to gloat about Garrett leaving me, too. Hell, you’d probably be right. I mean, the only thing I do better than driving men away is preventing apocalypses. Or maybe…” but Spike was tired of listening and did the only thing Buffy had ever found to shut him up.

He kissed her.

The kiss was not gentle yet it was not bruising, either. Better, it was an illustrious blend of both, their lips touching lightly as their tongues battled fiercely for dominance. Spike’s hands were not his own as they drifted towards her hips pulling her against his lithe frame and her hands fisted in his hair. But as soon as it had begun, Buffy pushed him away.

She put her hand to her lips and Spike was reminded of a time when he had dreamed of her-the first time he realized that he was in love with the slayer. That dream may have ended with him waking in a panic, but the dream itself had ended on a more positive note. This, however, by the looks of things, would not.

In truth, he had been surprised at how quickly she had recovered from the initial shock and pressed her lips to his, showcasing an identical eagerness. She had moaned into his mouth as his hands roamed over her hips and the curve of her butt and for a moment, all was forgotten.

But now, as their panted breaths permeated the air, everything came back to Spike in a fury.

“Buffy,” he whispered, staring into her hazel eyes that were glazed with desire and shock. “Buffy, I’m…”

“Don’t,” she warned, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

“I…” but he couldn’t find the words and, instead, dropped his head in shame. The tears that had been kept in abeyance began to spill from his eyes and he was having trouble keeping his balance. He thought what he had said fucked things up but kissing her…well that had been on the far side of stupid. Guess it’s what I deserve, he thought sullenly and turned to leave. But, evidently, Buffy had other ideas.

“Bloody hell,” he heard Buffy say before she whirled him around, crushing her lips to his.

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